3. Chapter 2

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: 8,667

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None.

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.

Wednesday, 05/25/05

“You are late, Potter!”

Shite. Harry had tried to discreetly enter his cubicle inside the Ministry without his department head noticing, but it looked like his major stealth skills that worked so well for him out in the field were a wash under the bright lights of Level 2. Harry aligned his face into a semblance of innocence, and turned to face the voice of his hacked off superior.

“Commander Hanes, good morning sir.”

Chief Auror Armistead Tiberius Hanes III was an imposing figure. He had been hand picked by Rufus Scrimgeour to replace the late Gawain Robards as the Head of the Law Enforcement Department. Robards had fallen prey to an Imperius Curse near the end of the War and tried to assassinate the Minister in his office. Luckily for Scrimgeour's sake (and Armistead's ambitions) Robards’ assistant was there at the time to foil the plot. In later years, when asked if it was necessary for him to use an Unforgivable on his former mentor, Hanes would always reply that he just did what had to be done.

At 41 Hanes became the youngest Chief Auror in Great Britain's history. As such he tended to over compensate when it came to showing his authority. He ran his department as if it were a well oiled machine. His Aurors were immaculate in dress, procedure, and attitude. Not a lapel was out of place, not a case file was filed improperly, and not an intra-office fracas went down in his department without his knowledge. He knew by heart every bullet point in taking down a dark wizard. He expected no less from the young men and women who served under him.

Hanes had become an Auror back in the dark days when Voldemort was at his highest power. He had witnessed firsthand several of his colleagues cut down in the prime of their life. The fact that he was still fully capable of catching the bad guys (as well as fully limbed) spoke volumes about his skill.

As a young man in his late 20's, his hair had already begun to gray. This led to him being dubbed “The Silver Shadow” by the Daily Prophet after he helped track down and capture the Lestranges. Hanes didn't mind the nickname. He felt the respect that came with the notoriety was fully due him. Hanes was often heard saying, “I don't care if you don't like me, just respect me”. Respect was very important to him. That's why Hanes was hacked off at the young man standing before him now. Harry Potter neither liked, nor respected him it would seem.

“That's it? That's all you’re going to say to me? Good-bloody-morning?!”

Harry chose a spot beyond the older man's shoulder to stare at as he coolly replied, “Yes, sir.”

“You do realize Potter that the morning is almost done.”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry concentrated very hard not to cross his eyes.

“Do you have a good excuse for your being tardy then?” asked Hanes.

“Yes, sir.”

Commander Hanes stared at Harry for a good minute waiting patiently for the answer. That is if you count having every blood vessel in his forehead throb painfully in rhythm, patient.

“WELL, POTTER?!” he barked irritably when he couldn't take anymore.

“Bacon sir,” Harry clarified with a perfectly straight face. “I had to finish my bacon.”

Hanes stared at the seemingly arrogant young man before him. It was easy to see by the look on the older man's face that he couldn't stand the whelp. The feeling appeared to be mutual. For the first time in his life Hanes felt the need to beat the hell out of a subordinate. This feeling was both terrifying and thrilling!

Due to his long years at the Ministry, Hanes always seemed to have been in command of someone. He flew up the ranks frighteningly fast. He had never really felt like a subaltern to anyone, even though he had superiors he answered to. With that kind of self-importance, Hanes always carried a sort of aloof superiority when conducting his self around others. Since deference to your superiors was part and parcel of your job in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hanes naturally expected that kind of treatment from everyone and usually got it. But not from Potter, it appeared.

There was something about him that Potter didn't like, nor respected, and as such the young man only acted as if he had his regard. This knowledge bothered the hell out of Hanes. To make matters worse, Hanes hadn't even wanted Potter in his department to start with. He liked to get his recruits fresh from school. He wanted to mold young minds and break them to his will and ways before they picked up any bad habits. Potter, however, didn't apply to the Department until he was 21 years old! Of course there was that minor little pit stop of defeating the Dark Lord of all dark lords when Potter was barely still a kid of 17 years to take in consideration. However the next few years the spoiled brat squandered on Quidditch. Quidditch!

Now Hanes was a Quidditch enthusiast just as much as the next wizard; he was a Falmouth fan himself. However the idea of taking on some lazy playboy who had decided that it would be just smashing to be an Auror held no charm for him. Even if said lazy playboy had an Order of Merlin, First class. Hanes sniffed disdainfully at the unfairness of life at times. He himself only held a Second class designation.

When Potter first applied to the Department Hanes had almost ignored his application until Scrimgeour impressed upon him what a major addition Harry Potter would make at the Ministry. Rufus even convinced him to speed along (wink wink, nudge nudge) Potter's process in. The usual 3 years of training? Potter did an accelerated program of 1 and a half. All the children who were supposed to have graduated from Hogwarts the year it was unfortunately closed due to the War were granted a special dispensation in regards to their NEWTs. Their course work for the six years prior to the closing of the school, as well as their OWLs, were tabulated together and that formed their score. Potter barely got in due to his Potions work. Hanes heard tell that there was some young girl in that class who managed to attain the highest marks in Hogwarts' history. Now that girl Hanes would have liked to have had under his command!

That was, however, neither here nor there. He was gifted with Potter. Oddly enough, despite joining the Department under rather dubious circumstances, Potter turned out to be a damned fine Auror. But that was what Hanes hated most about the kid, the way he seemed to naturally take to his assignments as if defeating the dark forces were all in a normal day's work for him. Of course for an Auror that was a normal day, but in Hanes' opinion Potter was just being smug about it. In his first week out in the field after completing his training Potter single handedly apprehended the notorious Death Eater, Bellatrix Lestrange, in one of the half-dozen Polyjuice brothels down Knockturn Alley, the Shrouded Asp. Rufus made Hanes promote Potter to Second Squad Leader the very next month.

Yes, Hanes definitely wanted to make Harry Potter's nose bleed. Although the two of them were roughly the same height; Hanes easily had about four stones over him. He could take him! Chosen One be damned...

“Sir?”

Hanes felt as though he was exiting some kind of fog. He shook his head as if to clear it, and glanced down at the pretty young witch trying to figure out just when she had appeared at his side.

“Yes, Miss Vane?”

“That transfer list you wanted for Darthmont has just arrived. I placed it on your desk.”

Hanes glanced at Potter. Harry's eyes were trained on Hanes’ clenched fist. His eyes slowly traveled to those of his superior officer's and saw without a doubt the distaste and open hostility in them before Hanes adopted his neutral Auror veneer.

“Yes...well...I'll just go take a look at that then. Thank you, Rommy,” Hanes said as the young woman placed a steaming mug in his previously fisted hand. He smiled at her, scowled at Harry, then proceeded to make his way to his office.

Hanes’ final thought before entering his private sanctuary was that at least Potter hated his partner. The little star of the Department suffered some misery that Hanes was personally responsible for. Hanes smiled to himself. Sometimes you just have to make lemonade.

Harry exhaled the breath he had been holding.

“It looked like you could use a hand there, Harry,” his old Gryffindor House mate teased him.

“And how! Thanks for saving my arse there, Romilda.”

Romilda beamed saucily at the young man.

“Ah, ah, ah; what did we agree on?”

Harry looked at Romilda for a second, face twisted in confusion.

“Erm...”

“You and I are old school chums, Harry. All my friends call me Rommy,” she flirted as she brushed off an imaginary speck of dust from Harry's shoulder.

“Oh right. Sorry,” he said as he let loose the patented Potter grin.

Romilda had to use all of her control not to lose her balance. Her knees went weak.

“Hey,” said Harry, “Hanes called you Rommy too.”

“That he did.” Romilda placed her hand on her hip and struck a cheeky pose. “What do you think? Romilda Vane-Hanes? Has a nice ring, doesn't it?”

“Sorry sweets, I don't think he goes for your type. You're not nearly masculine enough,” Harry kidded her.

She reached over and gave him a playfully pinch to his bicep.

“Silly boy!” she exclaimed good-humoredly.

The two of them shared a chuckle. Hanes, who had been previously occupied in his office, stuck his head out at the sound of the merriment. He frowned at the sight of Potter and his secretary being so familiar with one another.

“Miss Vane, a word please?”

Romilda swallowed her giggles and turned a serious face towards her boss.

“In a mo, sir!”

Hanes then retreated back into his haven. Harry nearly died trying not to laugh out loud.

“I'm pretty sure that I'm the right type for Army,” Romilda said, showing just how close she must be to the man to use his childhood nickname without the slightest sense of trepidation. The last bloke who did that ended up being demoted down to Hit Wizard, if Harry had heard right.

Absalom Hanes never did quite forgive his brother for that one.

“Besides I've been told I have a rather handsome face.”

Harry was roused from his thoughts as he turned to look at the dark haired beauty fully. She flashed him a charming smile. Harry patted her on the arm and turned to sit in his cushy office chair.

“Just so you know though...” Romilda began as she turned to walk off to Hanes’ office, “I am always open to other offers.”

Harry paused in mid-action. His eyes went wide, and he looked at the woman as if she were oncoming traffic that he was trapped in front of. He tittered nervously as she turned back and flirtatiously winked at him. Harry watched her make her way across the room before he felt he could breathe normally again.

Better Hanes is the Arse than me, he thought to himself.

After taking a moment to be thankful that that little awkward moment was over, Harry made to look at the files on his desk. However before he could open the first one he felt the presence of someone hovering nearby. Or should he say, slithering.

“Tsk, tsk, Potter,” a silky voice drawled. “And to think I had you pegged as a model for committed whipping boys everywhere.”

Harry rolled his eyes havenward and silently begged whatever deity was present to make this day end soon.

“Go away, Malfoy.”

“Of course I can't say that I blame you. Rommy is a tasty li'l bit of crumpet.”

“Go away, Malfoy.”

“She is fucking Hanes in the Arse, though. Well not in the arse mind you but...”

“Go away, Malfoy.”

“...she does have a rather extensive assortment of toys…” he said, then added smarmily, “…or so I hear. So you never know.”

“Haven't you ever heard of boundaries, Malfoy?” Harry exasperatedly asked as he turned to face the young man who was leaning at the opening of his cubicle.

Malfoy just continued to wear that creepy grin that usually made Harry's fist itch to connect with his face. Ages ago, in a fit of boredom, he and Ron had once cataloged every Malfoy smirk and its underlying meaning. The smile that Harry was currently receiving had been dubbed the “I'm smarter than you, plebe”.

Malfoy winked his eye at Harry, and when he got a disgusted huff in return he chortled evilly.

“Oh come Potter; we're all friends here. There are no secrets amongst us now, is there?”

“I hardly think your girlfriend would appreciate it if you started sharing her intimate doings with your work mates,” Harry sniffed.

Malfoy merely bent over and laughed.

“Really Potter! It's all I can do to keep the woman from telling my mother what goes on in our bed, during High Tea.”

Against Harry's will, his face cracked a small smile.

“I see you have the Ptolemy Cadmus file there.”

“Yeah,” Harry replied as he half-heartedly thumbed through the thick folder. “Has the team gotten a trace on him yet?”

Malfoy entered the cubicle and sat partially on the corner of Harry's desk.

“No. The ruddy berk seems to not want to check in at home.”

Harry sighed. They had been trying to locate this new upstart dark wizard for months. He went simply by the name of Cadmus. He was a pyromaniac who used a Peruvian Vipertooth as both his means of weapon and his way to escape the crime scene.

Cadmus was what they labeled in the Department a blood supremacist. He came from a very old line of wizards and witches. However Cadmus differed from most purebloods who placed such high emphasis on bloodlines in that he felt that all magical people (whether pure, half-blooded, or even those born to Muggles) had no business marrying people with no magical pedigree whatsoever.

According to his file his daughter from his first marriage, Harmonia, had married a Muggle when she was only 17. He was a theology student studying near where she lived in West Yorkshire. Cadmus had been against the union, but he could never deny his precious child anything. If she wanted to marry some nancy-boy, so be it. The poor young woman, however, died a few months after the wedding. Her husband burned her alive in their bed. As he was being carted off to an insane asylum shortly after, the Muggle calmly maintained that he had had to kill his wife. She was a witch and the baby that she was carrying would be evil too. The lunatic was found in his cell burnt to a blackened crisp nearly seventy six years later.

Although Harry and his team couldn't be positive, they suspected that the Muggle had been Cadmus' very first victim. The first couple that he was suspected of killing was murdered just under five months ago.

The young Muggle-born groom had been a student at Hogwarts around the same time as the Auror, though Kevin Whitby had been in Hufflepuff and a few years younger than Harry. Young Kevin was a pastry chef by trade who had opened a little bakery in Hogsmeade village. It was located in a less than desirable area of town next to the Hog's Head, but it had become fairly popular in the months before his death. He had recently married his childhood sweetheart, the girl who lived next door to him in his Muggle neighborhood since they had been kids. Whitney Whitby took the good natured ribbing of her new name in stride. She also seemed to take the fact that her brand new husband was a wizard equally as well. Unbeknownst to most, Kevin had long confided in the girl the reasons for his long absences during most of their childhood. Most mornings Whitney could be found at the counter of the Enchanted Truffle pouring coffee and cutting up slices of pound cake for the early rush customers, while Kevin was in back whipping up his mouth watering creations. Sometimes he would do it by hand, sometimes by wand.

The Whitbys had two very happy months together. Before they made it to their three month anniversary, they both burned to death in the store right before the eyes of their regular morning crowd. The only thing that all of the witnesses could agree on was that they briefly saw the shadow of a small dragon fly away after the store started to burn. As far as Hanes' department had been able to piece together, Cadmus' death toll was currently up to eight couples.

“Have we spoken to the wife again?” Harry questioned his colleague.

Malfoy shook his head.

“She isn't talking. All she says is that Toley hasn't been home in a few months.”

Harry pinched the area right under the bridge of his glasses. He closed his eyes and slightly leaned back in his chair.

“Then again,” Malfoy continued, “if my wife were fucking half of wizarding London, I don't think I would be too quick to come home either. The wench must have a vagina like a welly-top!”

Harry stifled a snort as Malfoy continued to jabber on. Sometimes Harry marveled at how surreal his life had turned out to be. Here he was, in his office at the Ministry of Magic, discussing the sexual exploits of the wife of a suspected serial killer with his once childhood adversary.

Had Trelawney foretold such a scene years ago, in one of those hateful Divination classes he reluctantly attended back at Hogwarts, no doubt he and Ron would have shared a hearty laugh and eye roll at it. Then again Sibyll tended to stick strictly to death and destruction when it came to Harry Potter. No matter, it still seemed almost impossible to believe; especially considering the events that transpired at the end of Harry's Sixth Year at Hogwarts. Although Draco Malfoy hadn't been the person wielding the actual wand, Harry strongly considered him partly responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore.

Back when he was 17, in Harry's put away heart, he kept a list. The list was fairly short. It only contained five names. Those names belonged to the people who Harry, before he took his last breath in this world, wanted to make pay. Voldemort and Harry's old Potions professor, Severus Snape, held the top two spots and on any given day switched positions. Bellatrix and Greyback were next on the list in that order. Malfoy sat pretty at number 5.

In the end Harry settled most of his old scores. Although he didn't get to personally finish off Fenrir, he did watch as Remus, in werewolf form, tore out the monster's throat.

Lestrange, who had originally escaped from the final confrontation, was found, some years later, working as a prostitute in Knockturn Alley. The former proud concubine of Lord Voldemort had been reduced to shagging the dregs of society for the spare sickles in their pockets. When a thrifty consumer asked to see the cheapest whore in the house they were shown to Bella's door. She had become a Halcyonian addict, a potion that left the drinker in a state of prolonged calm. She was so completely under the thrall of the draught, that when Harry walked into the little room she occupied, she hadn't even batted an eye.

Later he found out she had assumed he was just another paying customer. Harry was horrified to discover that his visage was one of the most sought after and in demand faces of the illegal Polyjuice sex trade. People either wanted to fuck Harry Potter, or fuck while being him. This was about the time Harry started to grow his hair out. It now sat on his head as a shaggy mop of hair. Long in front, even longer in back. Only Dobby was allowed to clip it on rare occasions. This alleviated Harry of the worry that his precious strands would find their way into the hands of people who would make a profit from them. It also helped to cover his now bare forehead. It seemed that eyes would always drift up there, scar or no scar. Harry thought he had found the perfect solution to make himself seem as ordinary as the next bloke. None of his friends and family had the heart to tell him that he had helped create a mini rage in wizards’ hair fashion.

After witnessing Bellatrix receive The Kiss from one of the last dementors still under the Ministry’s control, Harry had been able to cross out all the names on his list, save one. He had killed Tom after the final Horcrux was destroyed. He had managed to separate Riddle's head from his neck with the use of Godric's sword, the very same sword that Harry used to kill the basilisk in his Second Year. With the last vestiges of Tom's cursed soul decimated he was really an easy target.

And Snape...well...Harry preferred not to think of Snape. All that mattered was that Dumbledore's killer received some sort of justice in the end.

Malfoy, however, was another story. What had been simply a strong dislike for the blond when they were children, had morphed into a burning hatred once Harry had become of age. Although Harry recognized the fact that Malfoy hadn't actually cast the Avada on Dumbledore, in fact the boy seemed terrified to do it, Malfoy had been responsible for the destruction of one of the Hogwarts towers, the year long closing of the school, and most importantly the devastation of so many lives.

Bill Weasley, for one, was one of those most affected. Although he never showed signs of succumbing completely to the werewolf curse after being attacked by Greyback, Bill was never really quite the same. Some of his wounds never fully healed, marring his once dashingly handsome face. He also tended to stare longingly at the full moon for long periods of time on occasion. Harry always suspected that the mauling may have left some psychological scars on Bill; however, his brother-in-law never said a word about it.

If Harry added in all the hurt, humiliation, and pain Malfoy had put those Harry cared about through he figured that Malfoy, as the common Muggle saying went, had it coming. However since he had been low on the totem pole, Harry hadn't spent too much time devising ways to exact revenge on his school rival.

Imagine then his surprise when Draco Malfoy showed up on the doorstep of Hermione's parents' home in Notting Hill one balmy night in August.

After Dumbledore's death The Order needed new headquarters. He had been their Secret Keeper and no one seemed to know exactly how much a Fidelius would be compromised in case of death. Besides with Snape back in Death Eater central, it would be stupid to remain like sitting ducks at Grimmauld waiting for Riddle to make his move. The Burrow was not an option even though the Weasleys swore that they didn't mind.

As usual Hermione offered a solution. Her parents had left for the summer to visit her father's mother in Killarney. Hermione had opted to stay with Harry and Ron, first at Little Whinging, then at the Hollow. To put it mildly, her parents were not very pleased with her decision. If they had known that the fate of the wizarding world was going to be planned at their kitchen breakfast nook they probably would have hog tied their daughter and spirited her away to Ireland with them against her will.

“I DON'T BLOODY WELL CARE!” Hermione shouted at him one night after he asked her one too many times if this all was such a bright idea.

Dedalus Diggle had just exploded her microwave and Hestia Jones was in the living room talking back to the people on the telly.

“There are bigger things right now,” she pressed as she tied her bushy brown hair down into a messy ponytail. She then stalked away from him and went up the stairs to her bedroom, he surmised. He had seen Ron go up a few minutes before, but at the time thought nothing of it.

Tensions were already high in the Muggle house. So of course that was the very evening that Malfoy decided to show his pointy face.

The tiny group that was assembled together that night was waiting for some of their fellow comrades to get back from a fact finding mission. Remus, Shacklebolt, and Charlie Weasley had gone to the Hog's Head to see Dumbledore's brother Aberforth. He had gotten a note through to them by way of Mundungus that he had some vital information that would come in handy to the Order. Harry was hoping it was information on where one of the missing Horcruxes was. So far the Order knew what three of them were; Slytherin's Locket, Hufflepuff's Cup, and thanks to Hermione's brilliant research, Ravenclaw's Pensieve. They just didn't know where any of the bloody items were, or even how to destroy them once they found them. Harry was beginning to think that it was going to take a miracle to solve this.

When Harry heard the doorbell ring, he naturally assumed it was the Order members returning. Hermione had cast repelling charms all around the house to ensure that no Muggles came near it. As far as all of Hermione's neighbors were concerned the Grangers and their charming daughter had all gone to Ireland on holiday. She cast a Fidelius over the house so that no wizard or witch would be able to find them. She made herself the Secret Keeper. That's why Harry was so shocked to find the emaciated looking Slytherin standing on the door step. His hair hung limply on his head, thick with grime. His eyes held no luster and were a dullish gray color.

“Son of a bitch!”

Harry's surprise didn't last long. He hurled himself at Malfoy and the two went crashing down onto the cobbled mews in front of the house. So much adrenaline came rushing through Harry's blood that he didn't even think to use his wand. That is until Malfoy punched him in the nose.

“ARG!” he screamed as he stumbled back from the other boy. His shout brought most of the inhabitants of the house outside, although Harry was too busy to care. As Harry's head lost its dizzying sensation, he reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his wand. By time he got it to Malfoy's neck, he felt an object poking into his Adam’s apple. It was Malfoy's wand.

“What are you going to do, Potter?” Malfoy snarled. The little scuffle had left him winded and he looked like any moment he would pass out.

“Just you wait and see,” Harry replied, low and steady.

That's when the street lights all went out.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

When Harry came to he realized that he was back inside the house lying on Hermione's parents’ huge bed. The large orange blur that was sitting on his chest as he awakened came into focus and he saw that it was Hermione's cat. Crookshanks licked at his paw, oblivious to Harry's return to the living.

Crookshanks wasn't the only party in the bed with him, Harry soon realized. Malfoy was lying right beside him; still knocked out. The last thing Harry remembered was hearing Hermione's voice shout out a disarming spell.

At the thought of her name, the young witch in question came into view. She was standing at the foot of the bed with her back turned to him. There was very little light in the room, but he could tell that she was wearing her red Gryffindor dressing gown. Although he couldn't see her face from his vantage point, he could see her reflection in the mirror in front of her. Her head was bent down examining the engravings of a golden cup she held in her hands. Harry's heart froze. He had seen this cup before.

“Hermione,” Harry whispered; his voice strangled with fear.

She whirled around as if surprised to find him in the same room with her. Her big unblinking eyes found his and her lips parted as if to speak. Before she could, her attention was drawn to Malfoy's form instead. He was beginning to stir.

“Hermione, put the Cup down,” Harry softly pleaded.

Hermione brought her eyes back to his.

“But Harry–”

“Please, Hermione! You don't understand. I've seen that Cup before.”

And he had, in Dumbledore's Pensieve.

“Harry just listen–”

“He thinks your hand will disintegrate into dust.”

Both Harry and Hermione turned their heads to look at Malfoy. For the first time since coming to, Harry realized that his head was about all he could move.

“That's Helga Hufflepuff's Cup you hold there, my dear Granger.” Malfoy pronounced her name as if he was speaking a curse.

“I know,” Hermione softly responded.

She walked over and sat on the edge of the bed in front of Harry, half-turning her body to face the two boys. She held the Cup in her lap. She shooed the part kneazle off of Harry's chest, and watched him pad across the room, swishing his bottle-brush tail to and fro, before turning her attention back to the pair on the bed.

“Professor Lupin and the rest got back shortly after he,” she looked pointedly at Malfoy, “arrived.”

“Should we be speaking of this in front of him?” Harry asked, his brow line creased with worry.

“If we need to we can Obliviate him.” She turned hateful eyes towards their captive. “I won't hesitate.”

“You would be a fool if you did, Granger,” Malfoy told her.

The way the two of them stared angrily at each other, Harry almost felt as if he were somehow intruding. He wondered if he should leave the room. The problem was he seemed to be frozen in place.

“Um...Hermione–”

“I cast a Body-Bind on you two,” she said cutting him off.

“Why me?”

“Because I figured we had better find out why Malfoy came here before you tried to kill him,” she said with a rather superior sounding sniff.

He really hated it when she talked to him like he was all of 5 years old.

Harry turned his body towards the Slytherin as best as he could.

“How the hell did you find the place, Ferret?”

“I followed Mudblood's stench here,” he said nastily.

Harry made a guttural sound in the back of his throat and thrashed around on the bed as if he could throw off Hermione's spell that way. He was going to annihilate Malfoy!

“Harry, be still,” Hermione chided. She put down the golden Cup, drew out her wand and pointed it at her empty hand. Before Harry could blink, a glass vial, filled with what looked like water, appeared in it.

“Is that what I think it is?” Harry could barely hide the awe in his voice. The making of Veritaserum was no small undertaking. Besides being very difficult to brew, there were also many strict Ministry regulations on it. Hermione was violating some serious rules. He figured she really must have meant business when she said that there were bigger things.

“Do you know what this is, Malfoy?” Hermione asked the blond on the bed. Her voice took on a chilling note.

Harry had heard her speak this way only once before. Cold. Threatening. Inhuman almost. It made Harry's blood run cold to hear it again. She then proceeded to crawl on the bed and before Harry realized it, Hermione had straddled Malfoy's lap. Harry was too stunned for words.

“C'mon Drakey-poo, surely you know what this is?”

Malfoy looked at her as if he were staring into the face of a banshee. He gulped nervously before finally stammering out a shaky reply.

“V-Veritaserum.”

“Good boy.” She smiled down at him venomously. There was nothing of the Hermione Granger that Harry knew in that smile.

She looked at the vial in her hand. “You know Drakey, if I were to pour all of this down your gullet...”

Malfoy gulped again.

“It would make you spill all of your deepest, darkest secrets.”

She looked him in his eyes again.

“Got anything to hide, Drakey?”

Neither Harry nor Hermione missed Malfoy's quick intake of breath.

“Like if you've ever had a homoerotic dream...”

Malfoy's eyes got huge.

“...and of whom? Or how old you were when you last wet the bed, perhaps?”

Hermione then giggled wickedly as a brand new, brilliantly horrific idea entered her head.

“I might even bring Ron in here and have him watch as I ask you about the last time you fantasized about me.”

At this Malfoy began pitching around the bed madly trying to shake Hermione off of him. Ron might not have been that scary with a wand, but he more than made up for that fact with his fists. Hermione wasn't budging, though.

“Yes. That's what I think I'll do. And then I'll leave him alone in the room with you and lock the door so you both can rationally discuss the matter.”

“I've never...HOW DARE YOU...YOU FILTHY BITCH!”

Hermione then leaned down and whispered something in Malfoy's ear. Harry tried his best, but he couldn't hear what she told him. Whatever it was though made Malfoy stop cold. The two of them locked gazes.

“Of course you could just answer whatever questions Harry and I put to you honestly and we won't even have to resort to this,” she said as sweetly as a viper.

Malfoy looked at the vial in her hand. He turned and looked back at her. He sighed as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He closed them as a look of defeat became clearly evident on his face.

“Fine,” he whimpered in a bratty little voice that reminded Harry of the 11 year old boy getting his robes fitted.

Hermione pointed her wand at Harry and muttered something under her breath. Harry instantly felt free of the binding curse. Hermione, however, didn't move from her position over Malfoy.

She really needs to get the hell up off him, thought Harry grumpily to himself.

He then got off the bed and walked to the end where Hufflepuff's Cup was. He picked it up and looked at the badger engraved on the front. Without question, this was the right cup. Harry shivered as he realized that he was now holding a piece of Tom Riddle's sick soul in his hands.

“How did you find my house?”

Harry turned back to the bed.

“You told me where it was,” Malfoy limply answered.

“GIVE HIM THE POTION HERMIONE!” Harry ordered; his voice full of irritation.

“Granger did tell me! Back in Third Year I made a crack about her being nothing but a poor dirty Mudblood and Granger here was quick to inform me how wrong I was.”

Malfoy then proceeded to do a surprisingly good impersonation of the Gryffindor girl.

“'My mum and dad are Denty-tist. I live in Notting Hill. I can walk to Portabello...my house is on St. Luke's'. Blah blah blah blah...BLAH!”

Hermione's face went scarlet.

“I have a near perfect memory, Granger. I figured I might need that information later so I looked the rest up. It appears that I was right.”

Harry had reached his limit.

“Malfoy, I am going to pour that truth serum down your throat my–”

“He's telling the truth, Harry.”

Harry looked at Hermione incredulously.

“I remember that day. He's telling the truth. If someone already knows where a house under the Fidelius is they can still find it. They just can't tell anyone else about it.”

“Very smart, Granger. Now would you please do me the kind favor of getting your FAT ARSE OFF OF ME?!”

Hermione quickly removed herself from Malfoy and climbed down from the bed in a snit. She then stomped her way over to stand next to Harry. By the look on her face she didn't seem to appreciate Malfoy's estimation of her backside's girth.

“Gladly!” she snippily said.

“Finally!”

“Honestly!”

“ENOUGH!” Harry was ready for some real answers. “Why did you bring this here?” he asked Malfoy, raising the Cup.

“I wanted to have tea and crumpets with you.”

“MALFOY!” Harry and Hermione both bellowed.

“Look Potter, my father was murdered during that raid at Azkaban Prison.”

At this both Gryffindors looked at him, shocked at the news. “The Great Breakout”, as all the newspapers were calling it, had only happened a few days prior.

“His body just turned up last night in front of the Ministry. The Prophet tomorrow morning is going to claim suicide, but the truth is my father had outlived his usefulness to the Dark Lord.”

At this Malfoy’s voice choked. His body nearly came off the bed.

“My mother has gone into hiding in Switzerland. Thankfully we have family there who has remained neutral through out all of this, so she should be safe for now. I'm not sure if I'll ever see her again, though.”

“Malfoy I'm so sor–”

“Don't you dare pity me, Granger!” he spat out.

Hermione was so taken aback by his vehemence that she grabbed Harry's hand for comfort. She looked down at their clasped hands and instantly let go, blushing.

“You lot are supposed to be the good guys, right? Well, I'm here! I'm throwing myself at your mercy because I can't ever go home again. I've brought you the bloody Cup. We both know what it is, but I'm the only one in this room who knows how to destroy it. Now are we all going to piss around each other all goddamned day or what?!”

The room was momentarily silent after his outburst. Malfoy crumpled back onto the sheets panting, his right arm thrown across his forehead. He looked like he had run a marathon. He was so exhausted that he hadn't noticed Hermione lifting the Body-bind from him. Harry, however, did. Before he could ask her about it, she grabbed his arm and steered him out of the room. He was still holding the Cup. As she was closing the door, her cat squeezed his way pass the small opening before Hermione could trap his tail in the jamb. He turned up his squashed face and tossed them both a cross look before heading down the stairs.

“Sorry, Crooks,” Hermione called after the disgruntled ginger fur ball before turning back to the bedroom door and muttering a locking spell over it.

She then turned her attention to Harry.

“I still have his wand if that's what you’re worried about.”

It was almost unnerving how she could do that.

“He's completely exhausted, though. I doubt that the Ferret is going to get up to anything much tonight.”

Harry agreed with this assessment. Malfoy looked as weak as a new born kitten. Harry almost chuckled at the comparison. One look at Hermione's stern face made that amusement die quickly.

“He's telling the truth, you know.”

“I wish we could be sure,” Harry replied. “Maybe we should make him drink the truth serum anyway.”

Hermione gravely shook her head.

“See the problem with that scenario is that we have no Veritaserum to give him. Bottoms up!”

Hermione lifted the vial to her lips and downed the contents in one swift gulp.

“Ahh...refreshing.”

Harry looked at her as if she had grown whiskers...AGAIN!

“Hermione!”

“Plain ordinary tap water,” she explained as she dropped the vial and her wand into the pocket of her dressing gown. “I haven't been able to get the necessary ingredients to actually make a proper truth telling potion.”

Harry looked at her in awe. She had just played the Prat of Slytherin house, and won.

“I still believe he is telling the truth. I've been doing research and have seen pictures of Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. That's it, Harry.” She pointed at the Cup as if to emphasize her point.

“I know. But it makes no sense. Why would he bring us the Cup?”

“Oh Harry, don't go looking gift thestrals in the mouth!” When he huffed irritably at the old wizarding proverb, she said more patiently, “If Draco Malfoy is a spy, why would Voldemort allow a very powerful weapon that we could possibly use against him, walk right into our hands?”

“I don't know, ok! But I do know Dumbledore is dead because of him.”

“Stop it, Harry!” She had grabbed him by both shoulders and gave him a shake. “Stop it now! You told us that Snape was the person who put the Avada Kedavra on the Headmaster.”

“Well he was but–”

“And that Malfoy tried to, but he couldn't go through with it.”

“He couldn't but–”

“Well then! If the reason why he couldn't kill Dumbledore is the same reason he has brought the Cup to us, you very well can't take out some childish grudge on him, can you?”

“But–”

“Well?!” she asked challengingly through gritted teeth, arms flailing about. The two of them were damn near nose to nose.

“I was right about him before. I told you that he was up to something and you didn't believe me!”

Hermione's tense expression instantly softened into one of hurt and remorse.

“You're right, Harry. I should have trusted you.”

She grabbed a hold of one of his hands and held tight to it as her eyes moistened.

“I am so sorry for not believing in you when I should have. As long as I live I will never do that again. But can you please just trust me on this?” she begged.

“Alright! Alright! You win! But so help me Hermione if he compromises headquarters–”

“I'll be personally responsible for him,” she primly replied.

Harry just shook his head irritably as she dropped his hand. Hermione could be so stubborn at times.

“Look, like I said, Malfoy isn't going anywhere tonight. I'm going to head off to bed myself. I'm knackered.”

And as if to emphasize the point, she stretched her arms and yawned.

“We can gather what Order members we have here in the morning and do an in-depth question and answer session then.”

The three teens were all of age and had officially become members of the Order not too long ago, much to Mrs. Weasley's dismay.

“Sounds good to me,” said Harry mid-yawn.

Hermione crinkled her nose and gave him a small smile.

“You should go to bed as well.”

“Yeah, well maybe I wouldn't be so tired if someone wasn't using me as a human spell cushion.”

She giggled.

“First you knock me around, then you bind me up. How did you make all the street lights go out by the way?”

“Oh that? Mr. Moody gave me his Put-Outer.”

“Wicked! He seems to have taken a little shine to you,” Harry teased.

“Honestly.” She rolled her eyes yet she couldn't hide the pleased smile that was threatening to break out across her face.

Harry looked back towards the bedroom door.

“I still want to kick his arse.”

“I tell you what, if we're all still alive by then, I'll let you two use him as a human piñata for Ron's birthday.”

Harry could barely contain his chortle.

“Promises. Hey, where is Ron by the way?”

For the first time Harry realized that he hadn't seen his other best friend since Malfoy's arrival. Hermione blushed and fiddled with the tie of her dressing gown.

“Oh, he fell asleep,” she said, barely looking Harry in the eyes, “in my bed.”

Harry's eyebrows shot up.

“Oh I like that. Like I'm some tart! We were just talking and he fell asleep,” dismissed Hermione.

Harry snickered to cover up the oddly relieved breath he had let out. Why he was relieved, he wasn't sure, he did, however, have to force himself to concentrate on the rest of what Hermione was saying.

“Well what do you expect; the boy would sleep through a goblin rebellion even if it played itself out on his duvet.”

“He definitely slept through enough lectures about them in Binns’ class to last a lifetime,” joked Harry.

“Laugh if you will, but as I recall Mr. Potter you used to be there drooling along onto your parchment right beside him.”

Harry mock scowled at her. Hermione innocently smiled back. She then turned to walk down the hall to go up to her room.

“Night,” she called over her shoulder.

As Harry watched her sashay away, hips swinging back and forth enticingly, not for the first time in the last few weeks did he think to himself what a lucky bastard Ron was. Then he quickly banished the thought from his head.

Five weeks after that night Draco Malfoy officially joined the Order of the Phoenix. Regrettably Harry and Ron never got a chance to go at him with large sticks. Hermione welched on the deal. Although Malfoy and Harry never really became friends, they both eventually came to respect each other. Malfoy's contribution to the fall of Tom Riddle was nothing small. After the end of the Second Great War, Malfoy remained a presence in their lives. Harry sometimes groaned at the thought of how much of a presence he remained.

When Harry joined the Auror ranks Malfoy had already been in the Department for a few years. Harry's superior had thought it a perfectly brilliant idea to make the two war heroes partners. And so their current relationship came to pass. In the field Harry couldn't ask for a better backup. He trusted his old school mate. He relied on him.

He just didn't like the bastard much.

“Potter! Did you hear a word I just said?”

Harry's attention focused back onto the blond.

“Erm...”

“As I thought; here,” Malfoy drawled slipping a picture into Harry's hands. “The wife gave it to us; a picture of the darling daughter who started this whole mess.”

Harry looked down at the moving photo. It was so old that the sepia toned image moved slower than normal. The teen aged girl in the picture waved at him and Harry's heart stopped.

“Merlin's beard!”

“You see it too then?” Malfoy asked. “Good. I nearly thought someone was playing a late April's fool on me when she handed it over.”

Harry's hands, still clutching the photo, began to tremble. Although the hairstyle was different, the woman in the picture resembled Hermione Granger, Harry's best friend, at the age of 17. The same Cupid's bow mouth, the same large brown eyes, the same long dark hair; Harmonia's was just bone straight as opposed to the bushy mass that belonged to the other girl. They even appeared to have the same bone structure and be about the same height, 5 feet 6 inches. Hermione, however, had been slightly heavier than this girl. Though never fat, Hermione did tend to be rounder than most of the other girls in her circle.

“But how?” Harry asked, hoping his partner could make more sense out of it.

“No clue. But it is quite creepy in'it? Similar names too.”

“Could they be distantly related somehow?”

Malfoy shook his head.

“Already checked into that. As far as we could find, the answer is a decided no.”

“Bugger!”

“You're telling me,” Malfoy said as he lifted himself from off of Harry's desk. “Although for once I'm sort of glad that Hermione is off traipsing around the Sates, I tell you.”

Harry simply nodded his head.

“Well I better go before Hanes starts making his random desk checks, the plonker!”

And with that Malfoy exited the cubicle.

Five minutes later found Harry still looking at the old moving photograph. What the hell is going on, he wondered to himself. Eventually he placed the picture in with the rest of the Cadmus file. Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes closed. The resemblance between the two females was not only mystifying, but also worrisome. If asked why, Harry wouldn't have been able to put it into words, but without a doubt he had a bad feeling about all of this. He had to agree with Malfoy, he too was glad Hermione was somewhere safe from all of this insanity, far away living in America.

Harry only wished he knew where.

“I'm right here Harry.”

Harry quickly looked up to see the woman who had made him late for work sitting comfortably on his desk.

“Hermione?” he asked tentatively.

“Who else would it be, silly?” she asked with a smirk.

You don't want to know.

Harry looked at the vision. Hermione was dressed in her old Hogwarts uniform; a pleated woolen skirt, a white Oxford shirt, and a pair of white knee socks. She was missing her Mary Janes and her Gryffindor colored striped tie, though. Her shirt was also unbuttoned to her bosom. Harry could see the smooth skin of her breasts that the simple white cotton bra, with its pretty pink bow in the middle, did not cover. Harry half-suspected that she didn't have any knickers on.

Hermione moved her right foot to rest on the desk.

Yes, she definitely wasn't wearing knickers.

Somehow Harry figured that none of this was regulation student wear at all. Harry leaned back in his chair to peek out his cubicle door. There wasn't another soul in the whole office as far as the eye could see.

I get it, the little voice in his head said, I'm sleeping. I'm having another dream.

Hermione grabbed his tie and pulled his chair back towards her.

“You didn't answer the question. Who else would it be, Harry?” she asked again. Her voice sounded far sexier than the bossy words implied.

Harry gulped. “No one, luv.”

Of course he was dreaming. Even though Hermione was wearing her Hogwarts uniform she was as he last saw her, a stunning 20 year old woman, as evidenced by the fact that she was practically popping out of her get up. Her dark hair was halfway down her back. She had started wearing it that long because it tended to wave and not look so frizzy at that length. Her skin was a medium tan colored shade. She had taken to sunning herself on her terrace every chance the weather was right enough. After taking a vacation in Ibiza with Glinda, she had come back saying that she was tired of looking like a pale, colorless English woman. To which Ron replied that she looked that way because she was a pale, colorless English woman. Hermione then informed him that he better get well acquainted with his hand because she was never going to allow him to touch her ever, ever again. Her eyes...

“Ahem.”

Harry looked back at Hermione. She now had her shirt fully unbuttoned and she was rubbing her left breast through the cotton of her bra. Harry could see the faint impression of a nipple straining against the material. Her right hand was teasingly playing with the edge of her skirt giving him a tempting peek of what was barely hidden underneath it.

“Am I going to just sit here all day long with nothing to do?” she asked with an adorable pout.

I am a sick sad bastard, Harry thought to himself.

Then he moved his chair closer to the desk.

A/N: Next up is Ron's POV. Things to look forward to: Lavender, wedding planning, and how the Heron finally got it together...before blowing apart.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Chief Auror Armistead Hanes, Absalom Hanes, Whitney Whitby, Ptolemy Cadmus, and Harmonia Cadmus are canon.

2) The Fidelius Charm is slightly off canon for the purposes of this story. In other words I goofed. :).

3) Cadmus was a Greek mythological hero who founded the city of Thebes after killing a water dragon. Cadmus' queen was Harmonia (goddess of harmony and concord), the daughter of Ares and Aphrodite. In his old age, plagued by misfortune, Cadmus asked the gods to turn him into a dragon. Upon seeing his transformation, Harmonia asked for the same fate.

4) Darthmont Prison, the Shrouded Asp brothel, the Halcyonian potion, and The Enchanted Truffle bakery are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

4. Chapter 3

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 15,699

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: Tons of R/LB action and some background on how Ron and Hermione eventually got together. They were once VERY much a couple. If that kind of talk makes you angsty you might want to hit the little red X. You have been warned.

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.

Thursday, 05/26/05

“I'm a house-elllllf for you

I can't fight it; I'm not trying to hide it

I'm a house-ellllf for you

I can't fight it; I'm not trying to hide it”

As he opened his right eye, the one not currently pressed into his pillow, and caught his first ray of sunlight; Ron Weasley silently cursed his inability to no longer be a heavy sleeper. When he was a teenager he could sleep through any disturbance, probably due to the fact that he had to put up with a certain ghoul clanging above his head through out most of his childhood. His friends used to jokingly say he could sleep through a hippogriff stampede and they weren't really that far off.

That was then.

After the War...not so much. Just about any creaking noise in the night would jolt Ron awake. He had gotten progressively better, though. At first he would always wake-up, wand at the ready. Being tortured by a maniac would have that effect on anyone. But seven years since those dark days had tempered that impulse reaction to defend his life.

Ron rose to a sitting position in his bed and stretched his sore and aching muscles. He was exhausted! All day Wednesday he and the rest of his team mates had been put through their paces by Russell Talbot, his Wimbourne Wasp team captain. The team was just one win away from taking the British Cup, and just needed to defeat the Arrows to do so. The game would be played on June 4th. Ron was terribly excited. He was finally on a winning team! Although in his heart he would always be a faithful Cannons fan (he always rooted for the under dogs in life), he had to admit that his ego took one too many hits during his few years on the Chudley squad.

When Wimbourne made the bid to bring him on as their Keeper, Ron at first was annoyed that the Cannons were so willing to trade him. But then he saw the money that the Wasps would be paying him and that dried up his annoyance quickly. He soon realized that the Wasps wanted him because they thought that his talents were being wasted at Chudley. That gave him a huge sense of pride, as well as a much needed ego boost. Back when he was 18 he was barely able to get a job as the Cannons reserve Keeper, but at 24 he was being courted by the top franchise in the league. After one year with his new team he was about to play for his first British Cup and might actually get picked for the English National Team. Plus he would get to play against Wood's team. The thought of destroying Appleby made the thought that much sweeter!

“I'm a house-elllllf for you

I can't fight it; I'm not trying to hide it

I'm a house-ellllf for you

I can't fight it; I'm not trying to hide it”

Ron winced as he heard the nowhere near dulcet tones of his girlfriend...fiancée...floating out of the bathroom connected to his bedroom. Lavender was many things; gorgeous, sexy, funny, caring. But a singer, she was not. She usually sang when she was in the shower, much to his anguish, so he usually tried to keep her occupied to spare his eardrums the distress. But this morning he was much too tired to initiate their usual morning activities.

Normally Ron's morning would begin with a quickie in the shower with Lav before heading over to the Burrow for breakfast while she went home. Lavender officially lived with her mother in Exeter, but she spent so much time in his and George's flat that most of her clothes and other assortments were there. There was, however, no room for her shoe collection. Lavender always had to pop back home to get the right pair of shoes to match her robes. She also had to pick up her 4 year old daughter, Violet. After bathing and dressing the little girl, the two of them would Apparate over to the Burrow to eat with Ron, his parents, Bill, Fleur and their four children; Marcel, Lionel, Rosemary, and Dashiel who all lived in the old Weasley family home. Every now and then George would drop by for a quick bite.

After eating, Arthur would portkey over to the Ministry with Marc, Leo, and Vi in tow. The Ministry had instituted one of the best day schools for the children of wizards only a few years ago, and Arthur's high position made it possible for his grandchildren and Vi to be students there. Rosie, not yet 3 years old, and Dash, just turning 18 months were still far too young to attend.

With Vi taken care of, Ron would then go to his team's pitch in Dorset and Lavender would make herself busy...doing something. Ron was never quite sure what Lavender did in her spare time when she wasn't at his side. He suspected it involved a lot of shopping. Her dead husband had left her a sizable inheritance when he kicked.

Today, however, was different. Ron was taking the day off to go with Lavender into town to see their wedding planner. He couldn't help but grin to himself every time he thought of his impending marriage in little less than one month’s time. Asking Lavender to marry him was one of the best decisions he had ever made. Friday afternoon after practice he was going to make another important decision that involved him, Lav, and a certain little strawberry blonde princess who owned his heart as well. In Ron's opinion life just couldn't get any better!

“I can't fight it; I'm not trying to hide it”

Although if Lavender decided to stop singing that would go a long way to help.

Ron heard the running water of the shower stop. He moved his long, hulking body to the end of the bed, stretched out on his bare stomach, and patiently awaited Lavender's emergence from the bathroom. After a bit, the lady came into the room.

“Morning love,” she said sunnily as she adjusted the large white towel wrapped around her still dripping hair.

“Morning,” he gruffly answered as she stooped down and placed a quick kiss on his lips. The movement made her thin silky purple dressing gown gape open a bit and Ron caught a quick glimpse of a milky mound before she righted herself and strengthened the tie of her robe. The little Weasley in Ron's black and orange boxers instantly made its presence known. Maybe he wasn't as tired as he thought.

“Eww,” Lavender admonished playfully, “morning breath.” She crinkled her nose. “No morning nookie for you I'm afraid.”

She turned to walk to her dressing mirror, but Ron grabbed her hand and pulled her down so that she got on her knees before the bed and was face level with him.

“You usually like my morning breath. And the gunk in the corner of my eyes too,” he teased, his lips curling into a sexy smile that almost made Lavender woozy.

She ran her fingers through his flame colored hair and scratched behind his ear; an act she knew turned him on greatly.

“Of course I do, luv. I love everything about you,” she said sweetly and kissed him again, this time deeper than the one before. “But this morning we have plans,” she remarked after breaking the kiss. She then got up and made her way to the chair before her dressing table. “So no nookie!”

“We could always reschedule, ya' know.”

Lavender turned from her mirror and looked at Ron, a cute pout gracing her face.

“You know we can't do that. The engagement party is Sunday. Sunday! There just isn't enough time. Moreover, our appointment is with the owner. She doesn't just take on any old body. We can't miss it!”

Ron rolled his eyes. He didn't know why they even needed a wedding planner. He was certain that his mother and Ginny could do a fine enough job for them.

“Besides,” she began nervously, “we still are going to the Ministry tomorrow to...you know. Right?” The unsure look that crossed her face almost tore at his heart.

“Of course we are,” he reassured her. “After tomorrow our little girl will officially be considered a Weasley.”

Lavender smiled prettily at that statement.

“I just don't see why we can't be a little...late,” he said, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

“Won-Won,” she sing-songingly whinged using the pet name she gave him back in their schooldays. “Don't you want to marry me?” That pout was doing very bad things to his libido.

“More than anything,” Ron replied honestly.

That won him another glowing smile before Lavender turned back to her mirror and began her morning beauty regiment.

“Did my singing wake you?”

Ron had momentarily closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep when her question interrupted him. It was a long running joke between them that her singing left much to be desired.

“What; wake me?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Never! These bags under my eyes are only decoration.”

She stuck out her tongue at him teasingly as she began to vigorously rub a sweet scented cream onto her hands, arms, and elbows.

“By the way, what was that you were singing anyways? It sounded more like noise than music.”

“That was only one of the biggest songs out right now on the wireless. It's from The Gorgons, you know, that group with the three slutty witches who don't wear much clothing. One of them went to Hogwarts with us. If I remember right, she didn't seem to like to wear much clothing then either. Or knickers, for that matter. She was constantly in detention with Filch, though I don't think he minded much.”

“She was a few years younger than us, wasn't she?”

“Yes, but still. Any-the-hoo, they take these old Muggle songs and totally revitalize them for the wireless. It's all the rage!”

“And still I say noise,” he cracked derisively.

Lavender answered him in kind by tossing one of her bottles at him. It sailed over Ron's head and bounced off of his bottom before hitting the floor.

“Oi! Watch the goods!”

“Oh I'd never want to damage the goods. Did I hurt you?”

“Yes, my bum is still sore from sitting on my broom all day.”

“Sorry, luv,” she innocently apologized as she lotioned her long, lovely legs.

Ron momentarily forgot his annoyance at his girlfri...fiancée to admire them.

“Talbot still working you lot like mad?”

“The man is obsessed! But it all will be well worth it to see the look on the Scotsman's face when we topple Appleby.”

“I would think you would care about winning the cup more than some stupid old grudge against Oliver Wood,” she muttered as she began to put the cream on at a more furious pace. Ron couldn't help but hear the slight edge in her voice.

“Of course winning the title will be right nice, Lav. It would be my first. Harry in his day won three. I've got to catch up. But still it would be nice to take Wood down a peg or two,” he confessed, narrowing his eyes.

Lavender merely huffed. Ron knew exactly why Lavender was annoyed. She thought that he was still jealous of the burly Scotsman. That couldn't be further from the truth. He just hated the git!

Ron lifted himself up from the bed and walked over to Lavender. He knew he had to do some serious damage control. He placed his hands lovingly on Lavender's narrow shoulders and placed his chin affectionately on the top of her towel wrapped head. He gazed at their reflections in the mirror as she willfully ignored him by trying to apply her make-up.

“Just think,” he said in a wheedling tone, “of all the bragging rights you’re going to have when your future husband comes home the big, conquering hero.”

She failingly tried to smother her smile.

Lavender met his eyes in the mirror and said, “You've always been my hero.”

His heart fluttered, and Ron briefly cursed himself for the pansy he was becoming in his old age. He kissed the top of her head and was about to walk over to the bathroom when his eyes landed on a thick book on the table before her.

“What's this?” he asked as he reached to pick it up. “From Shakespeare to the Beatles: A Comprehensive Study of the Muggle Arts,” he said, reading the title out loud as he went to sit on the bed. He could hardly contain his laughter. “Are you serious?”

“Don't you dare laugh! I was never more embarrassed than I was last week at the Burrow.”

A week prior he and Lavender had dined with his parents and a few of his father's staff from the Ministry. After the War a new department was formed, The Department of Magical/Muggle Brethren Affairs. Its intention was to make the relationship between the two societies run more smoothly then it had in the past. Arthur Weasley was promoted to head the office. His family couldn't have been more proud of the newly minted Liaison to the Muggle World, his prestigious sounding title. Arthur was ecstatic that he could finally study his favorite subject in earnest without being made a laughing stock for it. He had a small staff, but they were dedicated and the most knowledgeable when it came to anything Muggle.

“What the bleeding hell is a Posh and a Becks anyway?” Lavender grumped.

“Dunno, disease maybe?” he offered.

“Well whatever it is I'll know next time,” she said. “You know how important it is to me that your father likes me.”

“Dad likes you!”

“Maybe. But not as much as he liked...her,” Lavender said as the steady hand that was applying her eye-liner faltered. She silently swore as she smudged the line, then tried to correct it.

At first Ron didn't know how to answer that remark, but he tried to make his way around it.

“Lav, I told you, if you want to stay in good with the Weasleys you have to butter up me mum.”

“Pish posh, your mum adores me,” she arrogantly said. “She's always after to baby-sit Violet, isn't she?”

Lavender examined the various shades of lipstick on her dresser and selected a frosted pink color.

“Besides it's your father who always acts uncomfortably whenever I'm around. You would think that he didn't want you to marry me.”

Ron hated to admit it, but Lavender sort of had a point. Arthur was a tad cool towards Lavender, although he would deny this accusation wholly when confronted with it. The truth was that the Weasley patriarch would always have a soft spot in his heart for Hermione, Ron's former girlfriend. He had come to regard her as a second daughter over the years, especially after she went to work for him at the Ministry as his Administrative Assistant. It was a very lofty position for a girl not yet in her 20's. After Arthur had offered Hermione the job she had mulled over the decision for days. She had been torn between taking the offer, or going into the two year training program at St. Mungo's. Though the opportunity Arthur was offering her was tempting, Hermione still had her doubts.

“Isn't it a bit like nepotism?” she asked worriedly.

“No, it's a lot like nepotism actually,” replied Ron.

It was the summer just after the end of the War, and at the time his recent break-up with Hermione was still fresh and he was still bitter. Despite that fact, they were trying to maintain their friendship, even living together with Harry in a Diagon Alley flat.

“You know you would be brilliant at it, Hermione. This job would be perfect for you,” Harry assured her. “And who would be better at bridging the gap between Muggles and wizards than a Muggle-born?”

That answer was enough to make her smile.

“Besides I'll wager three quarters of the stiffs at the Ministry got there because of someone they knew,” Ron said which earned him a swat to the head from Harry and barely a scowl from Hermione. He had recently started dating Lavender again to make Hermione jealous, but all it seemed to do was make her indifferent. “Well it's true! That's how dad got in. Uncle Gideon put in a good word for him to hear mum tell it.”

“Never mind all that, Hermione just take the job,” Harry pressed.

Hermione ended up taking Harry's advice. And as predicted she was more than brilliant at it. Arthur called her his right hand. No one was sadder that Ron and Hermione couldn't work out the issues between them more than Arthur Weasley.

“Maybe he's just in awe of your stunning good looks,” Ron mused trying to diffuse the uneasy silence in the room made by Lavender's last remark.

“Or maybe I'm just not the girl he wanted you to marry.”

Lavender rose up from her seat and walked to Ron's nearly bursting closet to the left of the bed to choose something to wear. In truth, most of the clothes in there were hers.

As Ron watched her every move, he sighed to himself softly. He'd hoped that Lavender wouldn't notice Arthur's reticence to their relationship, but it looked like she had. Lavender could be accused of being flighty, an airhead, and scatter-brained, but she was no idiot. She was usually well skilled at reading people. That's why he supposed she tried so hard to win his father's approval, even going so far as to read just about every book on Muggles she could find so she could have some bit of knowledge to impress him with. Ron had almost thought it a gag when he found her Muggles for Dummies book a few months prior.

Lavender had never really been interested in anything Muggle before then. She didn't even take the Muggle Studies course back at Hogwarts. But one thing Ron had come to learn over the years was that Lavender Brown was one of the most determined witches he would ever meet. She had been intent that eventually she would be Mrs. Ron Weasley and it looked like she was finally going to get her way. So now she was unwavering in her goal to win over his whole family. His mother and Ginny liked her. Bill, Percy, and their spouses got along well with her. Charlie seemed to find her charming. Harry, the twins, and Glinda tolerated her. All that was left was for Arthur to come around. Knowing Lav's commitment to achieving this goal Ron highly doubted that this wouldn't eventually happen.

“I think the Prophet will run a notice about the party either today or tomorrow.”

Lavender was walking back towards the bed, a huge haul of robes and other clothing in her arms. She unloaded them onto the bed, rummaged through them a bit, and chose a smart gray skirt set out of the pile. She held it up along with salmon colored robes to go with. Ron nodded his head in approval. Ron loved the fact that she appreciated his opinion on her clothing and that she seriously took into consideration his likes and dislikes when she dressed. It made him feel appreciated. Needed.

“Is Daphne going to be at the party?” he asked.

“I should hope so. It will all be for nothing if it doesn't make the papers.” Lavender had already crossed back to the closet with the reject outfits, so she missed his quirked eyebrow at the remark.

“Well even if she doesn't Luna will be there,” Ron replied. “Ginny said that the Quibbler would definitely run something about the Commencement ceremony.”

Lavender walked back to the bed, a disgruntled look on her face.

“Oh goodie, the Quibbler. I wonder if it's going to be next to the article on how to breed a pygmy Cyclops.”

“Lav, be nice,” Ron warned putting down her book and folding his arms before him. Although he would occasionally tell a joke at Luna's expense, he did not take kindly to other's mocking her.

“I am being nice,” she countered. “I invited your ex-girlfriend to my engagement party didn't I?”

In answer to her question, Ron only fixed her with a stern eye.

“Oh Won-Won, don't look at me like that.”

Lavender walked over to Ron where he sat on the messy bed, and placed her arms lovingly around his neck.

“It's just that Loony Lovegood makes me so nervous,” she said trying to get him to understand her point of view. “She's just...it's just...ARG! She's so bloody weird Ron! You never know what she's going to say at a moments notice,” Lavender cried, clearly vexed at the conversation.

“Cor! That's half the fun of Luna Lovegood,” Ron answered her.

“I don't see why you're so bloody anxious to have her over at the Burrow. You know she's just going to bring that wanker boyfriend of hers.”

“Git's not half-good enough for her!” Ron said tersely.

Lavender looked down into Ron's face stonily.

“You know, if I didn't know better I would think you still had feelings for Lovegood.”

Ron hardly paid the accusation any mind. He knew Lavender like a book, and knew that she wasn't jealous of Luna in the least.

“I'm marrying you aren't I?”

“You almost married her didn't you?”

“Yes, and we both no why I didn't, don't we?” he answered shrewdly.

Lavender blushed at the statement all the way to the edge of the towel still wrapped around her head.

“Point taken,” she bashfully said.

He grinned at her embarrassment and she good-humoredly returned the grin.

“Listen, luv, I'm going to finish my hair in the bathroom. Then, after I'm done, I suggest you take a shower.” She gathered up the outfit that they had chosen.

“Are you trying to tell me I stink?” he joshingly asked as he placed his rather large mitts on either side of her waist.

“Mmm...Only of sky, and testosterone, and quaffles; my favorite smells,” Lavender said dreamily. “However I don't think Madame Borghese will appreciate your distinct odour.”

He scoffed at her remark and she playfully kissed his nose before she turned to walk to the bathroom.

“Just so we're clear, no more mocking of Luna, right?” he called after her.

At the doorway Lavender turned back to him and smirked.

“You know I'm not really jealous of Lovegood.”

She removed the white towel from her head and shook out her still damp hair.

“Besides, I guess you just can't help it if you prefer blondes. It worked out in my favor didn't it?”

She then winked at him before closing the door.

Ron could only laugh at her brass. In a way he supposed he did have a thing for the fairer haired lovelies. And apparently women whose names began with the letter L, to hear Fred tell it. But usually, when out on the street, his eyes generally fell on a platinum colored witch here, an ash blonde beauty there. Whenever George was able to get him to go to a Muggle club for kicks he usually ended chatting up women with golden locks. The first female whom he had a sexual thought about of any kind was Hannah Abbot, a blonde pigtailed girl back when he was a Third Year at Hogwarts. Of course it could also be argued that she was the first girl to grow breasts in his year, and that was what caught his attention.

He was willing to admit that a tawny lass was enough to capture his interest. But oddly enough the first girl for whom he truly fell head over heels was no blonde. When Ron Weasley first fell in love the girl's hair had nothing to do with it, although he did think hers was rather wicked. No, he fell in love with her courage, her intelligence, her confidence, and her kindness. He fell in love with his best friend. Ron fell in love with Hermione.

In fact he remembered the first moment he realized that he was in love with her. He had just woken up in the Hogwarts Infirmary after drinking Slughorn's poisoned mead. He was groggy and confused, and barely knew where he even was. Due to the stark darkness of the room he could tell it was rather late in the evening. Before he could call out for anyone, he heard a soft voice whisper “Lumos” as the lantern by his head came to life. His vision was blurry, but a beautiful worry lined face surrounded by an expanse of bushy brown curls came into focus. She grabbed a hold of one of his hands and gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Am I dead?” he asked, voice aching from non-use.

“No silly, you’re safe and sound here with me,” she admonished him, but her voice was warm and thick with caring. “Why would you think you had died?”

“'Cause you look like an angel.”

Hermione's eyes had gone wide at the statement, but she didn't look like she was upset by it.

“Let's see if you say that the next time you see me out of bed first thing in the morning with my hair in tangles.”

Her smile was enough to bewitch him into saying things he normally wouldn't.

“I'm just glad to be seeing you,” he whispered as he finally squeezed her hand back.

Hermione gingerly took a seat on the side of his bed, hand still in his. She was wearing her school robes, her Prefect badge pinned firmly in place. He would have been content to sit there with her all night, just holding her hand and looking into her big brown eyes, but his curiosity demanded answers.

“Hermione, what the bloody hell happened to me?”

She told him the story as best as she could, from Romilda Vane's part in it, to Slughorn's. When she was done Ron could barely turn his horror struck eyes from her face.

“I'm never eating again,” he firmly pronounced.

Hermione softly laughed.

“I heard from Dobby that the house-elves were making Sheppard's Pie tomorrow.”

At that bit of news Ron's stomach growled. He looked down at it as if it had betrayed him. Hermione only laughed louder.

“Well, I'm going to go,” she told him as she got off the bed. Ron immediately felt an almost frantic rush to keep her near.

“Please...stay!” His eyes pleaded with her as well as his words.

“I traded with Padma so I could patrol the First floor and visit with you, but even Prefects get in trouble for not being in bed on time,” she joked. “Besides, I should have gotten Madame Pomfrey as soon as you woke up. She's going to be so cross!”

Ron couldn't help but chuckle. That was Hermione for you; she hated to break rules even though she did it time and time again for him and Harry.

“If I hurry, I can run up and fetch Harry. He'll want to know you're awake as well. We can then sneak back down under his cloak and sit with you for a bit longer. Would you like that?” she shyly asked.

“I'd love that,” he earnestly replied. He then watched as she scurried over towards Madame Pomfrey's office, a goofy, gooey smile plastered all over his face.

Ron supposed he had always known he fancied her a bit before then, at least since he was 14. For one he always thought she was kind of cute, even before teeth shrinkage. And he had to admit that he did have a tendency to go a little nutty with jealousy if another boy looked her way. He even caught himself looking suspiciously at Harry a time or two. How ridiculous was that?

But love? That was a whole other can of pixies. You just don't go falling in love with your best friend…especially when you're dating her room mate to make her insane with jealousy. Ron could have kicked himself for the mess he had made of everything.

As soon as he got the nerve, he chucked Lavender. She cried and wailed at him, but really if Lav was the only obstacle standing between him and Hermione, Ron would have gladly pushed her into a room crawling with acromantulas back then if he had to. Unfortunately for him, he and Hermione's relationship remained frustratingly platonic for six more weeks after that. Ron was sure that it would take a miracle for him and Hermione to finally get together. Instead it took a death to make it happen. Dumbledore's death, to be exact.

It was the night before the Headmaster's funeral. A pall of deep and weary mourning seemed to cling to everything and everyone on or near the Hogwarts school grounds. He and Hermione had escaped the doom and gloom of the castle to go walking near the lake. Ron didn't know where Harry was, he just figured that his best friend was probably off snogging Ginny in some broom closet. His usual unease at what his baby sister and his best mate could be getting up to was momentarily on hiatus. Ron figured that Harry deserved a good snog after everything he had gone through in the last few days. Just not too good a snog.

There was an aura of unease surrounding him and Hermione, as though both of them were waiting for the other shoe to drop. They were barely talking, or even looking at each other. No holding of hands whatsoever, this was no romantic stroll. They had come to her favorite tree near the lake when suddenly Hermione came to a drastic stop. Her face was upturned to the sky and Ron lifted his head to look in that direction as well. What he saw made his heart throb painfully. It was the solitary figure of someone flying solemnly across the sky. Ron didn't need omnioculars to tell him who the person was.

Ron turned then to Hermione, mouth open to say...something...when suddenly he couldn't remember the words he was about to speak. All he could do was gape at the girl standing next to him.

She looks as though her heart is being torn to shreds.

This was the first thought that ran through his head. Ron had never seen an expression like that on anyone before. Sure he had seen Hermione cry, a lot of times because of some stupid thing he had said to her, but he had never experienced anything like her soundless, desolate weeping. She didn't even bother to wipe at the tears that were trailing all the way down to her charcoal colored jumper. Instead her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle as if she were trying to keep herself from falling apart.

Ron was at a loss of what to do. If Harry was bad at dealing with over emotional women, he was even worse. When he had broken things off with Lavender he had wanted her to stop crying because it made him feel guilty and annoyed. But with Hermione, Ron would have given his whole Chocolate Frog card collection to get her to stop. He hated to see her hurt, even when he was the one causing the damage. Instead what he did was grab her by the shoulders, pull her towards his chest, and kiss her hard on the mouth.

It was really over before it started. One minute he was kissing the lips he had dreamt of kissing for the last few years. The next thing he knew he was flinging himself backwards from her, eyes wide with terror, mouth opened in horror at what he had just done. She's going to kill me, he briefly thought before he muttered quickly, “I'm sorry!”

If Ron thought he was shocked at his own actions, he was doubly amazed when she answered back.

“I'm not!”

Then she smiled at him as her eyes glistened from the tears she had shed. Ron had been so bewildered that he could barely enjoy the sensation of her taking his hand in hers.

“It's late; we should get back to the castle. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day,” she said as she steered him back towards the school.

Hermione held his hand all the way back. It wasn't until he was settled snug in his bed that the realization of all that had just transpired fully hit him. He couldn't keep the big happy grin off of his face. Ron was certain Harry had noticed his good mood, but he didn't tell his friend what the cause of it was. Harry probably thought he was a gigantic prat for being so happy when everyone else was in mourning for Dumbledore, but Ron didn't care! The time for being sad again would come tomorrow. Tonight he would revel in the fact that he had finally kissed Hermione Granger and he was in love with her. To top it off, something in her smile told him that he would get to kiss her again.

Of course that next kiss didn't happen for another month. Ron didn't mind it so much at first. There was just always something to do. First there was the funeral to attend, and then there were Harry's stupid Muggle relatives to deal with. He and Hermione had made the decision to join Harry on his quest to defeat You-Know-Who, and one of the first stops they had to make was to his aunt and uncle's. The three teenagers’ friendship with one another blossomed further in those few weeks spent on that quiet street in Surrey, and their bond became even stronger.

Nevertheless, Ron couldn't help but wonder if he was going to get a spare moment alone with Hermione ever again. There were times before then that Ron would almost think that his kiss with her had been all part of some beautiful, wonderful dream. But then she would squeeze his shoulder, or send him a cheeky little grin while Harry wasn't looking that would make Ron's spirits soar. We got a secret, we got a secret, we got a secret oh yes we do, that smile seemed to say. It was nice having something that belonged to just Hermione and himself.

They stayed at the Dursleys' up until the eve of Bill and Fleur's wedding and then made their way back to the Burrow for the ceremony. As weddings go Ron supposed it was a nice one. Fleur was mesmerizing in her snow white satin robes, Bill actually cried while reciting his vows, and nearly all of Ottery St. Catchpole turned out for the nuptials. After the ceremony, which everyone kept commenting was very, very French, he danced with Hermione at the reception. Three times! Of course Neville danced with her twice. Git. This fact did not distract Ron from noticing that Harry and Ginny seemed to be avoiding each other like the plague. He briefly wondered if the couple had a fight and almost asked his sister, but before he could Hermione sidled up next to him, looking very pretty in pale yellow, and sweetly asked him to show her his Chudley Cannons poster collection.

For a moment he wondered if she had gone barmy because a: he knew she didn't like Quidditch, and b: she had seen the same posters on his bedroom walls plenty of times. It wasn't until Ginny nudged him in the side, hard too, that he realized that Hermione had no interest in actually looking at the posters. He practically flew with her out of the Burrow's backyard, up the stairs, and to his room on the fifth floor landing. Quicker than you could say Firebolt, Ron had Hermione on his bed and on her back for a long, drawn out and highly anticipated snog.

It was brilliant kissing Hermione! It was Quidditch, and Christmas morning, and all the good Bertie Bott's flavors mixed up in one. At first she was quite tentative, especially when he first tried to guide his tongue into her mouth. But as time progressed, she gave in equally to the passion of his kisses. Ron almost passed out from joy when she began to nibble at the corner of his mouth. He felt like he was going to explode when she began to languidly graze her nails back and forth down the back of his neck.

They had long since removed their restrictive dress robes so that he could feel her bare arms wrapped around him. He could hear the sound of his dressy cotton slacks rubbing against her linen slacks. He wondered what her silken spaghetti strapped blouse would feel like against his bare chest. Ron wanted to just get lost in all of the sensations he was feeling, seeing...tasting. If he could just spend the rest of his life, lips fused to Hermione's, he would pay any price to make it happen. He was so caught up in waves of ecstasy that his mind had momentarily gone on auto-pilot. All he could think was: touch, squeeze, feel.

“Ronnie.”

“Hmmm...” he answered, lips trailing their way down the side of Hermione's soft neck.

“Ronnie,” she half-whimpered, half-sighed again.

“What?” he absently asked as he licked at the pulse point he found.

“Your h-hand,” she said as she began to tug half-heartedly at his right arm.

She could have been speaking Mermish, for all he was paying attention.

“My what?”

He was hoping that she wasn't going to interrupt what they were doing to talk about their feelings or something Hermione-ish like that. Not now at least.

“Your hand, Ron,” she repeated.

Ron slowly opened his eyes and looked into her flushed, rosy face. She looked wild and ravished with her hair fanned out on his loud orange bedspread. Her eyes were foggy, yet serene, while her lips were kiss swollen. Ron was just about to lean in and kiss them again when he glanced down and noticed that his right hand was resting comfortably, yet boldly on Hermione's left breast.

Bugger me.

“Oh shite...oh damn...OH BLOODY HELL!” he loudly exclaimed as he wrenched his hand from where it had been and quickly rolled himself off of her.

His hand felt as though it were on fire, although he couldn't be sure if that was because he had liked what he was doing, or because he was terrified that she was going to hex him for it. He imagined she would do something drastic like turn him into gnome food.

“Ronnie, it's ok.” She pulled herself into a sitting position and brought her knees up so she could rest her chin on them while she sat against the headboard of the bed.

“Oh Merlin Hermione...” he continued.

A horklump. Gnomes like those little buggers don't they, he wondered. He was going to spend the rest of his life looking like a frilly pink mushroom. By this time he was on his hands and knees on the bed, looking at her as if he were a small child waiting in fear of his mum's wrath. Hermione merely stared at him as if he had lost all of his sense.

“Didn't you hear what I just said?” she questioned. "It's alright.”

“You must think I'm some kind of animal,” Ron answered, voice muffled due to the fact that he had dropped his face in the palms of his hand to hide his shame. Hermione, however, reached to pull his hands back and looked him in his eyes. Hers had an encouraging little twinkle in them.

“Really Ronnie, it's ok.”

“I mean I would never–” take advantage of you he started to say, but he was interrupted by Hermione's shocked gasp.

“Never?”

For a moment Ron was at a loss for what to think. Quite frankly he didn't know what she wanted him to say. That was until she gave an impish little giggle.

“You should see the look on your face,” she teased.

At first he felt a fleeting wave of irritation that she would make fun of him like that, but then the surge of relief that she didn't want to turn him into something slimy made that all go away.

“I'm not mad,” she said finally, completely assuaging his fears.

“It's just...” Ron began, pausing to search desperately for the right words to express his concern. “I...look; I know you want to take things slow. I want to take things slow,” he hurriedly stated. “I'm just scared shitless that I'm going to cock up every thing. I mean finally we are going to...” he paused to catch her eye and bashfully turned his head to blush, “be together.”

He looked back at her, and was calmed to see that she was blushing too as she bit at the corner of her mouth. This gave him the courage to go on.

“There is finally no McLaggen–”

“No Lavender Brown,” she swiftly countered.

“No ickle Vickie Krum standing in my path. Sometimes I'm just terrified that I'm going to do something to make you go away.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Ron. I'll never leave you,” Hermione said calmly as she turned her body to face his squarely.

She shyly played with his fingers on the bed spread while keeping her face down so he couldn't see her blushing. He felt like he could float right off the bed at that very moment, he was so happy.

“And why do you keep bringing up Viktor?” she asked, finally making eye contact with him. “I've told you over and over again that nothing ever happened with him. You know very well that you're the first person I ever...” she turned her face away to hide her pink cheeks again and whispered softly, “you know...kissed.”

He did. She had told him so not too long after their magical night at the lake. He could barely contain the joy he felt whenever she said it, just like now.

“And tonight I had my first ever celebratory snog,” she said saucily. The look on her face made Ron want to get back to the snogging immediately.

“And what did you think of it?”

“Definitely O-worthy work,” she answered him, lips stretched into a naughty smile. She was comparing him to school work. Hermione loved school work. This was definitely a good sign, he thought. He chuckled along with her until his mind unhappily drifted onto Lavender.

“I wish you had been my first kiss,” Ron wistfully remarked as their fingers continued to twine themselves in and around each other.

“It's ok,” she replied. “We'll have other firsts.”

Ron's fingers instantly stopped their play as he stared back at her, agog. Did she mean what he thought she meant, he wondered.

“W-w-what?!” he stammered.

Smooth.

“There are tons of firsts. First...date. And first fight, although I think you and I have already covered that one ad nauseam, don't you think?”

He wasn't quite sure he knew what that word meant, but he was starting to think that she was toying with him again.

“First break-up, but let's not do that one shall we?” She twirled a curly lock around her finger as she humorously continued. “Of course a first massage would be nice, but only with clothes on. And then there is first–”

“You're killing me, Hermione.”

“...time,” she continued as if he hadn't interrupted her. “There's always your first time, the biggest first of them all. The one you can never get back.”

Ron swallowed the lump that had begun to form at the middle of his throat. You-Know-Who could have fell from the sky in the midst of this conversation, and Ron wouldn't have batted an eye at him.

“When that time comes I want it to be the right time and for all the right reasons. I want to be sure. I want it to be because he loves me and because I love him. I want him to be the only one...forever.”

She demurely dropped her eyes back to the spread and traced the large letter E of the Cannon emblem.

“Terribly idealistic, I know. I want a lot of things, don't I?” she asked, haltingly raising her gaze to his.

“No,” he barely choked out. “I want that too.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips. He kissed it and said, “No rush.”

Her smile at this was beatific.

“Good.”

“Someday.”

“Someday,” she answered back.

“Sunday?”

He barely suppressed the laugh that bubbled at his lips when she eventually realized that he was having her on.

“Prat,” she muttered cutely.

“That time you should have seen your face,” Ron told her. “Besides, there’s plenty of time for all of that. We have to have something to look forward to on the honeymoon, right?”

Hermione drew back from him at that remark.

“H-honeymoon?” a surprised Hermione stammered.

Ron could understand her shock. Seventeen year old boys rarely talked about wedding nights, much less getting married at all. But Hermione clearly underestimated Ron Weasley's determination to never let her go. He was ready for the full commitment after dancing around her for so many years. His own parents had gotten married not too long after leaving school, so it wasn't that crazy of an idea.

“Just something to think about,” he offered.

“Y-yes...um...well...” she stuttered, “...you are definitely a marvelous kisser Ron.”

“And she changes the subject.”

He was amused. It was usually hard to unsettle Hermione, so moments like these were rare. He and Harry practically lived for them. Besides, she looked so darned cute when she was flustered.

“Lav-Lav obviously taught you well,” she continued, desperately trying to throw him off of his game. She knew how much he hated those pet names.

“Arg! Can we not discuss her, please?”

It had worked.

“And why not?” she primly asked. “She was your girlfriend, was she not?”

“She never would have been if it wasn't for that precious baby sister of mines telling me all that rubbish about you and Krum.”

At this Ron flung himself back on the bed. He was always quick to anger whenever he thought about the dirty trick Ginny had done him.

“Ron, just let it go,” Hermione sighed.

The two of them had gone over this issue time and time again. It was a bit of a sore subject between them. He personally wanted to pluck his sister's hairs from her head one by one over it, but Hermione wouldn't let him.

“Sorry Hermione; I won't let it go. I just can't! After Ginny told me that lie, I don't know, I kind of went...loopy. All I could think about was you, snogging that Bulgarian pillock.”

“So in turn you snogged Lavender.”

There were no hurt feelings in her voice. She was simply stating the facts. Still Ron felt the need to impress upon her how much he wanted to be with her and only her.

“I swear I never cared for her half as much as I care for you!” he declared.

“But you did care? For Lavender, that is?”

Ron could barely meet her eyes. In truth he really did feel more for Lavender than he let on. She had a way of making him feel like he could soar over mountains. With Hermione he usually felt like he was desperately trying to catch up with her, but Merlin did he want to hold on tight when he finally did.

“It's alright, Ronnie. You wouldn't be the boy I fancied since I was 12 if you didn't care for Lavender at least a little.”

“I...” he started to answer until the full meaning of her words reached him. “Hang on, you've fancied me since you were how old?” he blurted out. He could barely believe what he thought he heard.

Hermione found his awe struck demeanor amusing.

“A girl tends to fall for a bloke who vomits slugs in defense of her honor,” she answered as she slid her body down the bed and turned herself on her side so she could face him.

“You’re taking the piss!”

Somehow he knew she wasn't.

"I am not," she responded. "My little girl heart nearly swooned at the gallantry of it all."

Ron just looked at his brown eyed girl, amazed. He just never knew what to expect with her.

“How come you never told me?”

“What would you have done if I had?” she asked him.

“Dunno. I might have at least gotten the nerve to ask you to the Yule Ball if I knew all of that.”

“Honestly Ron, if I had told you all of this beforehand you would have gone running for the Forbidden Forest, never to been seen again. Trust me. Besides back then we had finally gotten to a place where I believed that you really did want to be friends with me. You and Harry, that is. There was no way I was going to mess that up.”

“Like we did this year?”

Hermione made a disgusted noise.

“Don't remind me. However I am glad that you had Lavender to get through it all. And Harry had Ginny. It was really a tough year from start to finish.”

“You’re being awfully nice about Lavender,” he said half-mockingly, half-suspiciously. “Especially for a girl who sent a flock of parakeets at my head.”

Hermione furiously blushed as she remembered her little stunt with the birds in the deserted classroom.

“Look, I was all mixed-up in the head. I mean, forgive me for being a teen aged girl and going all nutty with hormones,” she playfully remarked before her face slackened into a more somber expression. She wasn't even looking directly at him.

Her eyes took on a misty sheen.

“I was confused about...something.”

She then shook her head as if coming out from under a spell. Her eyes fell on him.

“But I'm all better now. I can think clearly now. I know what I want now.”

She said all of this while slowly twinning her fingers in his hair.

“And they were canaries!”

Both of them grinned.

“Well they were bloody brilliant! I just wish they hadn't been directed at me so I could have fully appreciated them.”

She laughed loudly at that and the sound of it made him puff out his chest with pride.

“Seriously though, I don't hate Lavender. I'm not her biggest fan, but I don't abhor her. Besides I can be magnanimous when it comes to Brown. I got the boy, didn't I?”

A sly smile formed on Hermione's lips that completely captivated Ron.

“Merlin! I might have actually understood that word. I think snogging you is making me smarter by the second.”

“Alas, I always knew you were only after me for my mind,” she tittered loftily right before her lips met his for another kiss.

Although that bit of snogging didn't last as long as the first, it was still just as good. When they finally came up for air, Hermione turned herself onto her stomach. She folded her arms and laid her head upon them. She was still looking at him, dreamily, but he could tell that she was a bit worn out. He was resting once again on his back, arms folded behind his head. For a brief moment he closed his eyes.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Ginny,” he replied, eyes still closed.

“Goodness! Was I that bad?”

His eyes snapped open and he turned his hear towards her quickly.

“W-what? Of course not!” he blustered. “And eww,” he said with an exaggerated shudder.

That made her giggle and he realized she had been joking with him again.

“I'm still cheesed off at her, ya' know. I still can't believe she did what she did.”

“Maybe she was trying to light a fire under you,” Hermione limply defended Ginny. “She knew that I fancied you, and that you felt the same about me.”

Ron just stared at Hermione in shock. If it was true that Ginny knew all of this she had never shared the info with him.

“Maybe she thought if she got you good and jealous over some imagined Krum kisses, you would finally get off of your duff and ask me out.”

Ron merely shook his head at the innocence that was Hermione.

“You see the only problem with that argument, luv, is that Ginny Weasley never does any thing that does not directly benefit Ginny Weasley.”

“Ron,” Hermione said, abashed at his candor, “that's a horrible thing to say about your sister!”

“Maybe. Still doesn't make it any less true.”

“What about the Department of Mysteries? She almost gave her life for Harry just the same as you or I, Neville or Luna.”

“Yes, but not for some grand cause or anything. It was more likely 'ooh Harry, look at me. I can be a great brave Gryffindor too'. Didn't you tell me she had never really given up on him?”

Hermione said nothing to this; she knew he had her there.

“Look, I love my sister. She's fun to pal around with and she's damned good at Quidditch. That still doesn't stop me from seeing straight through her. When Ginny wants something she isn't above playing dirty to get it. She wanted to hurt my feelings; she knew just what to say to set me off. See?”

Hermione just stared at him disbelievingly. She couldn't believe that the girl that Ron was describing was the same girl she had shared secret after secret with on many a summer night.

“I don't blame her really. She's just used to getting what she wants. She just was spoiled.”

“Your mum?” Hermione tentatively asked.

"No, mum was more apt to spoil Bill or Charlie; Percy even. You know before she had Bill the Healers told her that she might never be able to have any children."

“Come again?”

She was completely dumbstruck at this bit of information.

“It's true! I figure that's why she coddled them so much. But then by time Fred and George came mum was letting them swing from the curtains,” he joked. “No, dad was the one who spoiled Ginny. I guess he was just so happy to have a little girl. He would do anything for her.”

Hermione looked at him sadly.

“Who spoiled you?” she wondered aloud.

Ron rolled over on his side to face her and began to trace the lining of her face. It was a tough question for him to answer.

“No one really, I guess. I mean, I know mum and dad love me. Just sometimes I can't help but feel that they...forget me.”

Ron shook his head.

“It doesn't matter.”

"It matters to me," Hermione announced resolutely. The firm set of her jaw told him that she meant every word.

“Merlin help me, but I'm in love with you.”

His heart was in his eyes as he softly said this. Hermione stared into the deep blue of them and knew that he was speaking the truth. She honestly didn't know what to say to a pronouncement like that. No one had ever said those words to her. The first thing that crossed her mind was to repeat them back to him, but as she opened her mouth to speak, Ron cut her off.

“Don't say it.”

She looked at him perplexedly.

“Don't say it unless you mean it.”

Her eyes narrowed the way they usually did when she was about to start a row with him. She wanted to ask him just who the hell he thought he was telling her that she didn't know what was in her own heart. Ron saw every word written out on her face as if she had spoken them aloud.

“For me it's enough that you want to be with me. It's all I could have hoped for. I mean, I'm a right lucky bastard to have snagged a girl like you,” Ron bashfully admitted. “I'm just waiting for the day that you come to your senses and realize that you don't really want me.”

“Never!” she declared.

“Hermione, I want you to tell me that you love me only when you're sure that you love me. I'll be ready to hear it then.”

“Well can I at least spoil you for now?” she flirted.

Ron tried to make a joke of it. In an exaggeratedly serious voice he said, “I don't know, it's a tough job. Do you think you can handle it?”

“Depends I guess,” she volleyed back. “Am I your girlfriend?”

“Depends I guess,” he teased then closed his eyes as though he were going to take a nap.

His eyes were closed for no more than ten seconds before Hermione began playfully beating him across the face and chest. He then pounced on her and began to tickle her all over. She shrieked and yelled and threatened to curse him as soon as she got a hold of her wand. The clamor then awakened the ghoul upstairs which caused them both to only giggle louder. They twisted and turned all over the spread until eventually they both somehow ended up at the bottom of the bed, Hermione laid out on her back with Ron straddling her hips. He held her arms above her head by her wrists so she couldn't tickle his stomach any longer, he was quite sensitive there.

As Ron held her down, he couldn't stay immune to the burst of sexual energy that seemed to instantly permeate the room. Hermione was flushed all over, from her hairline down to her chest. Her erratic breathing made it hard for him to take his eyes from the heaving swell of her bosom. With her arms pinned back the way they were, it only helped to make her breasts seem more enticing. Inviting. Her pearl colored camisole barely covered them. Ron was so enraptured by the sight of her that he didn't hear the shocked gasp from the doorway. He didn't even know that there was another person in the room until he heard Hermione's mortified voice greet their uninvited guest.

“Hello Mrs. Weasley.”

For almost two weeks after that incident, Ron could not look his mum fully in the eye. Hermione would run from the room if the Weasley matriarch entered it. In spite of their odd behavior, no one else seemed to realize that the dynamics of Ron and Hermione's relationship had changed. Certainly not Harry. There were times that he seemed to be in his own little world and there was nothing his two best mates could do to draw him out. Hermione hypothesized that Harry's dour mood had something to do with the fact that in a few days the three of them would be leaving the Burrow to head off to Harry's parents' home in Godric's Hollow, a tiny little village in Nottinghamshire. Hermione had already told them that Apparating there wouldn't be possible since they didn't know the exact physical location of the place just yet. Otherwise they could end up splinching themselves. Ron was not looking forward to this part of the journey. Everyone knew the story of how the Potters met their end. The scene they were going to encounter more than likely wasn’t going to be pretty. Thankfully for him he would have Hermione with him.

“You've been calling me Ronnie lately.”

He and Hermione were sitting out by the pond in the garden. Ron had his head in her lap as she played with his ginger hair. They were positioned so that no one could see them if they happened to look out of one of the Burrow's windows.

She stopped what she was doing to his hair. He let out a little whinging sound that let her know that he wanted her to continue.

“What's wrong, you don't like it?” she asked as her fingers resumed their play.

“No, it's not that,” he assured her. “It's what my family calls me sometimes.”

He saw her bite her bottom lip pensively.

“I know. I just thought it was...affectionate. But I guess it is kind of weird for me to call you by something your mother does, yes?”

“No,” he grinned. “I like it.” He closed his eyes as he said; “Now all we have to do is find a name for you.”

“Hermione will do just fine, thank you very much. My mother gave me a perfectly lovely name.”

She teasingly pinched the tip of his long nose.

“I've got it,” his vibrant blue eyes shot open. “Herms.”

A loud guffaw erupted from him at the affronted frown she made.

“Goodness, that sounds like some sort of disease. 'Say, what did your first cousin die from',” she said in a fake deep voice. “'Oh, just a bad case of the Herms',” she replied in sotto voice. She crinkled her nose in disgust. “No thanks.”

“Ok, ok. What about 'Mione then? That sounds rather pretty.”

“Might as well call me your elbow, your ear, you big left toe,” she grumbled as she rolled her eyes to the sky in exaggerated exasperation. She looked so cute when she did that.

“How does Hermy sound?”

She lifted her nose primly.

“Only one man in my life is allowed to call me that.”

“I knew it! I knew I saw Grawp making eyes at you at the funeral,” he said playing along with her. “I was ready to go up to him and make my intentions known. Only reason I didn't was because...well...you know, giant and all.”

She giggled madly at that and he felt his head go light at the sound of it.

“Well I like my name, although it did take me a while to grow into it. When I was little it was just one more thing that made me...” she paused in search of the right words, “different...than the rest of the kids.”

He imagined just how different his brave, brilliant Hermione would have been at that age. All big haired and big named. She probably was smarter than most of her teachers even then. She had shared with him and Harry that the children used to tease her relentlessly before Hogwarts. They thought she was odd. The ruddy idiots! They just didn't know what they were missing knowing her. It always made Ron wonder, if not for a blundering Mountain Troll, would he have been permanently left in the dark as well?

“Eventually though I began to appreciate the things that made me different. Although I don't know how well I would have handled being saddled with Perdita. Luckily dad put his foot down on that one. Imagine; you could have been dating Perdita Granger right now.”

Ron's smirk at her story wavered slightly as he cleared his throat to bring up a slightly sore subject between them.

“I think we should tell him,” he said seriously.

“Tell who, what?” Hermione mumbled absentmindedly.

Ron rolled his eyes at her dimness. And they say that I'm thick, he thought.

“Harry. I think...I think we should tell him about us,” he clarified.

Hermione dropped her hands from his hair.

“Ronnie,” she whinged, “I thought we already discussed this? I...I don't think that's such a good idea right now,” she awkwardly responded.

Ron sprung up from where he was laying and turned hurt eyes towards her.

“And why not? Don't want anyone else to know that I'm your boyfriend, eh?” His body language was combative.

“What? Oh come off it Ron. Let's not play the injured prat yet again, shall we?”

He bristled at the fact that she would bring that up so soon after he thought they had settled the matter.

“Harry has a bit too much on his plate to worry over. We shouldn't burden him with our drama as well. Especially now after Ginny...”

“What about Ginny?”

“Harry broke up with her, Ron.”

“So that's why they've been acting so strangely,” he said, finally understanding his sister and Harry's odd behavior at the wedding and for the last few days.

Hermione looked at him in constrained disbelief.

“Sometimes I think I seriously over estimated, and that you really only have the emotional depth of a thimble!”

“Well how was I supposed to know?!” he exclaimed indignantly. “And why'd he go and do a thing like that for?”

“To protect her. He didn't want the huge bulls-eye of being Harry Potter's girlfriend sitting on Ginny's back,” she replied. “And to tell you the truth, I've been living in abject fear that one of these mornings we're going to wake-up to find Harry gone off to face Voldemort all alone.”

“The git would do something like that. He would think he was saving us.”

“Precisely. That is why we can't let him. You and I Ronnie; we have to get Harry through this! Until then every thing else is trivial.”

“You're right of course,” admitted Ron anemically.

“And above all else, none of us are allowed to die!” she stated forcefully. “Or I'll kill you both myself, I swear!”

She had said it in such a serious tone that Ron wasn't quite sure if she meant it or not.

“Somehow I don't doubt that,” he sniggered.

“Then afterwards, when the dust settles, Ginny and Harry can be together again.”

“And you and I...”

He timidly took her small hand in his.

“And you and I...” she demurely answered back. “We'll all get our happily ever after.”

Ron wrinkled his nose.

“That sounds a bit girlie.”

Hermione shook her head jovially.

“How's this then...'Snogs for all'!”

He dropped a quick kiss on her lips before jumping to his feet and grabbing her hand to help pull her up with him.

“Now that sounds more like it!”

Lavender came gliding out of the bathroom looking radiant as usual. She had changed into her clothes already and had her hair pinned up.

“Daydreaming, are we?” she beamed at him.

“Only about you, luv.”

She smiled even brighter at the comment.

“What took you so bloody long in there?”

She walked over to her mirror and bent down to get a better look at her face. He sat up on the bed so he could get a better look at her bum.

“I couldn't decide if I wanted to wear my hair up or down. I finally decided to go with up. Makes me look older, don't you think?”

Ron knew that the proper way to answer that question was to just nod and shake his head ambiguously. The same went for the perennial, “do these robes make me look fat”.

“I want Madame Borghese to know that she is dealing with a mature young woman, and not some little girl she can just push over.”

“I don't even see why we need a wedding planner,” Ron grumbled.

He watched in the mirror as Lavender frowned, just as she had the first time she told him of her idea to hire someone to organize their ceremony and all of the other events leading up to it, and he gave a similar lackluster response to her enthusiasm. She turned to face him.

“We need a wedding planner because this wedding is just going to be too big for your mum to accommodate everything for the Burrow's back paddock,” she explained as though she were teaching a small child his letters.

“The Burrow was good enough for Bill,” he muttered.

“Yes, I'm sure it was. But need I remind you that Fred got married in that simply gorgee cathedral, Percy and Penelope were joined at the Ministry, and Ginny got married at Hogwarts.”

Ron looked at her, aghast.

“But those were completely different circumstances! Perce...well Perce is just a show-offy prat. Fred had to get married in that church because his wife is one of those Catha-holic jigga-ma-whatsits. He said her mum would have had a fit if she didn't. And Harry and Ginny had their wedding at Hogwarts because the whole bloody world wanted to come to it! You know that.”

“Yes. And the whole wide world will want to come to ours just as well,” she huffed. Her voice was steeped in annoyance. “Why are you fighting me on this? Is it the money? You can afford this!”

Ron got off the bed and walked over to his girl...fiancée and grabbed her hands. He knew that she was one step away from crying herself dry. He knew the signs well. He wanted to head it off before it got out of hand.

“I just wanted you to have a wedding you could be proud of,” she sniffed, her eyes slowly watering. “So you could be proud of me.”

He gathered her into his arms to try and soothe her, but she was already past the point of no return.

“A girl only has one chance to get married!” she wailed loudly.

She cried onto his bare shoulder as Ron gently stroked her hair. He neglected to remind Lavender that this would actually be her second walk down the aisle. In his old age Ronald Weasley had learned a very important skill. Diplomacy.

“There, there,” he comforted her. “Of course I'm proud of you,” he said as he softly rocked her to and fro.

Lavender sniffed.

“You mean it?”

“Of course I do. You are the woman I want to marry.”

This earned him a smile as she pulled back to look in his eyes. Their heads were slowly drifting towards each other when there was a knock at the bedroom door.

“YOU LOT DECENT IN THERE?” a voice bellowed.

“NO!” Ron yelled back. “I'm having my way with my lusty witch as we speak.”

“Oh good, I'm not interrupting anything too important then,” said George as he barreled into the room.

He was already dressed for the day in his black robes with the WWW stitched in swirling loops at his left shoulder. He and Fred had adopted this quasi-uniformed look after they acquired their second Weasley Wizarding Wheezes joke shop in Hogsmeade village. Fred ran that one, while George was in charge of the one in Diagon Alley.

“Lavender, your mum is in the floo and she seems to be in a strop over something.”

Lavender looked up havenward.

“When isn't my mother in a strop over something?”

She disentangled herself from Ron's embrace and passed by George to head out the door.

“Going over to mum and dad's?” George asked after Lavender left the room.

Ron, dispirited over the lovely meal he was going to miss, sighed forlornly.

“No, we'll probably eat at the Cauldron later. Me and Lav have an early appointment with some wedding planner.”

George's eyes went bright with mirth, and Ron instantly regretted his slip.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath.

“Ooh, la dee da! Ronniekins is off to see a wedding planner.”

“Shut it, you!” Ron said, grinding his teeth in irritation. “It's what Lavender wants.”

“Of course,” George said in a cloyingly sweet tone. “Just remember Won-Won that if the planner tries to get you to wear white you can't, you brazen trollop you!”

George was already out the door by time Ron threw one of Lavender's face cream jars at him. It hit the door with a dull thud, before Lavender came back into the room. She did not look too happy.

“Violet threw a tantrum again,” she explained to him. “I've got to go home real quick to settle everything. Circe! How in the world my mum managed to raise three girls is beyond me when she falls to pieces every time my child cries for more than a minute.”

Ron took her in his arms again.

“Go on, go see about the midget.”

“I'll have you know that my daughter is not a midget. She's a perfectly lovely little girl,” Lavender said in mock indignation. Her arms slowly came around his neck.

“Of course she is. Just like her mum.”

He kissed her forehead and then her lips.

“Go on. I'll be ready when you come back.”

“You had better,” she said before giving him a quick kiss in return and walking out of the room.

Ron hoped that Violet was alright. She could be a bit fussy at times, and was known to cry over something as simple as her peas touching her meat. She also had an aversion to all things maroon, just like him. As he walked into the bathroom, he made a mental note to buy his little girl a gift as soon as he got a chance.

His little girl! Ron's heart swelled every time he thought of her as such. Although biologically she wasn't his daughter, Ron had practically helped Lavender raise the child since her husband's death. For reasons beyond his comprehension, Violet had simply stolen his heart right from the start. He adored her! In fact he had wanted to adopt Violet even before he was fully convinced that he wanted to marry Lav.

Ron still remembered the day that Lavender came to him and told him that she was getting married. It was the day before Valentine's Day. He and Hermione had only been back together for twenty-one days (he had counted). This was their third shot for a reconciliation and Ron was hoping that this was going to be their last. He still had the engagement ring he had bought her, with the twins' help, way back when they were both 18. He had tried to give it to her two times before, but they had broken up after each proposal. But this time Ron had hope. He was counting on the third time being the proverbial charm.

He had contemplated doing it on Valentine's Day, but he nixed the idea for seeming too cheesy. He was so wrapped up in thoughts of Hermione, and rings, and weddings, that he barely heard it when someone rang the doorbell. It was Lav. She showed up at his and Harry's flat to tell him that she was going to marry her boss, Cornelius Pye. Lavender had been working as a personal secretary for the man since leaving Hogwarts. Pye was the last remaining heir of a pureblood family that had once owned a profitable broom company, Pye in the Sky. Even though they had long since sold the company, the Pyes still remained a wealthy and influential bunch, and Cornelius would often hire pretty little things to help him run his philanthropic organizations and take care of his personal needs. All of his personal needs. Lavender was the first one he had actually asked to marry him, though.

“I think I could grow to love him,” she told Ron that day.

She sounded as though she was desperately trying to convince herself.

“I think I could be happy. He even reminds me of you a bit. I like to think that's how you'll be when you grow up. He even had Weasley red hair once,” she joked referring to Pye's now bald pate.

Ron was dismayed at her plans. Even though he had been a lout to Lavender over the years, quickly discarding her every chance Hermione looked his way, he had still grown very fond of his Lav-Lav. In his own way he figured that he even loved her. He was surprised to find that he was actually jealous over the prospect that she would be another man's wife. Besides, Cornelius was much too old for her. He was 78 for Merlin's sake! Dirty old coot!

But Ron told Lavender that if marrying Pye would make her happy, he would be happy for her. She bravely informed him that the only thing that would make her happy was if Ron married her instead. Ron reluctantly told her that he couldn't, not as long as there was a chance that he could be with Hermione. She said that she understood. Two weeks later he read in the Prophet that Lavender and Olde Pye (he, Harry, and the twins had taken to calling the bastard that) had run off and gotten married in Gretna Green, Scotland on Valentine's. Nearly eight months later Violet Elvyrah Pye came into the world.

By time Lavender got back to his place after settling things with her daughter and her mum, Ron was dressed and ready to go. It was 10 o'clock. Their appointment was for 10:30. Since he lived in Diagon Alley, in a sky rise building that stood where Ollivander's used to, he and Lavender were able to walk arm in arm to the wedding planner's shop. It was a dazzling white building located right before the turn into Knockturn Alley, across the street from Gringotts. There was a mannequin dressed in a lacy bridal robe in the store front window. She winked at them as they walked up. The gold block lettering over the dummy's head said Blissful Brides by Borghese.

“Try saying that three times fast,” Ron cracked.

Lavender smacked his arm.

“Behave,” she warned him.

When they finally entered the shop, they were both surprised to see that it was much larger on the inside than it appeared to be from out on the street. That didn't stop it from being packed to the gills with people. Young girls running here and there before mirrors trying on bridal robes and veils, groups of women dressed in olive walking back and forth jotting down notes on pads, little witchlets taking their first tentative steps in low heels; the place was buzzing like an overactive beehive. To the right of the entrance way Ron saw a flock of women examining a table full of expensive looking dinnerware as an older woman, who clearly worked there judging by the color of her robes, explained the prices and details of them all. Ron was quite bewildered by the whole scene, but Lavender merely pulled him along to the receptionist. As they walked up to the desk, a pretty dark haired girl, dressed in olive as well, looked up and greeted them.

“Welcome to Blissful Brides by Borghese,” she said perfectly and perkily.

Ron fought down the snigger at the back of his throat.

“Hello. I'm Lavender Browne-Pye. I'm here to see someone about my wedding.”

“But of course,” the girl answered. “Let me see if I can get one of the associates to squeeze you in. You have to forgive us though; it's summer and everyone wants to get married,” she said as she stood up from her chair and looked around the shop for an available planner.

“No, no, you don't understand,” Lavender smugly interrupted. “I am Lavender Browne-Pye and this," she gestured over to Ron, “is my future husband. Perhaps you have heard of him, Ronald Billius Weasley? As in Ron Weasley, star Keeper for the Wimbourne Wasps, finalists for the British Cup. Also known as Ron Weasley, co-defeater of He Who Must Not Be Named, does that ring any bells?”

The young girl looked at Ron and Lavender with huge, star struck eyes. The whole congregation by the table had gone quiet during Lavender's speech and was still watching them.

“Gracious me! The Weasley wedding, I'm so sorry! The Madame asked me to let her know as soon as you arrived. I'll just go run and do that,” the flustered girl said before she turned on her heels and fled the room.

“What?” asked Lavender as she turned to see the nonplussed look on Ron's face.

“Bit rough on her don't you think, Lav? Poor kid looked like she probably just stepped off the Express.”

“Listen, luv,” Lavender said as she wrapped her arms around Ron's neck and kissed his cheek, “you deserve the best. And I,” she placed a hand on her chest, “am always going to be here to make sure you get it.”

She then kissed his cheek again. He could only smile at her balls-iness.

Soon the kid, who introduced herself as Paloma, was back escorting them into the back office of the shop. At least it was supposed to be an office, but instead it looked more like some kind of back room boudoir. It was decorated in dark mauve and lilac colors, there were large pillows scattered all over the plush carpeting, and silk veils and multi-colored beads hung from the ceilings every where. To the left of the door there was a marble sculpture of a pair of dancing cupids. They were currently doing the Cha Cha.

But the soft sensuality of the room was dominated by a large desk. Sitting at the desk when they walked in was a stately looking woman with obviously dyed red hair. She was an older witch, perhaps in her late 80's or 90's, but she still had the air of a vital, energetic young woman. Ron figured that it must be her bright green eyes that gave that impression. Her face still retained a bit of the prettiness that must have been hers in her youth, although now it was gracefully lined with age. Instead of the olive uniform that everyone else around her wore, her robes were a dynamic aqua shade. She was stout, yet not fat; regal, yet not imposing.

She was standing up to greet them.

“Buon Giorno.”

Both he and Lavender turned to the receptionist with perplexed expressions.

“She said 'morning,” the girl answered brusquely.

“That will be enough, bella. Could you run down to Tom's and see if he has any more of that sinfully delicious pumpkin spice latte from the other day?” the woman asked in a voice that carried a trace of an Italian accent.

“Sì, Madame.”

The girl exited the room after briefly curtsying.

“Come, sit,” Madame Borghese entreated, pointing towards the two comfy looking wing back chairs before her desk.

She took her own seat as the two of them did the same.

“The Cauldron may not be very chic, but those lattes are to die for. 'Course they are so good that they must be a sin. But I'm sure a little sin in the morning never hurt anyone. Don't you agree, Signor Weasley?”

Ron was at a loss for words. The woman, seeing Ron's stunned face, merely grinned at his stunned reaction. He turned to Lav hoping that she would help him out.

“She's just teasing you, luv,” she reassured him as she placed a calming hand on his knee.

“Your charming fiancée is correct, Signor Weasley. Forgive me; I tend to flirt with my impending grooms. I am an old woman, it is my way,” she said giving a nonchalant wave with her hand.

She then straightened in her seat.

“Now, to the business at hand,” she said as she drew her wand out of her right robe sleeve. She conjured a fancy looking quill; Ron suspected it was made from a Phoenix feather, and a note pad. “I believe we are here to discuss your wedding.”

“My favorite topic,” Lavender squealed, voice bubbling over with excitement.

“And are you doing things in the old Briton ways?” the Madame asked, hands clasped before her as her quill began to record their conversation.

“Oh yes, Ron and I both come from families that would like to retain some of the old rituals.” Lavender looked over to him and gave him a sweet smile. “But at the same time we would like to add some modern influences as well.”

“Of course, of course, and I will be more than happy to help you with that,” said the Madame as she pointed her wand at the desk and an object that looked like an old Muggle adding machine appeared on it. She pressed a few buttons and a slip of paper printed itself out.

She tore the paper off and read it.

“Let's see, that would make the wedding date...June 24th, sì?”

“No, no,” Lavender quickly corrected. “Won...er...sorry, I mean Ron proposed Tuesday.”

“Dio mio! Cara, you should have come to me since yesterday. Don't you know that the Olde Rites are the number of days of a complete lunar cycle?”

“I know, I know...” Lavender nervously answered.

“That would mean that your Commencement is...”

“Sunday.”

“Dio mio!” she exclaimed again. “That only leaves me two days to plan.”

“Plan what?” Ron spoke up. Up until that moment he had felt completely useless in the whole conversation, but talk of the engagement party caught his attention. “My mum has already taken care of the whole thing.”

The Madame let out a sigh of relief.

“Ah, that is good then. In the first years it was the mother of the groom's responsibility to host the Commencement besides.”

The Madame then began to calculate the new information. Once the paper rolled out she looked over the information and then handed the slip to Lavender.

“All the things I handle and the fees are listed there. Thankfully the party Sunday gives me one less thing to worry about. That would just mean that I would take care of the Naming Tea, the Ending Party, and the culminating Wedding ceremony of course. I'm sorry, but I don't do the Temptations. That's completely up to the Maid of Honour and the Best Man.”

The Madame sniffed at the very idea that she would handle something so base.

“Have you decided yet on who will fill these roles?”

Lavender looked up from the sheet.

“Oh of course! Ron's sister, Ginevra Potter, and her husband, Ron's best friend.”

“Ah yes,” said Madame Borghese. “Harry Potter. This is going to be quite the wedding indeed.”

Lavender had brought up Harry's name innocently enough so that if one didn't know her, one would think Lavender's vague mention was completely innocuous. But Ron knew her quite well, and he didn't appreciate her use of Harry's name to score herself points with Madame Borghese. He let her know by shooting her a reproachful glare the moment that the Madame took her eyes from them and looked back at the door.

Paloma had arrived with the Madame's latte and had even brought steaming cups of coffee for the couple. While the Madame held a short conversation with her receptionist in Italian, Lavender looked over to Ron and mouthed the word “sorry”. Ron merely nodded his head back at her in acceptance. Paloma then exited the room again.

“Now if you want, Blissful Brides can help you with all of your important needs. We help with ribbon selection, finding the new home, and we even offer instructors who can coach you and your party on the various charms and spells. As I'm sure you glanced in our show room up front, we also offer a wide selection of bridal robes. Only the latest fashions, of course,” she said as though anything else would be sacrilege. “You have all of the prices listed there, but my basic fee is what is circled. I think it's more than reasonable.”

Lavender nodded her head in response as she handed Ron the slip with the fees. Ron causally looked down at the paper, then did a double take.

“Bugger me!”

Lavender turned cool, angry eyes on him.

“Ron!” she fumed. She was able to sound both terribly embarrassed and wrathful at the same time.

Madame Borghese only chuckled at the couple.

“It's quite alright, dear. I've yet to have a prospective groom who didn't react in much the same way.”

Ron didn't think of himself as cheap, but having grown up being a tad...impoverished, he learned early on the importance of a galleon. When he became a young adult and first started earning a wage, he earned the reputation of being thrifty and smart with his gold. Although the salary the Wasps paid him was no small amount, he didn't believe in being extravagant with his money. The figure that the Madame was offering for her services was more than he got for his signing bonus! What did Lavender take him for? Bloody King Midas!

“Signor Weasley, let me see if I can help you understand,” Madame Borghese said making her way from behind her desk and settling herself in front of the couple.

She plucked the price sheet out of Ron's hands before leaning against the desk.

“In the days since past, all the services that I, and the other wedding planners like myself take care of, used to be the responsibility of the Maiden, what we now call the Maid of Honour. She was supposed to be a representative of the bride's purity. She was also responsible for executing the wedding Cycle to the bride's exact wishes. Back then there was no more important job for an unmarried witch! Essentially she would want to do a good job because soon it would be her turn to choose the proper Maiden.”

The Madame left her perch and crossed the room to a bookshelf on the right side wall. She drew out a heavy book, brought it over to Ron, and placed it on his lap. She then went behind her desk and took a seat again. Ron opened that book, a photo album, and began thumbing through it. Page after page contained the animated photos of wedding ceremonies. He assumed that they were all former Blissful clients.

“Times, however, have changed,” she said returning to her subject. “Some say for the good. Some...disagree. Things have been taken from and added to the Cycle. Once upon a time the groom's family would be in the room as the marriage was first consummated.”

“Blimey!”

“Indeed, Signor Weasley,” she softly laughed. “Thankfully that was done away with. Why now there are even Matrons of Honour. Trust me; that fact scandalizes anyone born before the 1900’s.”

Ron began studying the pictures as Madame Borghese continued to speak. He had to admit, the couples in the pictures all looked blissfully happy.

“Now days though not as much importance is put on the ancient rites. Some wizarding couples opt to have Muggle religious ceremonies. Some even elope. The old ways are no longer enforced, and because of that sometimes a bride will choose a Maid of Honour who isn't...how does that clever little saying go...up to snuff. As your planner I will ensure that every thing goes according to plan under my watch. I am thorough, I am attentive to details, and more than anything else, I live for making a young bride's dreams come true.”

Ron's attention was caught by a photo of a young couple kneeling before a feeble, nearly bald old wizard who was dressed in shiny golden colored robes. Ron recognized the man immediately. It was Armando Dippet, the fellow who was Headmaster before Dumbledore. Ron recognized him from his portrait hanging in Dumbledore's, now McGonagall's office. The picture was taken in profile, but he couldn't exactly see the couple's faces because the two tiny images were too enrapt in each other.

Soon that's going to be me and Lav, thought Ron excitedly.

“Do you love your fiancée, Signore?”

Ron answered the question so quickly that he didn't even have time to be offended by it.

“'Course I do!” he exclaimed forthrightly.

“Wouldn't you like to make your bride's dreams come true?”

Ron looked at Lavender, his sunny, funny Lavender. She meant everything to him! From the very beginning she always let him know that she put him first before anything. She knew that they belonged together long before he finally figured it out. He knew deep down that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. She was his heart! She was his fiancée.

“Of course I would,” he promptly answered Madame Borghese.

A smile spread across the old woman's face.

“Then let me give you and the Signorina a dream wedding, one that will live in your memories and fantasies forever. Let me plan your wedding.”

She handed him back the sheet of paper with her fees on it and he leaned across her desk to take them. He could feel, rather than see Lavender go stiff with anxiousness. He looked at it again briefly before plucking the Madame's quill from its spot where it was still writing. On the line where it asked for his form of payment Ron wrote down his Gringotts vault number. He then handed the slip back to Madame Borghese.

“Whatever Lav wants, do it!”

You could have heard a pin drop in the room for a moment before Lavender sprung to life beside him, and reached over to grab him. She placed a huge kiss on his cheek before squealing for joy.

“Quello è buono,” said the Madame. “We will meet in a few days to begin making plans in earnest.”

She stood up, and he and Lavender followed suit.

“Thank you, thank you Madame Borghese,” Lavender cried jubilantly, extending her hands to take those of the older witch.

“Cara bella, it is I who should be thanking you,” she said as she clasped Lavender's hands and placed first her right cheek, then her left against either side of Lavender's and made a kissing sound. “It's when I meet a couple so obviously in love, as the two of you are, that I remember why I started this company in the first place.”

If those words had come from anyone else, Ron was sure that it would have sounded like a load of dugbog dung. But something in the Madame's demeanor told him that she meant her words wholeheartedly.

“And you may call me Filomena. After all we are going to be spending an awful lot of time together these next few weeks.”

Filomena then bade farewell to Ron in the same manner as she did Lavender.

“Trust me Signore; you will not regret your decision. I will make your wedding perfect and not a thing will go wrong.”

“I sure hope not,” Ron responded. “'Cause I'm going to be paying for this thing all the way to the Old Wizards Home!”

A/N: Next up is Draco's POV. Things to look forward to: the identity of Draco's girlfriend, more on Cadmus, and the beginnings of an unlikely friendship.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Russell Talbot, Violet Pye, Cornelius Pye, Marcel Weasley, Lionel Weasley, Rosemary Weasley, Dashiel Weasley, Madame Filomena Borgehese, and Paloma are canon.

2) “I'm a house-elf for You” is a parody of Britney Spears’ “I'm a slave for You”. (heh, just covering my bases)

3) Perdita is a young heroine in Shakespeare's The Winter's Tale. Her mother was named Hermione.

4) Gretna Green is a small village in Scotland that is near the English border. It was once a popular spot for teenagers to elope to because Scotland had no real age of consent. According to Scottish law as long as a declaration was made in front of two witnesses almost anyone had the authority to marry a couple. Oftentimes this was the village blacksmith (or anvil priest). A blacksmith marries hot metal to metal in much the same way an anvil priest would forge a union between two people.

5) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a horklump is a garden pest that resembles a pinkish, bristle covered mushroom. It is a carnivore, but is the favorite meal of gnomes. A dugbog is a strange creature that resembles a piece of dead wood flaoting in the marshes in which it lives.

6) I tried to make the Italian understandable in the text but just in case it wasn't clear...

Buon Giorno.= Good day.

Dio mio!= My God or My Goodness!

Quello è buono.= This is good.

7) More on The Olde Rites later.

8) The Gorgons, the Ministry Day School, the Department of Magical/Muggle Brethren Affairs, the Liaison to the Muggle World, Blissful Brides by Borghese boutique, Pye in the Sky Ltd. broom company, and the books From Shakespeare to the Beatles: A Comprehensive Study of the Muggle Arts, and Muggles for Dummies are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

5. Chapter 4

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: 16,324

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: D/LL and past mentions of a ONE-SIDED D/Hr. For those in the back who didn't hear me I said ONE-SIDED. You have been warned.

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.

Thursday, 05/26/05

He had finally decided to do it. He was going to do it! He was going to walk right into that store and buy that ring for her. I'm going to walk right in, buy that ring, and by the might of Salazar I'm not going to lose my nerve, the little voice in Draco's head assured himself. Of course if he hadn't been so agitated, he would have asked himself why the hell he was hearing little voices where little voices oughtn't to have been. But Draco didn't have time for all that self-analysis mumbo jumbo. He was about to make a very important commitment to the woman who he was almost certain he was in love with. Scratch that, he was sure he was in love with Luna. This was serious business! It wasn't everyday you asked a girl to think about marrying you.

Draco had come to the little town of Hogsmeade to re-interview a witness for his current case. His division of Aurors was tracking some pureblood nutjob who had a hard-on for torching people. The problem, however, was that no one was exactly sure what Cadmus, the nut in question, looked like or where the hell he even was.

They knew basics. According to Ministry records he was born in a small Devon village, Denbury, around 1890 to a witch and wizard of apparently low status. Neither had ever been students at Hogwarts, and Ptolemy had never crossed those hollowed halls himself, even though Cadmus was a very ancient and venerable wizarding name. Instead sometime around 1904, young Cadmus was employed as a stable boy for a family in St. Catchpole; the Stonefeathers. The Stonefeathers were a very old, very powerful, very rich wizarding family that only employed human servants. The patriarch, Elias Stonefeather, had once lost a card game to his elf valet, and because of that heinous transgression house-elves were forever banned from his presence. Cadmus apparently stayed with the family for only a few years before disappearing from the world.

The next time he showed up on any wizarding radar was when his daughter entered Hogwarts in 1923. There was no record of Cadmus marrying, but according to the daughter's schoolmates, she was very proud of her paternal name and always maintained that both her parents were of magical birth. It was assumed that Cadmus had simply lived Muggle for all those missing years. They were still waiting for paper work from Arthur Weasley's office to determine if this was in fact true. They did know that by time the daughter married her Muggle husband the unnamed mother was dead. The cause of death was uncertain, but Draco wouldn't be surprised if she hadn't been tuned into a crispy bit herself.

Some years after his daughter's death, Cadmus married a stupid bint by the name of Cady Bishop who had been a barmaid at the Haggling Hag. From what Draco had been able to gather, Cady was also a small time whore who picked up her tricks from the Hag's clientele. If Cadmus knew this when he married her, he apparently didn't care. After the 1952 wedding, that shockingly enough took place in the Ministry, Cadmus once again chose to lay low.

That is until he killed Kevin and Whitney Whitby right in their Hogsmeade shop. It would seem that for Cadmus, Whitney was too much of a Muggle for his tastes, though the Second Squad didn't come to that conclusion until much later. At first there were no suspects. The few eyewitnesses they had to the crime could only report seeing a dragon leaving the scene shortly after the shop began to burn to the ground. The thinking was that it was all some freak, random dragon attack. Experts from the Magical Creature department were called in to investigate. But when the second couple, a Cloinda and Desmond Forbes, were torched in the husband's home the Ministry knew that something was up.

The Second Squad, Potter's Posse as they were secretly called much to their department head's chagrin, were officially put on the case and dispatched out to Peckham to investigate. Before a force of Obliviators went to work on them, the Forbes' neighbors reported seeing a dragon flying away. That now made for two random dragon attacks. And what was more confusing was that from the descriptions they were able to attain, the dragon was a breed that wasn't known to live in Europe.

For weeks the authorities were stumped as to what was going on. That is until Langdon Moon and his new bride of 2 weeks, Sarah, died while trying to escape from the blazing inferno that had once been their Diagon Alley flat. As was usual the witnesses reported seeing a copper colored dragon; a Vipertooth. For the first time Draco and his partner, Potter, were able to fit a pattern to the crimes. They both realized what all three couples had in common; they were all newlyweds and they all were part of mixed marriages. Kevin and Langdon were both wizards; Cloinda had been a witch. Their respective spouses were all Muggles.

But the pièce de résistance came in the form of a ring that was found in the wreckage of the Moon's home. It was a woman's ring. To be precise, it was a gold Hogwarts house ring with the Ravenclaw seal embossed on it; class of 1930.

Of course they naturally assumed that the ring was a Moon family heirloom; Langdon came from a Ravenclaw legacy. But after the ring was thoroughly examined, the name Cadmus was found scrawled long the inside of it. That was when Harry's researchers went to work. They found the name of Harmonia Cadmus, Ravenclaw, listed as one of Hogwarts’ former Head Girls. They also learned that Harmonia left school that Christmas break of her last year to marry a Muggle named Heinz Andrews, and that her husband killed her not too long after the wedding. Further digging revealed that Andrews died in a freak fire in 1998. The mental clinic the old man still lived in since killing his wife burned to ashes with him inside. He was the only casualty.

Soon after the ring was identified an article, published without the Department's consent, appeared in the Daily Prophet detailing the gruesome murders of the Moons. The ring was mentioned, and a few scant hours later Cady Cadmus was at Ministry headquarters to claim her family's possession. The sapphire ring was priceless, or so she said. It rightfully belonged to her husband, Toley, she informed Whitmer, the Auror who took her statement. From what the slightly inebriated wench told them, her husband Ptolemy wore the ring on a gold chain around his neck and never took it off. She gabbled on for hours more, but it didn't matter. They finally had their man!

Or so they thought. The problem was that Cadmus seemed to always be three steps ahead of Potter's Posse. They would arrive at a country B&B and find Cadmus written in the ledger days after the crafty wizard had already left. They would find Cadmus written on slips of paper in the drawers of pawn shops the man unloaded one item after another in. The biggest problem for them was that not one witness could give them a clear description of what the elusive Cadmus looked like. Not even his wife. And she fucked him for Merlin's sake, Draco was known to grumble.

All they knew was that they were looking for a rather large male, well over 6 feet, which was built like a baby manticore. Although he was of a considerable age, well over 100 years, he supposedly didn't look a day over 75. According to Mrs. Cadmus, he walked with a pronounced limp due to a run-in he had with an abraxan when he was a young teen and he wore his long white hair in a plait down his back. He also had an equally long, snow white beard that he kept immaculately clean.

Harry called in a sketch artist to do a rendering of what the lunatic could look like. There didn't seem to be a single photograph of him in existence. After the sketch was completed, the wife told them that it was probably a pretty good depiction. If you asked him, Draco thought the barmy eejit looked like the Muggle Father Christmas on steroids. When Draco mentioned this to Potter he was told, rather nastily, that he in fact did not ask him his opinion.

They had a good sketch and they had a few good leads, which should have been enough. From the description they were given, Cadmus was the sort of fellow you would remember if you ran into him. But some thing odd happened. Every person the man came in contact with seemed to remember speaking to him, but couldn't quite recall anything else afterwards. What they talked about, what he was wearing, if there was anyone else with him; nothing.

Potter had surmised that Cadmus was either using a strong cloaking charm, or was confunding these people. Draco was quick to agree. Draco also believed that despite whatever screws might be loose in the loon's head, they were also dealing with one very powerful wizard. The man could control a Vipertooth! A fucking Vipertooth! They were mean little buggers. A Peruvian would rather have a man for lunch than allow one to trot it about like some over grown St. Bernard. This bloke, however, seemed to be able to command and ride one.

And how else to explain Cadmus' apparent control over so many people's mind, even months after the fact? The witness that Draco had re-interviewed, a Winnona Bettany, still seemed to be slightly frazzled after all this time. Winnona contacted the Ministry to tell them that she was remembering some more details of the day she watched Kevin Whitby's bakery burn. Harry dispatched Draco to Hogsmeade to get her testimony, but when the young Auror arrived at the tiny old crone's cottage she appeared surprised to see him. She didn't recall floo'ing the Ministry that morning at all. She then promptly offered Draco a plate of biscuits that looked like they were covered in kneazle hair. Draco graciously declined and hot tailed it out of there. Winnona still seemed to be confunded, and Draco wouldn't be surprised if they found most of Cadmus' secondhand victims in the same condition.

Although this fact finding mission had been a bust, Draco did find something else to do with his day. He was currently standing in front of Magical Moments, an antique shop next to Puddifoot's. Magical Moments specialized in specialty pieces of furniture and jewelry. It was a piece of jewelry in fact that held Draco’s attention.

He had first spotted the ring after leaving Puddifoot's one day a few weeks ago. He had met Pepper Warrington, one of the few Slytherin house mates of his that would still associate with him, there for lunch. Back in his Fifth Year Pepper had been a member of the Inquisitional Squad that he, and a bunch of the other kids Draco ran with, joined. The slightly older black haired, turquoise eyed girl was also the hot piece of arse that introduced young Draco to the world of sex. Luckily for him, right under Pansy's pugged nose.

The two of them remained acquaintances even after she married the man she had been betrothed to since childhood, Conrad Warrington. Warrington was another fellow Slytherin and Inquisitional Squad member. Pepper had asked Draco to lunch because she needed a shoulder to cry on. She was afraid that “Connie” had a mistress. Over scones and hot tea, Draco patted her hand and reassured her that he was almost certain that Warrington wasn't stepping out on her with another woman. Draco neglected to inform her that the Warrington he remembered from school seemed to prefer the lads. Once Pepper was calmed down, Draco exited the little café.

Merlin how he hated Puddifoot's! The tacky decor always seemed to look like a Muggle greeting card exploded inside. Pepper is going to have to choose a better locale next time, he thought sullenly to himself. As he walked pass the neighboring shop, he just happened to glance over and looked in the window. His eye caught the gleam off of a silver object lying on a purple velvet pillow. As he came closer to inspect the object, he saw that it was a ring. The ring was sterling silver with an ebony onyx stone in the center of it. The sides had some sort of engravings on them, but from his vantage point Draco couldn't tell what they were. With his curiosity aroused, Draco entered the store to investigate. Upon hearing the little bell that went off, the shops’ owner came rushing up to him.

“Can I help you, fine sir?” the rather plump middle aged witch asked him. She was dressed in dark gray robes that matched her up-swept hair. She had a rather pleasant face that looked like it gave easily to smiles, like the one she was giving him now.

“Oh it's nothing really. I was just curious about that ring in your window. It kind of caught my eye,” he said, sending her a sexy smirk that made most women want to fling their knickers at him.

Apparently this witch was no exception. She giggled as she waddled quickly over to the window. Draco did a quick survey of the neat little shop, and saw that although the items in it appeared to be old, they also seemed to be of the finest quality and quite pricey. This was a relief to him. If his mother ever caught word that he had been spotted in some cheap little remainder shop he would never hear the end of it. Malfoys only bothered with the best!

“This is a rather nice little place. How long has it been here?” Draco asked conversationally as she came ambling back to him, ring in palm.

“Oh, I just moved in here not too long ago,” she shared as she handed the ring to Draco. “I had a lot in Diagon, but the rent was just far too much for me.”

Draco listened to her talk as he examined the ring closely. It was truly an exquisite piece. The large onyx stone almost seemed to entrance him, and the silver brilliantly gleamed as if it had its own inner sparkle.

“Gorgeous, isn't it? And right clever too! It can reshape to fit perfectly any finger it is placed on.”

Draco looked down at the woman who was standing right in front of him. He felt as if he were in a daze. She smiled back up at him and clucked her tongue.

“That right there is the last remaining bit of the Swinhufvud treasure.”

“Swinhufvud?” Draco asked, pronouncing the name awkwardly.

The woman gave a small laugh.

“They were an old Swedish noble family. Well, they lived as nobles rather. They all were wizards, though. The line died out sadly.”

Draco nodded his head although he had barely heard her. He was still looking at the intricate detailing on the sides. It sort of looked like a...pig; a very odd looking pig with weirdly shaped horns.

“A poor young wizard, hard on his luck, sold it to me a few years ago,” the shop owner continued. “Not a member of the family, of course. He probably got it from a past relative who worked as a servant for them. But in my line of business you don't tend to ask questions, now do you?”

Draco nodded affirmatively and then held the side of the ring out to the woman.

“It's something special all right. But what the devil are these things?” he asked pointing out the engravings.

The woman giggled again and took the ring gingerly out of Draco's hand.

“You wouldn't be the first person to ask that question. It's a snorkack.”

Draco, who had been looking at the ring longingly, quickly brought his eyes back to the witch. Surely she didn't say what he thought she said.

“Come again?”

“I said it's a snorkack. At least that's what that young man told me when I asked him. The Swinhufvud's apparently raised the things,” she answered him.

Draco stared at the woman in comical disbelief for a moment before doubling over in laughter. The woman looked at him confusedly.

“Well yes, I gather it is a rather odd looking beastie,” she said. She gave a halfhearted, nervous laugh.

When the attractive blond first strode into her store, Lucretzia Boothe had taken one look at the well groomed young man in his expensive looking robes and his rather prideful air and smelled a sale in the air. Lucretzia could spot money when she saw it and this young Adonis with the light gray eyes had buckets of it.

She didn't count on him being a nutter, though.

Draco, still laughing, ran his fingers across his shortly shorn head of hair as he looked into the perplexed face of the store's owner.

“I'm sorry. It just really is an odd looking...beastie,” he said.

Seconds later he was out the door.

For weeks afterwards Draco would find some reason or another to come to Hogsmeade and walk by Magical Moments. Each time he would hope against hope that the ring would still be in the window, and each time he would be pleased to see that it was. He figured the reason for this was that there weren't many women who would wear a bauble decorated with a pig. Well, maybe there was one woman, Draco thought affectionately.

No one would have ever expected Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood to get together. Sure she came from a “good” pureblood family; that did not negate the fact that the woman was a few bats short of a belfry. Draco had known her in school of course. You couldn't miss her, what with her bottle cap necklaces, radish earrings, and hats that would roar or flap about. She wasn't just eccentric, she was bonkers! Draco and his gang took great pleasure in harassing her when she first showed up at Hogwarts. That is until they realized that the shoddy treatment did little to faze her. It was no fun kicking someone in the teeth if they didn't at least acknowledge that their gums were a bit sore, Draco mused. It was so much more enjoyable to have a go at Scarhead and the Weasel King instead. Now there were two dolts who made his harassment well worth the while. Draco lost all interest in Luna very quickly.

After the War he would run into her occasionally, but she wasn't really a person who was on his radar. Then one fine spring day that all changed. Chief Hanes had told Draco the day prior that a brand new reporter from a fine and reputable paper was coming to do a personality piece detailing a young man's first few months as a new Auror. Hanes volunteered Draco. Draco didn't mind much, he rather liked the idea of reading an article in the Prophet or hopefully the International Seer expounding upon all of his daring exploits and heroics.

The day of the interview Draco came to work dressed in a pair of finely fitted black trousers and a black cashmere pullover. His platinum hair set against his usual dark apparel made him look like a sinisterly sexy angel. As he waited for the reporter at his neatly ordered desk during his lunch break, he briefly wondered if he was going to be interviewed by a woman. He also wondered if said woman would be yummy enough to bed. That should get him a front page exclusive surely! All these thoughts were dashed though when the journalist in question walked in.

“YOU?!” he exclaimed accusingly, voice dripping with disdain.

Luna Lovegood looked much the same as she did way back in school. Her hair was still dirty blonde, although now she wore it in large curls that hung to her shoulders. Her eyes looked like molten silver with flecks of blue scattered throughout. The way they bulged gave her a constant look of surprise. Her straight thin nose and thin pale lips were features found commonly on pureblood girls. She was somewhat pale as well, but she didn't look washed out. Her complexion went well with her rather waifish prettiness. Luna Lovegood was in a word, cute. This fact was not lost on Draco as she stood at the entryway of his cubicle dressed in chocolate brown robes. But she's still is mad as ever, he contemptuously thought as he noted the far off look on her face.

“YOU!” Draco sputtered again.

“Yes me,” she said in a low and dreamy, melodious voice. “At least I think I'm still me. I was when I first walked in here. I think.”

Draco gaped at her, mouth opened wide. He was relieved that most of his office mates had gone out to lunch and were not around to witness this. He would have never lived it down.

“You should be careful, you know. Although a wrackspurt usually comes in through the ears, you never know when they might adapt and jump in any available hole.”

She then placed her hand on his chin and closed his mouth for him. Draco was so annoyed that he didn't even notice the small tingle he felt where she touched him. He jerked his chin away. This was not how he expected his day to go.

“What the hell are you doing here, Loony?!” he demanded, his temper steadily rising.

“I'm here to interview you. Didn't Uncle Army arrange all this?”

At this point Draco didn't care who Uncle Army, Uncle Navy, or Uncle bloody Royal Air Force was. He wanted the woman out of his office!

“He and daddy played chess together just a few days ago. When I told Uncle Army about the article I wanted to write he said he would handle it. Armistead Hanes is your boss, correct?” she asked, eyes boring into his own similarly colored ones.

“Hang on; Chief Hanes is your uncle?”

She gave a disturbingly loud laugh, much like the bray of a wild horse, and shook her head.

“No. Uncle Army and Dad are just good friends. Dad even lets him cheat at chess.”

Draco silently cursed under his breath. Hanes in the Arse had set him up. Fine and reputable paper indeed! The Quibbler was a piece of garbage that most people used to line their owls' cages. It advertised spells to help you raise a sphinx army and published feature articles on goblin/vampire secret alliances. It was a joke and just so happened to be the paper that Linus Lovegood, Luna's father, owned and edited. Draco sighed. There would be no front page exclusive to look forward to now.

“Look Loony, I think there has been a mistake,” Draco said as he slowly stood from his chair.

“Is there? Did I come on the wrong day? I can come back,” she said, her voice for the first time diverging from its whimsical tone.

Draco gritted his teeth in agitation. Why couldn't this loon get the picture and just leave, he thought moodily.

“It's not that,” he said. “I just don't think I'm the right person for you to write your little story on. I'm not in some torrid love affair with that bloke from The Hobgoblins, and I don't know anything about Scrimgeour's pet Golem.”

He said the last bit rather nastily.

“Oh,” Luna said in a soft, dismayed voice.

Draco looked at Luna again and was almost horrified to discover that her eyes were watering. He hated the sight of a crying woman, unless she was a drunk, crying woman. Those he knew how to handle. Lovegood on the other hand was a different story.

“Loony, please do not cry. I just don't think you'll get the story that you want from me.”

Luna sniffed loudly.

“Maybe you're right,” she admitted. “I told Uncle Army that I wanted to write a story on how people can change. For the better, that is. And how it was possible to get a clean slate. But I guess you’re right. You aren't the person I wanted to write about,” she said pointedly.

She then turned on her low booted heel and proceeded to walk away.

Draco stared dumbly at her back for a split second before he grabbed her arm and turned her around again to face him.

“You wanted to write what?”

Luna gazed strait at him and tilted her head up proudly.

“I know that my father's paper has a reputation for publishing rubbish. But there is a lot of good in there if people would take the time to read it. I wanted to write an article about you.”

Draco let go of her arm and tugged distractedly on his ear. He felt like Loony Lovegood was turning his brain to mush.

“You mean to tell me you asked Hanes specifically for me? For your interview?”

Luna gave a little nod.

“But why?”

A small smile appeared on his face.

“Because you fascinate me,” she told him.

Draco snorted. Her smile grew larger.

“You don't even realize just how interesting you are, do you?”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Listen sweetheart, there are over a dozen Aurors you could have gotten for your little puff piece,” he said. And most of them wouldn't have made you cry, he added in his head.

“Oh, I'm not talking about the fact that you are an Auror. Daddy says that half you lot are nothing more than glorified babysitters for Fudge's...well, I suppose now Scrimgeour's secret heliopath stash.”

Draco made a loud noise in his throat that was halfway between a laugh and a scoff of derision.

“What I'm talking about is what you have done with your life. And not even the fact that you helped bring down Voldykins.”

At this Draco did laugh. He had never heard the Dark Lord referred to as such.

“What's so special about me, Loony? I mean, I know I'm rather gorgeous but–”

“Oh, are you?” she asked just as innocent as could be. Draco didn't detect a hint of ill will in the question. “You see I always sort of went for redheads.”

Draco recalled that Lovegood had dated the Weasel King not too long ago. And if he was remembering right, it did not end well. At all.

“Back in school I always wondered if that,” she looked up at his short blonde buzz cut, “was your real hair color. It makes you look rather peaky, doesn't it?”

Draco's feathers were ruffled. He did not look peaky! He was a handsome enough fellow, if he said so himself. And he did! Often!

“But that is neither here nor there,” Luna added as she clasped her hands in front of her. “I actually admire you Draco Malfoy.”

Draco was astounded at this disclosure. Luna Lovegood admired him? What the devil for? And why did her revelation sound eerily like another pronouncement he'd heard once before?

“I am very, very proud of you Draco Malfoy.”

Draco shook those thoughts from his head. He found that Luna was staring him steadily in his eyes. He cleared his throat.

“You um...admire me?” he asked.

Luna smiled.

“Well, yes. Are you feeling ok? Did a mugumpwa bite you? They are rather nasty things, pixies. They bite you and all you hear in your head is Celestina Warbeck warbling away until it drives you mad. I'm not sure why Celestina, though. Do you suppose she put them up to it?”

“Listen Loony, you lost me at mugumpwa.”

Draco closed his eyes as he placed his hand to his head. He felt a migraine rapidly approaching.

Luna gave that horse-like laugh again.

“Very well, very well. You just looked so confused when I said that I admired you,” she replied.

At this time some of the other Aurors were making their way back into the office. Draco opened his eyes and watched them as they filed in.

“I do, you know.”

Draco turned his attention back on Luna.

“I find people who defy conventions interesting,” she said. “You were born into a world where you were taught that you were better than most, where you were taught to despise that which was different than yourself. You learned these lessons from the people that gave you life so you shouldn't have questioned them.”

Draco swallowed the lump that formed in his throat, headache forgotten. Why did he think Loony was so loony again?

“But you did question them. You turned against everything that was programmed into your head because you knew deep down it was wrong. Do you know how hard it is to do that? It would have been far easier for you to turn to the Death Eaters...”

“Which would have had me dead now, or in Azkaban.”

“But you didn't know that then, did you?”

Draco shook his head.

“Of course not. Back then none of us knew who would come out on top in the end. But you knew that you could no longer fall in step with whatever Voldykins had planed. It's a very difficult thing, to think for one's own self. We go to this restaurant because we're told that it's the so-called spot to be seen. We glorify certain people because we are told that they should be put up on pedestals. We degrade others because we are told they should be scorned.”

She said this last bit not without a touch of bitterness in her voice.

“But to think for one's own self? Some fear that more than the grave! If you die you're just dead. Nothing else can be done about that. But when you think for yourself you have to live with that decision and accept the consequences. For most, that can be a truly terrifying concept.”

“Ok Loony, now you've really lost me. I think my head is starting to hurt again.”

Luna covered her mouth to hold back the laugh (thank Merlin) that wanted to break free.

“I'm simply saying that it was brave of you to side with Harry, especially since you hated him once. You made a decision that seems to have changed your life for the better. But that change never would have come if you hadn't made the first step. That took courage.”

Draco tried to fight the blush of embarrassment that he feared was spreading across his face. Luna was assigning motivations to his deeds and actions that were not necessarily true, but they sure sounded good to hear her tell it. He could almost believe them himself.

“And then the way you fought the Ministry when they didn't want to let you into the Department to train? Holy hippogriffs; that took erumpent sized balls!”

Draco was quite certain his face was boiling now. Not too many people knew that last part. After the War, even after all that Draco had done to help bring down Lord Voldemort, he still wasn't trusted. He was a Malfoy, and as such, was considered a traitor to the Ministry. That little incident back in Sixth Year where he let a horde of homicidal followers of the Dark Lord into Hogwarts, an act which resulted in Headmaster Dumbledore's death, also did not help his standing. So unsurprisingly when Draco suddenly decided that this whole saving people gig might not be so bad, and wanted to become an Auror, there were many people in positions of power who were determined that he would not get his wish. But in the end everything worked out and Draco eventually got to join the Department of Magical Law Enforcement after all. There was one person who wouldn't have had it any other way.

“You could have taken all the Malfoy galleons and been done with it. But you stuck it out and you fought for your right to train.”

When Luna noticed Draco's questioning look she simply said, “Hermione told me. She was very proud of you, you know.”

“Yes. Yes she was,” Draco said, heart thumping as it did every time he thought of a certain brunette, or someone even spoke her name.

“Well, I should be going now,” Luna said as she looked around the room and saw that it was almost full. “I'm sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Malfoy.”

Luna turned around and made for the exit of the office again. Draco watched her go until he heard a small voice chide him to stop her before she left. He couldn't be certain, but he imagined that the voice sounded a lot like Hermione's.

“Loony, wait!”

Heads all over the department turned to see who was making the racket. Luna, who had been halfway out the door, turned to look at him, that dreamy look returning to her face. Draco shyly shuffled over to where she stopped and stood before her.

“Listen Loony, um...if you still want to do the interview, I'm for it. Just say when,” he said as he stared at the floor, too scared to meet her eyes. Because of this he missed the huge smile that spread across her face.

“Well now, that would be just lovely,” Luna said, beaming.

“Sadly I'm a working stiff and we have frittered away what little break I had,” said Draco jokingly.

Luna grabbed one of Draco's hands and wound her arm through his own. Draco was slightly startled by the bold move of intimacy, but shrugged it off. It felt nice.

“Uncle Army will understand if I steal you away for another hour. This is going to be my first big feature article and I'm sure that he will want it to turn out well.”

“Sounds good enough to me,” Draco said as he steered Luna towards the exit. “Why don't we get something to eat so our stomachs will be full as I tell you how wonderful I am?”

Luna gave a girlish giggle that was tons better than that horsy thing she did.

“That sounds just marvy. Oh I know! We could go to Madame Puddifoot's in Hogsmeade. I haven't been there in ages. I always loved the decor when I was a little girl.”

You would, thought Draco in bemusement.

He ended up taking a two hour lunch that day. Luna turned out to be a pretty excellent journalist. She asked questions that no other reporter would generally ask, and for the trouble got insightful answers out of Draco. When the article was published a few days later, it caused such a sensation that the Daily Prophet and the International Seer both paid the Quibbler a sizable sum to run the piece in both of their publications. There was just something so titillating about a son who could turn his back on his family in order to fight for the Side of Light. And the personal demons he dealt with in order to do so...sexy. Draco became a minor celebrity overnight. He practically had to beat the women off of him with a stick, which he almost invested in seeing as how he was now dating Luna.

He didn't end up in bed with Luna the night of his interview. Luna was after all a pureblood girl and they tended to be uptight when it came to premarital sex. But after sharing cozy lunches for two, and heading out to the Muggle cinema just about every night for a couple of weeks, it seemed a far gone conclusion that they would inevitably have sex. Draco was almost terrified of the prospect. He was shocked to discover that he actually liked spending time with Luna. Sure she was offbeat, but he kind of liked that aspect of her. She also was one of the least judgmental people he had ever met. She respected the fact that he could be sarcastic and surly. He admired the fact that she was unapologetically slightly insane. She loved it when he called her “Loony Love”; said she had never had a pet name before. He would nearly jump her every time she called him “Lover” in that throaty, dream-like tone of hers. Draco feared that once they eventually fucked he would lose all interest in her. That was his usual pattern.

In fact when he and Luna first started dating he had been seeing Pristine Pringle. She was an auburn haired, pureblood princess he had been dating on and off for years. His mother had introduced Draco to Pristine at a luncheon she had hosted. It would be too kind to call her simply a husband hunting harpy. Hermione had hated her! Said she was silly, vapid, and most importantly, could afford to eat a sandwich a time or two. Pristy was very pretty though and was good for a lay every now and then. Draco barely tolerated her. When Draco dumped Pristine for Luna he was almost certain that the Ravenclaw would soon follow her predecessor. But it never happened. Nearly a year and half to the date of that fated interview, Draco ended up shifting into the Lovegood home in St. Catchpole. He had never been so happy in all his life!

Two years later found him still ridiculously happy. That was why he was still standing in front of Magical Moments. As soon as he had seen the ring he knew that he wanted to give it to his Loony Love. Once the shopkeeper told him about the snorkacks (crumple-horned snorkacks Lover, his girlfriend would have said had she been there) that were engraved on it, he knew that he had to get it for Luna. It was made for her. He didn't even care about the price, 250 galleons. Nothing was too good for his Loony.

In fact what he really wanted to give her was the Malfoy Pearl. The Malfoy Pearl was the family heirloom that was passed down to each first son of the family. Upon selecting a bride, the heir would place it on the young lady in question's finger and thus begin the Rites. The Pearl was currently sitting on his mother's vanity table waiting patiently for Draco to choose his future bride. As far as Draco was concerned, he had found her. The problem was that he knew that Luna was slightly wand-shy at the prospect of another wedding. For this reason above all others Draco wanted to curse the Weasel King and turn him into a self-swallowing flobberworm. He had read in the Prophet that the Weasel was planning on marrying the very same slag that disrupted the redhead's wedding to Luna almost four years ago. Good riddance, Draco thought to himself. I hope she wrecks his fucking life! Draco sometimes forgot the fact that it was his own good fortune that Ron called off the wedding. If he hadn't, Draco wouldn't have his Loony now.

No, Luna wasn't ready for the Malfoy Pearl. But the Swinhufvud gem was just right. They could consider it a pre-engagement engagement ring; a promise of a promise. Draco knew he was good for fulfilling the pledge. He had never felt this way about any other woman before...save one.

Draco could never be sure when he and the walking Spellopedia named Granger had actually become friends. He knew it was before she almost launched her one-witch campaign against the Ministry to get him into the Auror training program. He thought it might have been that Christmas, trapped at Hogwarts as the Second War raged on outside, that she knitted (badly) a jumper for him. She said that he deserved a present too, but the truth was that her big heart couldn't stand to see him be the only Order member empty handed that year. He was sure it wasn't the time he slapped her silly for calling his father a monster. She was quite sore (literally and figuratively) for days after that incident. She had been right, but at the time Draco didn't want to hear it. No, Draco could never say for certain when the bushy haired swot that he had teased and berated all through school had become his closest friend and confidant. But he did remember the night, in vivid detail, when he figured out that he wanted to shag the living daylights out of her.

In a way he figured he had to have been unconsciously attracted to the girl back when they were younger; though he would have rather died then admit it back then. She sort of reminded him of his mother; fiercely intelligent, crafty, and obviously not above using her feminine wiles to get her own way. When Hermione threatened him with a vial of Veritaserum the night he defected to the Order, she mounted his very lap and deftly rocked herself against him to get a reaction. Of course Potty missed all of that, the blind git! Hermione taunted him with cruel threats, and when Draco vehemently denied her claim that he wanted to fuck her, she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “your wand says otherwise”. He knew she wasn't talking about his beech wood. It was positively Slytherin of her and well played. Draco had to wonder if the girl had been sorted into the wrong house. Against his will, Draco's esteem of the Gryffindor went up many notches that night. But he didn't think he wanted her in his bed just then. That revelation came not too long after.

It happened a couple of weeks after what they were calling, “The Cup Incident”. Hermione was wide awake and grumpier than usual, while Draco had just become a member of the Order of the Phoenix, much to the surprise of all.

It was late September and Draco felt the first chill of the season in the air as he walked around the nearly deserted Hogwarts castle late one night. Once upon a time Draco had been able to sleep like a baby secure in the knowledge that he was a little prince, and that his fairy godmother dark lord would banish all the Muggles in the world so that everything could be just right. Draco never fully realized that for this to happen some people would have to die; a great deal of people to be exact.

The point was driven home when he was called on to murder his Headmaster, an act that should have never been left to a child. Draco couldn't do it! He had always thought that Dumbledore was a dithering old fool, but that didn't mean he wanted the dithering old fool dead. Even with the fates of his parents swinging in the balance before him, Draco could not throw the Unforgivable at the professor. In fact what he had done to Katie Bell, even unintentionally, secretly weighed heavily on his conscience. Draco Malfoy was a lot of things, but he was no killer. And because of that simple fact Draco was now holed up in Hogwarts with a ragtag group of rebels who were relying on a near sighted, barely 17 year old ponce to defeat quite possibly the greatest dark wizard ever known to the magical world. Yes, Draco was having a hell of a time getting to sleep these days.

Draco decided to head up to the Astronomy Tower to think. Well technically, he went there to relive some of his former glory. Draco had become a man in that tower. Draco had also deflowered Pansy and a lovely little Ravenclaw named Su Li back in his Fifth Year there as well. This was no small feat. Most well bred witches learned at their mother's knees early that no wizard wants the mooncalf if he can get its dung for free. Luckily for him Pans and Su missed the lesson. Pepper was a slut so she just didn't care. He once tried to get his house mate Daphne up there, she had legs that seemed to go on for days, but she always seemed disinterested. Draco tried to soothe his battered ego with the knowledge that she and all her family were blood traitors and would eventually meet their preferably gruesome end at the feet of the Dark Lord.

As Draco walked out onto the ramparts of the tower, he was shocked to see that he wasn't alone. Granger, dressed in a red satiny dressing gown, was leaning against the rampart walls, her back turned to him. Briefly Draco entertained a sick dark fantasy of just pushing the cranky, know-it-all Mudblood over. No one would ever know it was him. He could almost hear the meaty splat her body would make as it hit the ground down below. He smiled to himself, before noticing the up and down jerking movements her shoulders were making. Shite! The bitch was crying.

Draco tried to silently make his way back out the door, but unfortunately for him, his shoes made a sound on the stone that attracted her attention. She whirled around to face him, face wet with tears, sporting a look of utter shock and bewilderment. Draco did not miss the fact that her wand was drawn on him. Even after she realized who her intruder was, her wand was still turned on him.

“Malfoy? What in Circe's name are you doing up?” she asked as she fiercely wiped at her face.

“I could ask you the same question, Granger,” he sneered. “Although I had the good sense to put on some appropriate clothing.”

Draco had changed into a pair of slacks and a shirt before he had gone wandering.

“You know, just because your bumbling buffoon of a boyfriend gets to see all of your little girlie bits; that doesn't mean that you have to subject the rest of us to such torture.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy!” But she put the wand back in her gown’s pocket.

“Thanks for the offer, but I'm afraid I will have to decline,” he said snottily.

Draco wanted to rub his hands in glee. An enraged Hermione Granger was truly a sight to see. Her pert little nose would get all red and runny. The faint dusting of freckles across it would stand out. Her already large round eyes would appear to double in size, and the coil of tight brown spiral curls that ran riotously all over her head would nearly stand on end. Although she was of average height, when she got hacked off, like she was now, she always seemed to draw herself up in such a manner that she resembled a fierce Valkyrie. Draco wondered just how far he could push her as he swaggered out further onto the parapet.

“I've never been much of a chubby chaser myself, but I suppose if I ever get desperate enough–”

“In your dreams, Ferret!” she snarled.

“Ha! More like nightmares,” he scoffed. “Actually I'm surprised that the whole castle isn't greatly disturbed by you and Weasel King's antics. You're both loud enough about it.”

Although he, the Mudblood, Scarhead, and the Weasel King were all sleeping in the Head's Suite in the South Tower (neutral territory), it was a lie that he could hear the couple when they snuck off to plan “strategy”. Bah! He didn't have to let her know that, though.

“BASTARD!” she barked, one hand clutching the side of her robe while the other held on to the rampart wall.

“No, my parents were married, thanks.”

He grinned evilly. This was fun! That is until she broke into a fresh gale of tears

“You...I...just...” she spluttered as she turned her back to him once again. “Sod off, Malfoy! Just leave me the hell alone! Just leave me alone!”

Her shoulders shook with the great force of her sobbing.

Draco was at a loss for what to do. Although Granger was providing him with ample material to taunt her with, he could never stand the sight of a crying female. His mother tended to throw crying fits whenever she wanted his father to buy her something expensive. Pansy would give into tears whenever she felt that Draco wasn't paying her sufficient attention. But somehow Draco felt confidant that Granger didn't want either of those things. The girl was weeping as if her heart was being cleaved in half.

“Um...do you want me to get Potty or Weasleby for you?” Draco nervously asked. She shook her head firmly as she tried to control her crying.

“No. Don't bother them. Harry barely sleeps through the night as is. Don't wake them, please.”

Draco slowly walked up to the rampart wall and stood next to her. Although he was looking directly at Granger, her face was turned up to the night's sky.

“The boys worry about me so. The last thing I need is for them to see me losing it like this,” she said as her tears began to abate.

“Well what do you expect after that stunt you pulled with the Cup?” he asked while noticing for the first time that her plain brown eyes were actually almost a dark amber color.

“Yes, yes I know,” she said tartly. “Brilliant Hermione did a really dumb thing, didn't she? I've heard that enough from Harry, Ron, Professor Lupin and Headmistress McGonagall, thank you very much. Even Hagrid wanted to get in on the act.”

“Well it serves you right! You really had no idea what was going to happen to you after you drank from it. Those two dunderheads you call best mates hardly left your bedside, they were so worried. They were like little girls; little bawling girls.”

“I know,” she said, a hint of remorse in her voice. “But something had to be done. We really have no more leisure time to sit and wait for Voldemort to make the next move. He's playing for keeps now.”

“Yes,” Draco muttered bitterly, turning his gaze to the same skyline she was looking at. “I know.”

She turned to look at him.

“Yes, I suppose you do,” she said.

For a moment the two stood there in silence, each stewing in their own thoughts, until Draco broke it.

“For the record, I think what you did was ballsy,” he said begrudgingly. “Mental. But ballsy.”

Hermione cracked a small smile. He could actually hear it in her voice.

“Well gee Malfoy, I think somewhere in that insult was a compliment.”

“Yes, well...don't let it go to your head.”

His tone was only slightly condescending. Hermione chuckled softly.

“I wouldn't think of it.”

Draco glanced over at her and saw the smile on her face slowly turn into a grimace. For the first time he wondered what had brought the girl out on this tower at such a late hour to have a cry.

“So,” he queried in an overly disinterested voice, “are you going to tell me why you were blubbering up here like some stupid ninny?”

She looked at him searchingly as if trying to figure out a complex riddle.

“I mean, you don't have to if–”

“I'm scared, Malfoy,” she said, cutting him off.

Draco looked at Granger as if she just told him she was going on tour with The Weird Sisters. That would have been almost as preposterous as what he had thought she said. The gutsy lioness herself, scared? He must have misheard.

“I've been up here for hours actually. I came up shortly after I got dressed for bed. I'm not sure exactly when I started crying, though,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “I guess it just sort of hit me all at once. I'm fucking terrified!”

Draco was shocked at how candid Granger was being with him. He wanted her to continue talking so he silently nodded his head to assure her that she had his full attention.

“When I was 12, and first became friends with Harry, I knew that he had a great destiny to fulfill. I didn't know the specifics of it, but I knew what ever that destiny entailed I would be right by his side, helping him all the way. I would carry him if need be.”

Draco tried his best to hide his amusement at the image of Hermione Granger carrying Potter the Prat on her back like some old pack mule.

“But you know what I'm starting to figure out?” she asked, voice choked in so much sorrow that Draco quickly got over the mental picture. “Some of us just might not make it out of this.”

She was voicing the same fears that Draco had gone over in his own head more than a dozen times. No matter what side he chose the prospect of him dying was pretty high.

Still, Draco chose to assuage her concerns in his own way.

“Such is war, Granger.”

She rolled her eyes disgustedly.

“I know that. Don't you think I know that?” she asked. “I'm fully prepared to sacrifice my own life for Harry if I have to.”

Draco didn't doubt her statement.

“But I can't lose...them,” she said haltingly.

Big tears started to well up in her eyes again.

“I would gladly die a million times over if it meant that I could spare Ron and Harry any pain.”

Why Potty and his idiot lackey don't half-deserve devotion such as this, thought Draco to himself. He wondered what it would be like for someone to care about him so deeply.

“But that's just it,” she continued. “They could die, and the realization of that fact is sending me around the twist. I'm cracking up, Malfoy,” she confided in a conspiratorial whisper. She even looked over her shoulder as if she was fully expecting to see the men there ready to cart her away.

“Bah! You’re not going crazy Granger.”

“But I am!” she insisted strongly. “Why do you think I did what I did with that bloody cup?! My mind completely shut down, Malfoy. I...I was running off of pure adrenaline. When the three of you stood there...just stood there bitching–”

“I DO NOT BITCH!”

“...about who was going to destroy the damned thing, all I could hear in my head was a pounding voice telling me over and over again to end this, end it now. I...I didn't even know what I had done until I woke up.”

Hermione dropped her head into her upturned palms. Her voice came out muffled and Draco had to inch closer just to hear the rest of what she was saying.

“My head is a mess and I can't afford for it to be that way right now.”

She raised her head up and looked Draco straight in his eyes.

“I'd do anything for Harry Potter, but I'm scared that that's just not going to be enough.”

Amber eyes met cold gray ones and held for a moment. Forget those daydreams of flinging the Mudblood Queen off the tower, Draco was now worried that the tortured soul would take care of that herself. And Draco knew that he couldn't allow that to happen. Hate it or not, Granger was the whole brains of this operation. Potty might be The Chosen One, but without Granger they might as well just hand themselves over to the Dark Lord tied with a neat little bow. He knew that drinking from Hufflepuff's Cup would induce dreams; he had been warned about that. He wondered what she could have seen to set her off so.

“What about you, Malfoy?” she asked, breaking Draco from his reverie. “What are you afraid of?”

Draco looked down at the girl, the rather pretty girl whose hair seemed to form a halo around her head, and weighed his answer. He could tell her that he was scared that he would never see his mother again. She was a good mum, for all her pretenses, and Draco missed her with all of his heart. The thought of never seeing her face again nearly wrecked him inside.

He could tell her that by virtue of him being a Gooder now the Light was bound to lose this war. He was a curse, an abomination. He was almost certain of this fact. People died because of him; Dumbledore, his father. The list might be short now, but he was sure it would grow.

Or he could tell her his deepest fear, that no matter what he did he would always be his father's son. Draco loved his father. All he ever wanted was the older Malfoy's approval. But Draco was smart enough to know that it was because of men like Lucius that monsters such as the Dark Lord thrived and made it possible for children to fight adult wars. Draco could tell her any of this.

“Clowns,” he said instead.

Granger looked at him for one moment in slack jawed surprise, before she huffed and turned to walk away from him.

“I don't even know why I bloody well bother!” she angrily screeched.

Draco grabbed her arm to hold her in place.

“Hang on a tic,” said Draco moodily. “You just can't get your knickers in a twist because you don't like my answer.”

“Clowns, Malfoy? Honestly!” she retorted.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and went into her perfect Prefect pose. Her chin was held at an imperiously high height.

“Yes Granger, clowns. I can't stand the buggers! When I was seven my nanny, this great she-hulk of an Austrian my mother picked up somewhere, snuck me out of the Manor to go to a Muggle fun fair not too far from where my family lived. Grizzelda was a halfblood, so she was used to going to the things. I was so excited to be there that at first, when we walked in, I didn't even notice the grinning fool making his way towards me. That is until he got in my face. That false demonic grin still haunts me 'til this day. I got so agitated that I began unconsciously flinging people and things about. The Accidental Magic Reversal Squad probably had one hell of a mess to clean up after Zelda threw me over her shoulders and got me back to the house.”

As Hermione listened to Draco's story she fought down the belly aching laugh that wanted to escape from her. She even clamped her hand over her mouth as if that could keep it in. She could almost see the blond little tyke that Draco must surely have been once losing his shite over the sight of a harmless red nose.

“Yuck it up Granger, but it really isn't all that funny! If I ever needed further proof that Muggles were dotty it's the fact that they let those painted fiends around their children,” said Draco snidely. He turned around so he could lean his back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

At this Hermione finally let out a loud and mighty hoot. She wiped a tear of mirth from her eye.

“You do realize Malfoy that there are 3 year olds who would probably think you a bit of a chinless wonder, don't you?”

“I don't care. I still can't stand the ruddy bastards.”

The two of them shared a companionable chuckle. Draco wasn't sure what a chinless wonder was, he had suspicions that it wasn't quite a compliment, but he didn't care. Standing up on that parapet, high above the world, laughing over some silly childhood fear with Granger seemed the perfect place to be at the moment. In all the craziness that had followed the attack on the school only a few months ago, he had almost feared that he would never hear real laughter again. The sound was almost balm for his soul now.

“You know I know, right?”

Draco cocked his head at her, his lips still bearing a smile. His face barely had time to change into a confused expression before she dropped a bombshell.

“I know that someone is helping you.”

Draco's whole body froze. Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocks! Bollocksy-bollock-bollocks!

“Er...I, um...don't know what you're talking about.”

She smiled at Draco ruefully.

“Come now Malfoy, did you think I had somehow come over stupid all of a sudden? I've known from day one that someone was helping you. How else could you have gotten the Cup and found out how to destroy it? And how else did you know what it was, and to come to us with it?”

“I'm a fairly brilliant bloke,” he said, puffing his chest out to cover up the fact that his mind was a riot inside. She knew! She fucking knew!

“While I don't doubt that,” she tittered, “I also know that you knew too much about the inner workings of the Order when you first got here. No need to hide the fact. I'm pretty clever, or so they tell me.”

Of course she was. She was Hermione-fucking-Granger, Draco thought to himself sourly, cleverest bitch of her age, and all that. How did they ever think they could get one past her?

“I also know that whoever this person is, they appear to be on our side. And for whatever reasons they need to keep their identity a secret...”

Draco turned to face her and stared at her intently.

“Damned good reasons,” he insisted.

“Yes, damned good reasons. That's why I think it would be best if this remains our little secret for the time being.”

Draco could hardly believe it; Granger was actually taking him into her confidence. Had the world gone mad?

“You mean you aren't going to mention this to your precious Potty?” asked Draco.

She bit at the corner of her lip, a pained expression on her face. It was a rather cute expression.

“Not just yet,” she said slowly as if weighing her words. “We have bigger things on our plate at the moment.”

Hermione then did something that almost knocked Draco on his own arse. She got up close enough to him that he could feel her breath on his face. It had a minty smell, as if she had recently charmed her teeth clean. He could also smell some flowery scent on her skin and in her hair. Her close proximity to him nearly made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

“But eventually Malfoy, Harry is going to need to know about him. Bad things happen when Harry is kept in the dark.”

The way she was looking at Draco, and the way she emphasized the word “him”, let Draco know that she had sussed everything out.

“I understand,” he said, “but as you said so yourself, there are bigger things.”

She sighed.

“That there are.”

The two of them stood in silence once again, each weighing their own thoughts. Then suddenly Hermione let out a long, lazy yawn and stretched her arms, feline-like, to the sky. Draco couldn't take his eyes off of her.

“Well, I think it's time for little witches to be in bed. I'm going to turn in.”

Hermione walked to the exit of the parapet without a backward glance at Draco. This was fortunate since Draco spent the time admiring her nicely rounded arse. He caught himself in mid-ogle and reluctantly brought his eyes up higher.

“Um...Granger,” he called.

Hermione, who had reached the door at this point, turned back to face him.

“Since we're all sharing tonight, what did you really see when you drank out of the Cup?” he asked her.

Draco didn't particularly want to hear her answer, he just wanted to keep her up on the tower with him chatting for a little while longer. He was bored, he told himself.

Hermione stared at him hard for a moment, as if weighing what she was going to say. Then all of a sudden a sad, yet endearingly pretty smile crossed her face.

“It doesn't really matter, Malfoy. It can't ever happen. I won't let it.”

Draco had no clue what would make her so melancholy, but as the light of the moon crossed her face he was almost astounded at just how lovely she actually was. Had she always looked like this, or was it just a trick of the lighting, he wondered. Before he could ponder the question further, he saw her inch further out the door.

“Why don't you get some sleep too, Malfoy? I'm sure we are going to have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Don't we always?” he irritably grumbled.

She merely smiled saucily.

“'Night, Malfoy. Don't let the bed pixies bite,” she said huskily as she winked her eye and was out of his sight.

Draco never figured out if it was the smile or the wink that did him in, but once he was alone out on the tower he had to control the urge to plunge his hand in his trousers and have a good wank right there on the spot. Draco Malfoy had fallen in lust!

Which he found rather odd. Prior to that chilly autumn night, Draco had always thought of Granger as some sexless, sterile creature. She was scarcely a separate entity in his head. He always grouped them all together in his thoughts, pottyweaselmudblood; the Trifling Trifecta, the Troublesome Trinity. But that next day in the Great Hall during breakfast, he was so enthralled by the beauty of the girl sitting across from him that he could barely eat his porridge. Had her eyes always been that large and sparkling? Had her lips always worn that sexy little pout? Was her skin really that flawless? The ridiculous brown bush he was used to seeing on her head had suddenly transformed overnight into a mass of coppery, chestnut colored, cinnamon, and chocolate hued tendrils battling it out for dominance over her head. Draco had always prided himself on his own long and silky mane, but for the first time he truly understood the term crowning glory. She was a goddess!

Draco had quickly looked around the table to make sure he hadn't spoken the words out loud.

As a general rule everyone ate at the High Table, the table the professors sat at during the school year, although now it was placed level with the other tables so everyone could sit around it. Across from him Granger was slowly stirring her spoon in her teacup as she read softly to herself from a book entitled Olde and Forgotten Bewitchments and Charmes she had propped on the table. Potty and the Werewolf were having some intense discussion a few seats down to his left. On the other side of the table to his right sat the brown skinned, older Weasel who was sharing a laugh with the bastard Moody and his own bumbling cousin whose hair Draco could have sworn had been neon pink just the other day. It was now an electric blue color with white streaks racing through it. Bah! He was growing weary of Potty's Merry Band of Do Gooders.

But where was King Weasel? He wasn't in his usual spot, Spellotaped to Granger's hip. Seriously, how was the poor girl supposed to breathe? And just like that, as if Draco had summoned him, the redheaded idiot came bumbling through the entrance door and worked his way up to Granger's side.

Draco watched them like a hawk. Granger, unaware of Weasel's presence, continued to read her book and stir her tea. The prat then snuck up behind her and plucked the book out of her hand. Granger, spinning around in her seat, grinned up into the face of the towering redhead when she saw it was he who had pinched her book. But her eyes didn't smile. At least Draco tried to convince himself of this, but he had to admit that he could have been inventing it. King Weasel then plopped down in the seat next to her and shyly handed the book back. For his reward she placed a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek. That made the idiot turn almost as red as his hair. They then proceeded to make cow eyes at each other. Draco consoled himself by believing that Granger was just over doing it for show. He had wanted to empty his stomach out on the table because of the display. Instead he quickly stood up from his seat, tossed a few insults at the lovebirds (and Potty for good measure), and grumpily stalked away from the table.

When Draco was 7 or 8 his mother took him into Twilfit's to buy him a dress robe for a party she was throwing. As the diminutive store owner Thimbalina Twillfit measured him, his mother's attention was caught by a family of red mopped children being led by a rather plump looking woman with similarly colored hair. The troop marched into the secondhand robe shop across the street from them. His mother turned back around to face him and said in her cultured, posh voice, “poor”. She said it with the same sneer she would have uttered, “house-elf” or “Mudblood”. That was the first time that Malfoy knew the Weasleys for what they were, lower than him. However nearly ten years later, a Weasley would have something that he was stunned to discover that he wanted for himself. Granger.

And he did want her! Sometimes he imagined himself rogering her good and proper all over the castle. No place was sacred; The Slytherin common room, the Quidditch Pitch, the Potions dungeon classroom, Greenhouse Number 3, the Astronomy Tower. Especially the Astronomy Tower! One time he woke up during an Order meeting surprised to see the girl looking at him queerly from across the room. Only moments before he could have sworn she had been sitting on his lap. Heh.

When he told Hermione about these fantasies some years later he was treated to a playful, yet slightly painful, swat to the head followed by a prissy declaration of “perv”. They were friends by this point. That didn't negate the fact that Draco still found her quite beddable. He just wouldn't have minded cuddling afterwards by then.

For Draco, Hermione Granger became the first woman, besides his mother, that he ever respected and honestly liked as a person. And most importantly wanted to shag rotten. All at the same time! It was an interesting conundrum. He thought she was one of the most brilliant witches he would ever meet. Her knowledge of obscure potions and charms often astounded him, and she would often take standard spells and improve on them to suit her needs. Power radiated off of her in waves. Her mind came monstrously in handy when he was taking the tests to get into the Department. She would often tutor him for hours if he needed it.

Draco also discovered not too long after he joined up with the Gooders that Granger was actually quite fun to be around as long as she wasn't stressed that they were all going to die any minute. She had a clever personality and a quick witted sense of humor that could be right cheeky at times. Despite being a teetotaler, she was always good company to have if you wanted to go for a pint at the Cauldron.

And to top it all off she was sex walking! The cute little girl developed into an attractive young woman. And the most alluring part was that she didn't even seem to recognize the fact.

In actuality a bloke would probably think her plain if they just gave her a passing glance. There were far prettier faces. But Hermione Granger had more sex appeal in her pinky than half a dozen other witches combined. Sometimes Draco wondered if she had some distant veela ancestor that she wasn't aware of. He didn't know how else to explain the effect she had on some men. Maybe it was the way she would stare challengingly into a person's eyes, looking up from under hooded lids, as she talked to them. Maybe it was the naughty little way she would nibble on the corner of her full lips as she puzzled something out. It might have been the way she would throw her head back and let out a full throaty laugh, exposing mile after mile of her delectable neck, when she found something particularly humorous.

Or it could have been the arse, Draco thought. Definitely the arse. And the hips. And the thighs. And the calves. And the gloriously ample sized jubblies. Granger was all curves. Her baby fat had worked itself into a nice little pattern that gave her a drool worthy figure. In Draco's opinion her body was made for sex, a fact that she could not hide as she strode boldly through wizarding society in her Muggle clothing. He might not have that high of an opinion of Muggles, but Draco surely wanted to thank the fellow who had come up with the idea for tight, low slung designer jeans. They were truly a wondrous thing to behold! Most trendy young witches liked to be stick figure thin, tiny waistlines went well with French cut robes, but not Hermione. Despite her best efforts to slim down; eating like a bird, running in the mornings, cutting out sweets entirely, she steadily maintained her pleasingly zaftig shape. Draco didn't see why she bothered to go to all the trouble to look like all the other sickle a dozen witches anyways. In his opinion she always looked like a million galleons.

Without a doubt he was captivated by her. Sometimes he would almost get the impression that she felt something for him too. A lingering stare here, a seemingly more than platonic caress there; but he could never be sure. That is until the night of Scrimgeour's party, nearly six and a half years ago.

Rufus Scrimgeour had decided to throw a little fête for the employees at the Ministry he deemed his Rising Stars. In truth the shrewd Minister for Magic was determined to keep tabs on the heads of his various departments. He was not above using the young and impressionable new recruits under those heads to do so. Scrimgeour rented out a section of a fancy restaurant in Diagon Alley and invited a few select guests and their dates to attend.

Hermione was most definitely a star at the Ministry. She and Arthur Weasley were making great and exciting strides in the MMBA Office. She also had a formidable reputation due to the work she had done with the Order during the War. Draco figured that he had been invited because Scrimgeour wanted to make it look like there were no hard feelings about the hassle they had given him when he joined up. Bunch of divs! Nadia Fallowes was there from the Magical Creature Department, while Terry Boot and McLaggen were representing Games&Sports and Cooperation, respectively. Amy Kitterey was there for the Accident&Catastrophe Office, though unsurprisingly not one Unspeakable bothered to show their faces. Fabian Bole and Roger Davies were both movers and shakers in Transportation, but Draco knew that the only reason the latter was at this dinner party at all was because he was currently boffing the Ministry's Golden Girl.

Hermione had been going out with Davies for only a few months. Draco thought that Davies was a tosser. He was a notorious brownnoser who Draco was sure was using Hermione to improve his standing at the Ministry. However when he shared these suspicions with Hermione, she didn't seem too fussed.

“He's pretty and he's a nice distraction,” she had told him in a bored sounding voice one day. “I don't really care about the rest.”

“So you would have taken up with any old pretty face then?” Draco had asked, trying his best not to sound too bitter.

“Maybe,” she said innocently.

She then smiled slyly at him. The woman was such a bloody tease!

Hermione took up with Davies a few months after the Weasel had dumped her. At least that's what the Prophet said, but since they seemed to take pleasure at putting Hermione down Draco paid them little heed. Although Hermione never quite gave him a solid reason for the break (we grew up, we grew apart, we grew sick of each other), Draco wasn't able to take advantage of the situation for his own ends because he was on his first go round with Pringle at the time. He had tried to dump the simpering miss once Hermione had become available, but it was no good. Pristy was determined to marry and she was determined to marry a Malfoy. She had practically invited herself to the dinner in fact. Pristy, even with her longish face, was pretty enough to turn most heads whenever she walked into a room. But to Draco, in comparison to Hermione, she didn't stand a chance.

The Golden Girl had come dressed to the gathering in a strapless silky coral colored gown with a low cut bodice. The skirt of the dress clung to her as it drifted down to the floor. It would have been a miracle for her to be able to move in it if not for the slit that started indecently high on her right thigh and allowed a luscious leg to peek through from time to time. She topped the outfit off with a pair of fashionably strappy matching heels.

When Hermione first walked into the restaurant, Draco had nearly been made speechless at the sight of so much glorious flesh. It was December so the temperature was cold. He figured she must have used a heating charm on pretty boy Davies and herself. Draco was very appreciative of heating charms. As she slid into a seat next to Draco and smiled prettily at him, he felt an overwhelming urge to punch out Davies, throw Hermione over his shoulder, and make for the nearest room with a “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on the door knob. Who was he kidding? He would do her right there on the very table in front of Scrimgeour himself if she would let him get away with it.

Draco felt like slapping himself. He had to get over these wild fantasies of his. He decided to turn his full attention to Pristine and ignore Hermione for the rest of the evening. It almost worked too. That was until he felt Hermione go stiff beside him. He looked at her face and saw that her attention was drawn across the room at a table where two couples were being seated. One of the couples was She-Weasel and the Prat Who Lived. Unluckily the other couple was Hermione's ex and the pigeon brained tart he had been dating since the split. What was her name again, Draco tried to recall. Beige? Lavender Blue? Burgundy, was it? No, that wasn't right. All he knew was that the blonde bubblehead had been in the same year as them back at school.

Draco turned to look back at Hermione and was surprised to see that she was trembling. She wasn't quite angry, he knew full well what a hacked off Hermione looked like, but she did seem extremely upset as she gazed steadily at the two currently cozy couples. They each were so wrapped up in one another that they didn't notice the Ministry party table at all. The Weaselette was actually trying to make her way into Potty's lap so she could put her tongue down his throat.

Draco was about to ask Hermione if she was ok when suddenly she rose up from her seat and fled across the floor in her high, click clacking heels. For a moment Draco wasn't even sure what had happened. No one at the table even blinked an eye at the brunette's hasty departure. Her boyfriend was too busy forcing all of his nose up Scrimgeour tight arse. Her friends were in their own world and probably didn't even know that she was in the same restaurant. Draco quickly got up from his chair and made for the direction that Hermione had gone. Pristy was so busy being entertained by the overgrown behemoth McLaggen, that she didn't pay Draco's exit the slightest attention.

Draco eventually found himself in a dimly lit hallway walking pass a door that said Witches and another one that said Wizards. He could smell Hermione's scent nearby. Chanel No.5, she once told him. He had gone into Muggle London and purchased a bottle of the fragrance for Pristy, but it never quite smelled the same on the redhead; like a mix of wildflowers, newly bought parchment, and Indian ink. This was the scent that was getting stronger and stronger as Draco continued to walk down the hall as it veered right.

“Hermione?” he asked tentatively. “Are you back here?”

Draco heard not a peep, although he was certain that Hermione was indeed near. Only the month before Shacklebolt, one of his trainers at the Department, had taught Draco's Auror class the subtle signs of detecting a Disillusionment Charm. It was one of those times when you really had to rely on your senses instead of your wand. He could hear the faint ruffle of silk on skin. He imagined he could almost hear the soft staccato beat of a heart that wasn't his own. As he neared the end of the hall, he suddenly turned to his right and stuck his hand out. He came in contact with something warm and firm, yet at the same time deliciously squidgy. He had his hand on Hermione Granger's silk draped breast.

“Get your bloody hands off of me Draco Malfoy before I hex them into hooves!”

Draco reluctantly pulled back his hand.

“You can be such an enormous prat sometimes, you know!” Hermione said irritably as she cast the charm to make herself visible.

Seconds later Draco was looking into a set of furious eyes. The lovely dark amber that fascinated him seemed to turn a murky shade that went well with her cheesed off expression.

“What the bleeding hell do you think you're doing, feeling me up like that?!” she yelled as she dropped her wand down the front of her dress.

Lucky wand!

“No need to throw a wobbly, Pet,” Draco said nonchalantly. “I just came out here to make sure you were ok. That's what friends do.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Gee Draco, thanks for the lesson. I don't know how I ever got along before without you sharing your worldly wisdom.”

“Now see here you, no need to get all shirty with me!” he said barely holding back the aggravated tone in his voice. “I was just worried about you.”

“Well you needn't be. I'm a big girl, thanks,” she said nastily. “I just came out here because I needed to go to the loo.”

“Oh of course,” snickered Draco condescendingly. “That's all it was. Had nothing to do at all with a certain wanker who walked in.”

Hermione's eyes went up two sizes when he said this.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she said.

But she knew. He could tell by the way her teeth went to work on her bottom lip!

“Come now Hermione, you are far too smart to play dumb. I saw Weasley and that little blonde tart of his walk in. You don't have to pretend with me.”

Hermione looked at him oddly for a second before shaking her head and leaning back dejectedly against the hard sea foam green wall.

“Go away, Draco,” she said miserably as she threw her head back. “You have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Draco took a step towards her.

“I don't, do I?” he asked. “Weasley only dropped you like so much rubbish, and is currently tap dancing all over your heart. Beside that fact, you still love the jackarse. Am I right?”

“Draco,” Hermione said in a pained voice, “you don't understand. I almost don't understand!”

She turned her head to the side and willed herself not to cry.

“It's not Ron. Not really.”

“I know what it's like,” he said getting so close to her that he could count every single freckle on her nose.

His voice was low and thick, choked up with an emotion he was afraid would over power him soon if he wasn't careful.

“I know what it's like to want someone, even though you know that person might never feel the same way about you.”

Hermione turned her large round eyes to him. Though she struggled to remain aloof, a riot of emotions played themselves on her face. Fear, confusion, loneliness, but most importantly there was relief. Sweet relief. Draco did know what she was going through.

“I know what it's like to try and talk yourself out of what you know you feel.”

Hermione slowly closed her eyes as Draco's words washed over her.

“And most importantly, I know what it's like to think you'll go mad if you never tell.”

Her eyes opened wide in surprise as she let out a gasp. Draco's right hand had somehow found its way to her left shoulder and was gently kneading it. She looked up into his eyes and nervously swallowed as she saw them burning with desire, desire for her. She chuckled awkwardly trying to defuse the situation before Roger or Pristine came out into the hall. Or worse, Harry and Ron.

“Methinks you've mistaken my friendship for something else, Draco,” she said coyly.

“No,” he drawled as he gave a purposeful squeeze to her shoulder, and for his effort, watched Hermione swallow again. “I think I know exactly what this is.”

He placed his body slightly against hers and dropped his head down against her forehead. Their noses were almost touching.

“We can not do this, Draco,” Hermione whispered, her voice sounding very fragile. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

“Why not?” he asked enticingly as the hand at her shoulder slowly crept into her hair.

“Damn, damn, damn...” she whispered as Draco's thumb began to slowly rub at her temple. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as they closed.

“I want you, Hermione. Merlin only knows how much I want you! I have for a long time.”

She opened her eyes and looked at him intensely. He realized then that she had known how he felt all along.

“And I know you want me too,” he pressed boldly. “If you didn't, you would have had your wand out ages ago.”

Hermione stifled the meek denial she was going to make. He was right, in a way. She could have stopped it a long time ago, months ago if she had wanted to. The problem was some sick, twisted part of her reveled in seeing someone else suffer the same Hell she continuously occupied.

But Hermione honestly never thought it would go this far.

She grabbed his wrist to stop his hands movement.

“No, Draco. We could never work. We just won't fit,” she said firmly.

By this time Draco was inching his lips towards her neck.

“I think we could fit just fine,” he said in as he began to trace his other hand up the inside of her barely covered thigh. It was about to go up her dress. “If you give it a chance.”

“And then what?”

Draco stopped what he was doing and looked into her eyes, a bewildered expression on his face. His hand, however, remained on her thigh.

“Why won't you just let this happen?” he pleaded childishly. His hand left her hair and he placed his palm on the wall next to her head instead.

“You didn't answer the question, Draco. And then what?” she questioned him again as she tried to inch her body closer to the wall, arms hanging limp at her sides. “We shag once. Probably enjoy it. Shag again.”

“Yes, and?” he asked in a terse, obstinate voice.

“And we might even get together.”

Draco removed his hand from her thigh and brought both of them to her face. He looked at her beseechingly.

“Would that be so bad?”

Hermione's eyes burned from the achings in her heart. It was all there to read if anyone took the time to do so; desperation, anxiety, fear, reluctance and something else. Regret?

“No,” she said. “Not at first, at least. We'd probably have a few wonderful months of dinners, and dancing, trips to the cinema, picnics. And then inevitably it would all come to an end.”

“You don't know that,” he countered. “You don't, Hermione. The Know-it All doesn't always have the answer. We could be perfect together. I...I care for you.”

Draco hadn't even realized the truth of his words until he spoke them. But he knew he didn't want to take them back. He was tired of the charade.

“I care for you so much, Hermione.”

“And I care about you!” she exclaimed, grabbing his wrists in a tight grip. “Just not like this. That's why I know this could never happen. When it would eventually end, and trust me it will; I would end up losing you. Us. This thing we have between us. You would come to hate me because I could never give you what you wanted.”

Draco felt as if he was drowning in desperation.

“Are you confusing me with Weasley now? I'm not him, Hermione. This is different!”

“Is it?” she asked. “Ron and I were the best of friends until we let a relationship bugger it all up! Things are so weird between us now. Our flat is like a war zone. Why poor Harry–”

“FUCK POTTER!” Draco shouted angrily.

He wrenched himself from Hermione's hold and backed away from her. He was so angry that he felt as though he couldn't even look at her face. He turned his back to her.

“This isn't about Harry-bloody-Potter. Not everything is about Potter!”

“No,” she said, voice strained, “it's not.”

Thankfully his back was turned so he couldn't see her face.

She crossed the short distance between them. She wrapped her arms around his waist and placed her right cheek against his well toned back. He tensed at her touch.

“It's about me being selfish. And not wanting to lose a friend. A friend who I didn't ask for...”

Draco grunted.

“Merlin knows I didn't ask for, but who I got nonetheless. You are my friend Draco. A friend I've been through Hell and back with, a friend that I couldn't bare to lose.”

A few tears fell from her eyes and soaked through his slate blue robes.

“You mean that?” Draco asked in a thick voice.

He felt her gently nod her head against him. He turned to face her, wrapping his own arms around her waist and pulling her flush against him.

“Can we at least be dear friends with benefits?” he asked innocently.

“Honestly!”

She slapped his arm. One day he was going to be black and blue if she kept that up.

Draco chuckled.

“You can't blame a bloke for trying, can you?”

She giggled as she pulled Draco into a bear hug. He couldn't help putting his face in her hair and breathing in its jasmine scent.

“You know it could have been brilliant,” he whispered into her ear.

“I think this is brilliant,” she said pulling back from him and looking him squarely in his eyes. She meant it.

“Yes, well...I guess it is.”

They stood there for a moment, gazing regretfully at one another, before Draco loosened his hold around her and grabbed her left hand.

“Let's head back in. I think Cormac McLaggen is trying to make off with my date,” he said making her laugh.

They began to walk back up the hall, their linked hands swinging freely between them.

“I wouldn't be surprised. The man is a sex fiend, though he could do better.”

“Come now Pet; jealousy does not become you,” Draco teased.

“Jealous?!” she exclaimed. “Of that cow? Please! If she turns sideways she's liable to slip right through a crack!”

Draco guffawed. They were almost to the door.

“No Draco, I can't say that I am envious of a girl who prides herself on the fact that her weight and her I.Q. match, thanks,” Hermione said in that tart little voice that always made his John Thomas stand to attention like it was doing now.

Thank Merlin for robes!

“You could do so much better than her. I don't know why you let your mother bully you into dating these prissy little bints. I swear if you would just...”

Before she could heat up on one of her favorite topics to lecture him on, his sex life, he stopped her at the door of the restaurant's main room and turned her to face him.

“Are we ok, I mean...”

He knew he couldn't help the fact that he still was attracted to her, that he still wanted to know her spirit and her body in every possible way that the law would allow, but he also knew that he would rather die than do anything to endanger their friendship. He hoped his momentary slip hadn't done that.

As if knowing that he needed the extra added assurance, Hermione squeezed his hand and said, “We're ok.”

For years Draco would play that scene over and over in his head. He knew something had held Hermione back at the time. Sure her reluctance was partly because she felt that they had a good thing going in the dynamics of their relationship. She was telling the truth when she said she was scared that adding sex to the mix would ruin it. But Draco sensed something else, something deeper that Hermione wasn't willing to share with him. He wondered if Hermione was even aware of it.

At first he assumed it was that she still loved King Weasel, but wasn't willing to admit it. He wasn't surprised; no one really was, when the two sweethearts got back together later that summer. But he quickly changed his mind when they broke up again just a few months after the reunion. Draco began to wonder just what their problem was. It was like they couldn't figure out if they really wanted to be with each other or not. No, it wasn't Weasley. But whatever that unnamed thing was, it didn't stop Draco from still wanting her. For Draco, the platonic lines that were drawn around their friendship would get blurred time and time again until Hermione finally ran away from England.

Draco never felt the same way about another woman until he finally found himself with his Loony Love. Up 'til then he had dated gaggles of attractive witches. Women threw themselves at the sexy Slytherin on a daily basis. He dated women from the office. He dated women he met out at local pubs. He dated women his mother set him up with. He dated Pristy so often that the woman naturally assumed that she was destined to be the next Mrs. Malfoy. She even went so far as to have the engagement announcement written up and ready to owl over to the Prophet as soon as Draco popped the question. Unfortunately for her, all of that hard work had been in vain. He unceremoniously chucked her for Luna as soon as he got the chance. Hermione had been right; the stupid bint wasn't that bright.

In Luna Draco found what he had been searching for without even knowing it. Luna met all of his needs, physically and emotionally. She challenged him, whether it was debating the existence of her beloved snorkacks, or opening his eyes to the prejudices that his parents instilled in him and he unwittingly still held. She took care of him, making sure he was warmly dressed in the winter, or properly fed at night. She made him laugh; with her, never at her. Luna was his lover, but most importantly Luna was his friend.

And Luna was the woman he believed he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

“'Scuse us, buddy.”

Draco was roused from his deep thoughts and turned to see a squat, scruffy man in a brown bowler hat and matching patched robes staring at him irritably.

“Wha–”

“Your blocking the way, Guv'.”

“Sorry,” Draco said as he turned his back to the window he had been staring absently into, and stepped back to allow the man to pass. The fellow walked by, still brassed off.

Draco watched him walk away before turning back to the display. Draco wasn't sure how long he had been standing in front of Magical Moments. He was certain that when he got back to the office Potter would be none too pleased to find out that he had not made head way on their case. He would also be annoyed to learn that Draco had spent all day in Hogsmeade for no good reason. But Draco didn't care! This was his life he was deciding here. By buying that ring he was about to make a huge, monumental move. If Luna wasn't quite ready yet to be the next Mrs. Malfoy, he believed that he was at least ready to let her know that he wanted her in his life long term. He was prepared to wait for her, fight for her. He loved Luna. He was certain of the fact. Even if sometimes, late at night with his Loony Love fast asleep and curled in his arms, he still remembered amber eyes.

Draco walked into the store.

A/N: Next up is Harry's POV. Things to look forward to; a look into domestic doldrums, a visit with the Dursleys, Harry walks in on something he had rather not have seen, and the reason for his strange dreams is revealed.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Elias Stonefeather, Cady Cadmus, Cloinda Forbes, Desmond Forbes, Sarah Moon, Auror Whitmer, Heinz Andrews, Winnona Bettany, Pepper Warrington, Lucretzia Boothe, Pristine Pringle, Grizzelda, Thimbalina Twilfit, Nadia Fallowes, Amy Kitterey, and scruffy man in bowler hat are canon.

2) Swinhufvud is a Swedish noble name that translates to pig/hog head. I love the Internet!

3) 250 galleons equals to about £1250/$2442.50

4) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them an abraxan is an extremely large, winged Palomino. A manticore is a monstrous creature capable of intelligent speech, but is terribly violent. It has the head of a man, a body like a lion, and a tail like a scorpion. A Peruvian Vipertooth is a small breed of dragon with venomous fangs that is native to Peru. An erumpent is a magical creature that resembles a rhinoceros and is native to Africa. A mooncalf is a strange creature that only comes out when the moon is full and whose silvery dung makes an excellent fertilizer.

5) The International Seer newspaper, Potter's Posse, The Haggling Hag pub, the mugumpwa, the Magical Moments shop, the Malfoy Pearl, and the Swinhufvud ring are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

6. Chapter 5

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 thru multiple canon character perspective as well as several flashbacks. Set 7 years after the final battle.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 17,075

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: If you like the idea of poor little Hermione sitting in the corner while pining away for Harry STEP AWAY. You have been warned.

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, 05/27/05

Harry Potter believed he was falling off the broomstick. He had no evidence to support this theory; in actuality he seemed perfectly normal to the outside world. He still went to work everyday at the Ministry. He still met up with Ron, George, and a few of their other mates for a pick-up game of Quidditch every other Saturday. He still made time to clean and tinker with his antique Silver Arrow whenever it suited his mood. And every evening he ate his meal at his rather imposing dinner table with his lovely wife Ginny. He fit the picture of a perfectly average wizard going about his daily normal routine.

But in his head...oh, but in his head, Harry was almost sure he was cracking up. How else to explain the fact that every time he closed his eyes for more than five minutes, he would have frighteningly unfriendly yet delightful dreams about one of his best mates? Dreams in which he did things to (and with) that best friend that would make even a sexual deviant blush. The only relief that he seemed to get from his conscience was that it at least was the female one. Sadly, that did not provide as much comfort as he would have liked.

The dreams began back in late November, early December. Harry's team of Aurors had been tracking a dark sorceress by the name of Bath'sheba Holliway all over the English countryside. Sheba, as she liked to be called, had a penchant for marrying wealthy, older Muggles. That in and of itself was no crime. The problem was Sheba had a bad habit of destroying the souls of the men she married, and not in the usual ball and chain manner either. She would wed a perfectly healthy and robust middle aged merchant, or a spry old gent of sixty years who happened to own a large parcel of land, and in little less than a week after the wedding the unlucky groom would be found dead, a withered shell of his former self. Sheba would have already left the village to prey on her next unsuspecting victim by this time.

Her scheme luckily was uncovered by a young medical examiner from one of the larger towns Sheba hit. The young man discovered that there were large trace amounts of belladonna, lovage, aconite and the venom from the fangs of a runespoor in the system of one of the deceased. These were the most crucial ingredients found in a powerful poison called Animatentia, a potion that the Ministry banned due to its ability to wither a person's soul from the inside. It was like a dementor's kiss, but in liquid form. It also was a toxicant that only a magical person would have knowledge of. The medical examiner just so happened to be a Squib.

After the MMBA Office made the arrangements with the proper Muggle authorities, fifteen men, all from neighboring villages, were exhumed and found to have died from Animatentia within the last two years. Two other factors linked the poor stiffs. All of them were very well off, and all of them had, days prior to their deaths, married a woman named Bath'sheba.

Though the Department of Magical Law Enforcement now knew that they had a rouge witch on their hands, Harry, Malfoy and the rest of their team had a difficult time finding the woman because she changed her appearance from town to town. Eventually Harry and Malfoy came up with a plan to smoke Sheba out. They set up a sting operation in the town of Hever; they had reason to believe that Sheba might strike there next. They used one of their fellow Aurors, a fresh faced 20 year old kid who had just made it out of his training class, as bait.

Jacoby was a Metamorphmagus. He transformed himself into a well to do peer of the court who was retiring in his old age to his books in a newly renovated manor house near the castle. Sheba was upon the man in no less than a week, this time disguised as a willowy platinum blonde. She was engaged to him twelve days later. Their wedding went off without a hitch on their one month anniversary. The first night of their honeymoon, she sent her brand new husband to bed with nothing more than a hot toddy and a kiss. As soon as Jacoby believed his accommodating bride was asleep, he owled over the contents of his drink to the small pub in town where the rest of Potter's Posse were waiting. After the necessary tests were done on the evidence, and Animatentia was indeed discovered, the Second Squad roared into action, wands cocked. When they apprehended Sheba at the manor house she was so unprepared for the invasion that she momentarily dropped the glamor she had been employing.

The woman was a hag! Literally! All long gray hair, crooked nose, and rotting teeth to prove it. Jacoby was delirious with joy that she had never allowed him to exercise his husbandly rights. As she was being dragged off to be sentenced, she petulantly wailed that she did it all for love. Bath'sheba’s bulging bank account said otherwise.

Catching Holliway was a big get for Harry's career. Even though Malfoy helped with the capture, Harry was considered the sole brains behind the operation. There was even office gossip that when Shacklebolt eventually retired, Harry was most likely to take his position as First Squad Lead. His family and friends were very proud of his accolades and the attention it brought, especially Ginny. But for Harry, all the praise fell on deaf ears. He no longer felt any passion for his vocation. He was a highly accomplished and decorated Auror who had an uncanny knack for the job, but the drive that made him quit Puddlemere and join the training program almost 4 years ago had now dried up.

The same exact thing had happened when he was playing pro. He was the star player and Seeker for Puddlemere United from the moment he was drafted at 18. No one was better at catching the Snitch than him. He even beat the British record during a game with Tutshill, two and three quarter seconds. In fairness though the silly Snitch was slightly batty and flew right at his nose.

Regardless of all of that, by time Harry was just a few months shy of his 21^st birthday the Quidditch fire in his belly had been extinguished. He felt set adrift, as though he had nothing left to hang on to. He figured he was having these feelings because he no longer found the game challenging. He had already played for England in his first World Cup against Bulgaria and won, stealing the Snitch right from under Viktor Krum. He no longer had anywhere to go.

Then he hit upon a wild idea. In Harry's mind the last time he felt any real rush or sense of meaning was back when he, Hermione, and Ron were out quite frankly saving the world. So Harry decided to do something drastic. He played his final game for Puddlemere in May of 2001, and in August of that same year he became an Auror trainee.

At first he had a difficult time of joining up, the Department Head seemed to be a real hard arse, but the Minister for Magic cleared the way for him. It was even arranged for Harry to be sped through the program. Harry could only assume that his defeat of the greatest dark wizard of all helped earn him extra credit. Either way, Harry soon found a purpose again. He enjoyed his work. The fact that he was responsible for making the world one dark wizard shorter; one witch with an apple fetish less, was comforting. Ginny even eventually got over the fact that he wasn't in Witch Weekly on a regular basis. Interestingly enough, all of the little Quidditch fan girls who cried into their pillows over the news of Harry Potter retiring from the game soon became Auror groupies. They followed his exploits in the Daily Prophet, and even carried around scrapbooks full of his clippings with them. In the end it would seem that Harry had made the right choice.

Then the usual unhappiness wormed its way into his heart again. Harry could no longer deny to himself that there just was something missing in his life. What that something could be, he had no clue. He had a gorgeous wife, a beautifully decorated (though much too large for them) house, great friends and an exciting career. What was wrong? Why did he feel so unfulfilled? Was it the job again?

The night that Sheba Holliway was sentenced before the Wizengamot, Harry came back to the Palace to find a sumptuous dinner prepared by Ginny. After eating he floo'ed Ron to discuss the game between Portree and the Harpies that happened the week prior, and to arrange a lunch get together for the next day. He gave Hedwig a few extra owl treats before letting her out of her cage for her nightly hunt. Then he settled down with his wife in the lounge to listen to the wireless, before heading up to bed with her a few hours later.

Once nestled in their master bedroom suite, he enjoyed a satisfactory shag with Ginny, before turning over to go to sleep and to his dreams. Once there he made love over and over again with a brown haired, brown eyed beauty that made his skin feel as though it were made of fire. He awoke in the morning to find that his night time gallivanting had left a mess of the sheets. Ginny was kind enough to pretend that it wasn't that big of a deal. Just joked, as she was collecting the linen to be laundered, that he had better have been dreaming of her. Thankfully she was halfway out the door when she said it, thus missing the shamefaced look of her husband as he remembered just who the woman was that had occupied his dream that night. Hermione.

The next day when Harry met Ron at the Cauldron he almost blurted out the shocking news to him. Ron was his best mate, his brother, and that in the end is what ultimately held Harry's tongue. He wasn't about to share with his wife's older brother the news that he'd had a kinky dream about a woman that said older brother once had intimate knowledge of and still might love. Phew! He might as well perform hara-kiri on himself, especially since Ron was the sort of bloke who preferred to let his fists do the talking for him.

When it came to women, the two friends rarely held anything back. There were no hidden peccadilloes between them, and they were often quite frank with each other when they discussed the opposite sex. Only two women were unofficially on the DO NOT discuss list; Ginny and Hermione. Ginny, because Ron would have rather committed ritual suicide than hear that Ginny liked it when Harry pulled her hair during sex. And Hermione because...well...Hermione was as good as Harry's own sister, wasn't she? He didn't want to hear about Ron doing those kinds of things to her. Regrettably, Ron wasn't always as observant of the unspoken dictate as Harry would have liked him to be.

That only left open for discussion the other women Ron had shagged; Lavender, Luna, Laura Madly (a Hufflepuff from their year who was a notorious Quidditch groupie), and some Muggle woman he had picked up in a pub one night. Sometimes Harry's virility felt a bit inadequate in comparison to Ron's track record. Ginny had been Harry's school sweetheart. They had married not too long after she graduated from Hogwarts. She was the only woman Harry had ever been intimate with. This often led to Harry being only a captivated audience to Ron's fond reminiscing. Harry normally didn't have anything to contribute to their male bonding. If the illicit little fantasy had been about someone, anyone else, Harry probably would have told Ron about it. But as such...bollocks to that!

So Harry kept his little dream to himself and despondently half-listened to Ron detail the on going drama of his romance with Lavender (the woman wanted an engagement ring like yesterday). He brushed the Hermione dream to the back of his mind and tried to convince himself that it was the stress of the job, and the after effects of too little sleep that had caused him to have such a heady vision. He assured his conscience that it was a one time thing and that it wouldn't happen again.

That night he dreamt of Hermione chanting his name over and over again as he took her from behind.

Ginny was slightly less understanding about the mess that next morning. She hardly cracked a smile as she changed the sheets and sent Dobby on his way with the soiled ones. Harry half-suspected that he might have called out Hermione's name in his sleep, and that was the cause of Ginny's peeved attitude towards him. But then Harry conceded that if that were the case he would not currently have testicles because his wife would have hexed them off promptly. No, Ginny just seemed to be annoyed that her 24 year old husband seemed to be suffering from a condition that most teen aged boys had under control by the age of 16. Harry almost wanted to tell her that this whole situation was a little more complicated than a simple wet dream, but once again he remembered his balls and kept his mouth shut.

This went on for weeks. Whenever Harry would settle down to even a cat nap, within minutes Hermione would be there before him. Under him. On top of him. Distracting would be the best way to describe it.

Ginny was starting to become aggravated at his nightly pastime, though she tried her best not to show it. At one point she moved out of the bedroom they shared and down the hall to one of the many guest rooms complaining that his snoring was keeping her up at night. They still had sex, though. But quite frankly nothing he did with Ginny in the real world could match the heat and passion of what he felt when he was with his Dream Hermione. This bothered Harry greatly. Hermione was his friend and only his friend; Ginny was his wife. He married her. She was still the pretty, funny, athletic girl she was when he proposed to her over five years ago. She was still the girl that helped him forget who he was and made him feel normal, something he had never felt until he first dated her back in Sixth Year. She was like a warm safety blanket, covering him and shielding him from the world and all of its problems. Why then could he not get off his mind a woman who had never been more than one of his dearest childhood pals; a woman who he hadn't seen in years?

He and Hermione had practically gone through the fire together when they were children. Ron too. The three friends faced adventure after adventure by each other's side. They became an inseparable team not too long after he and Ron saved Hermione from that troll. That’s why he shouldn't have been so shocked when at the end of their Sixth Year, when Harry was preparing to embark on one of the hardest journeys of his life, his two best friends refused to leave his side. Harry had just attended Dumbledore's funeral and had broken things off with Ginny to protect her. Dumbledore had set before him a quest to find the four missing Horcruxes that held Tom Riddle's soul and he knew that, as his girlfriend, Ginny could be used as a target to get to him.

He also knew that his friends could be hurt, but the idea of parting from them as well was almost too much to bear. He needed them. He relied on them. Ron stuck by him when he had to travel deep into the Chamber of Secrets. Hermione helped him change time itself to help him save his godfather, Sirius. Both of them fought valiantly at the Ministry when he dragged them out on his ill fated rescue mission. Now he was about to go on a crusade that seemed almost too daunting for him to handle alone. How could he possibly manage without Hermione and Ron? How could he make it through without Ron's spirit and levity? How could he manage without Hermione's brilliance and encouragement?

Deep down he knew he needed his friends' help, but how could he ask? How could he ask them to quite possibly sacrifice their own lives for his cause? No, Harry couldn't do it. Even if it meant going it alone and being the tragic little hero the papers tried to make him out to be. Harry should have known better, though. Right after the funeral Ron and Hermione let him know of their intentions to follow him wherever he chose to lead them.

“You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?”

As Hermione spoke those words, Harry knew that he wouldn't have to go through this nightmare alone.

Their first stop after school let out was Number 4 Privet Drive. Dumbledore had stressed the importance of Harry going back there for the last time before he became of age. Harry figured it had something to do with the blood protection he got from being around his mother's sister, Aunt Petunia.

When the Dursleys came to pick him up from the train station they were as disgruntled to have him back in their presence as ever. But Uncle Vernon's temper almost reached an apoplectic pitch when he pulled the car into the drive and discovered Hermione and Ron, both dressed in jeans and t-shirts similar to Harry's, standing in front of the house. After getting off the Hogwarts Express, the Trio decided that Hermione would Apparate Ron and herself to the Dursleys’. They figured that Uncle Vernon wouldn't let them in the car, and besides there wouldn't be much room in the back since Dudley was roughly the size of a baby pachyderm. Harry barely fit in there. They had already sent Crookshanks, Pig, and Hedwig ahead with Ginny to the Burrow so as not to further complicate matters. Uncle Vernon looked like a charging gorilla as he made his way to the doorstep. Hermione, however, held her ground. Ron, seeing the determined look on her face, followed suit.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Uncle Vernon bellowed quite loudly at the two teens. He then turned an accusatory eye towards Harry. “WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT LETTING THESE FREAK FRIENDS OF YOURS COME HERE, BOY?! THAT’S IT! I'VE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS NONSENSE! FIRST THAT SENILE OLD FOOL ASSAULTED US THIS SUMMER AND NOW–”

“Silencio!”

Hermione cast the spell at all three Dursleys simultaneously. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley gaped at her dumbly as she held her wand out towards them. Harry and Ron even looked at her in amazement. Was Hermione Granger actually using magic against Muggles?

Vernon still worked his mouth open and closed as he spat out silent ugly words, if his purple face was any indicator of his feelings. Aunt Petunia fainted at the disgrace of it all; there was no telling how many of their neighbors were viewing this sordid display. Dudley tried to make a run for it back to the car, but Hermione threw an Impediment Jinx on him to stop him. She also shot one at Uncle Vernon.

“Erm...Hermione, what do you think you're doing?”

It wasn't that Harry minded watching the Dursleys be humiliated, it was loads of fun seeing Dumbledore mess with them the summer before; he just didn't like the fiery look that was burning in Hermione's eyes as she spelled the family.

“Blimey Hermione,” concurred Ron, “you could get in terrible trouble for all of this.”

“Don't worry, no one saw,” she told them. “Besides, right when the car pulled up, I surrounded the doorway with a Confunding Spell. If any of the neighbors happened to have glanced over, all they would have seen was the six of us having a jolly little chat on the front steps.”

Harry and Ron looked at Hermione as if she were a creature they had never encountered before. All Harry could do was thank whomever was responsible for fate that Hermione was on his side. It was scary almost the number of spells she was able to perform.

“Now Ron if you please, levitate Tiny over there into the house. I'll take Mr. Reasonable over here,” she said sarcastically, walking up to Uncle Vernon and plucking the house keys from his frozen hands.

Harry was just about to whip out his own wand to levitate his aunt when Hermione furrowed her brows together and shot him a disapproving glance.

“No Harry, you're not of age yet. If Ron or I catch hell for this at least we will have that argument to back us up. We can't afford for you to get in any unneeded trouble.”

Although Harry felt a tad annoyed and hampered in by Hermione's authority, he did have to admit that she made sense. So instead of using magic, he lifted his aunt Petunia in his arms so he could carry her into the house. It wasn't an easy task either. For such a bony looking woman she was quite heavy!

Once Hermione unlocked the door, and all three teens managed to get their perspective Dursley in the house, everyone settled into the living room. Hermione had the boys place Harry's aunt, uncle, and cousin on the couch. Ron took a seat in a chair nearby and Harry went to stand by the fireplace. Hermione sat down on the little coffee table in front of the Dursleys. She then ended the spells on them and sprayed a shot of water out of her wand on Aunt Petunia to rouse her from her faint.

“HEY NOW, GIRL! WHAT IS IT YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING TO MY WIF–”

Hermione sighed as she daintily crossed her legs in front of her and rested her wand arm on her knee.

“I was actually trying to wake her up so we all could discuss some important business. But silly me Vernon, you seem incapable of doing anything that even remotely resembles the word pleasant. That's why I had to shut you up again.”

Hermione was looking Harry's uncle straight in the eye, a hint of malice colored her voice.

“You may also notice that you can't move your legs or arms. I've made you incapable of doing so.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other across the room. They hadn't even noticed Hermione saying the incantation to do such.

“What do you want from us?” Aunt Petunia asked in a tremulous voice. Apparently Hermione had only silenced Harry's uncle.

Hermione studied Aunt Petunia's face before speaking in a low, yet clear voice.

“What do I want from you? What do I want?” asked Hermione mockingly, her eyes never leaving the older woman. “Hmm...There are many ways I can answer that question. Let's see, I want you to learn how to make your husband shut his gob a time or two so we could have a civil conversation.”

At this Uncle Vernon began pitching back and forth in his seat. He was beyond upset and began to make a blustery noise at the back of his throat. Regardless, Hermione's spell still stuck.

“I want that beady eyed whale of a child of yours to stop leering at me as if I were a chipolata.”

Dudley indignantly gasped at the comment. Truth be told, he had been looking at Hermione as though she were good enough to eat.

“And I want a nice helping of steak and kidney pie this evening because I'm famished and would like to enjoy a decent meal if I have to put up with the present company. That is just a sampling of what I want. Truth be told, what I want could fill up Buckingham Palace!”

Ron looked on at Hermione concernedly. Neither boy had ever seen her in such a state. He slowly moved to get up from his seat, but with a simple hand gesture Hermione waved him back into it. Oddly enough she had never taken her eyes from the Dursleys, so Harry couldn't figure out how she was aware of anything else going on around her. He himself was entranced by the picture of Hermione working herself into a right proper rage. Even the bird incident in Flitwick's classroom had nothing on this.

“But what I need,” she continued, “oh, what I need, that is an entirely different question.”

Hermione scooted closer to the edge of the table making the Dursleys scoot back on the sofa in trepidation.

“You see my dear Petunia; I need for the three of you loathsome...”

She looked at Uncle Vernon.

“Miserable...”

She looked at Aunt Petunia.

“Disgusting people,” she said turning to stare Dudley down, “to act like human beings for once in your petty little lives.”

Aunt Petunia had had about enough of this.

“NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME, YOU SILLY GIRL,” she began, voice rising, eyes popping out of her skull-like face. She opened her mouth to continue, but Hermione silenced her as well. Harry almost wondered if Dudley was going to speak up so that Hermione could make it a hat trick.

“No,” Hermione countered forcefully, “you listen, Petunia. You see that man there?” she asked gesturing to where Harry was on her left. “No Vernon, he no longer is the boy you're so fond of calling him,” she said nastily as she turned to stare at the still fuming man. “No one can remain just a child after the horrors he's endured in the last few days. Ha! Few years!”

Hermione was heating up to her subject now and the sheer power that hung about her was enough to give even Uncle Vernon pause. She had their full attention now.

“Albus Dumbledore died just a few days ago. Did you know that?” Hermione asked, looking back and forth between the three on the couch. “No, I suppose you wouldn't. Pity information like that wouldn't be found in the Muggle news. Information that is about to affect a great deal of Muggles very soon. Muggles like you, in fact.”

At this news, Harry's Aunt Petunia's eyes seemed to outgrow her head. He figured that out of all of them she would be the one who most understood the significance of Dumbledore's death.

“Harry has barely just come from Professor Dumbledore's funeral, a man whom he loved and admired. A man who was the last thing close to a father figure he had in this world. But can he mourn for that man? No. Why? Because he has to go save the whole bleeding world, that's why!” she said angrily brushing a single tear that rolled down her cheek.

She took a few seconds to collect herself before continuing.

“Let me speak plainly and in small words so that your tiny, inept brains can process what I'm saying.”

At these words Hermione's voice dripped with venom.

“There is a very bad man out there. A very bad man with a superiority complex. A very bad man who wouldn't right give a tinker's damn if you or I were to die right now. You see,” she said putting a hand to her chest, “I have the bad grace to have been born to two parents who wouldn't be able to transfigure a hedgehog into a pin cushion. To him I'm filth!”

Hermione practically spat out the hateful words. It hurt Harry almost as much to hear her say it, as it must have hurt for her to say. Looking at Ron, Harry could tell that he felt as much the same.

“But you? Ronnie, what's lower than filth?” Hermione asked, barely looking at the redhead.

The question stumped Ron for just a second before he answered uneasily, “Mountain troll dung?”

“Ah yes,” she said as she shot Ron a pleased smile that made his face match his hair, “Mountain troll dung.”

She looked back at the Dursleys.

“You three are the parasites that reside in Mountain troll dung.”

Hermione was being unflinchingly cruel to Harry's family, but Harry couldn't have stopped her from her tirade even if he wanted. Which he didn't.

“If you were wiped off the face of the planet I'm not sure that there would be too many people who would even notice, even care.”

She paused and looked at him then. Their eyes locked and for a second Harry felt as though all of the air had escaped the room. But the moment passed as soon as Hermione looked back to her captives.

“But Harry would care. Oh yes, he would. You may have treated him like rubbish his entire life, you may have made him a slave in his own home; you may have even tried your damnedest to kill his spirit, but Harry would still care. Even after you left him to grow up in a cupboard for the first few years of his life–”

“Hermione, please–”

“NO HARRY, LET ME HAVE MY SAY!” she protested fiercely.

He simply turned his back to the room. The emotions that were pouring out of the girl were becoming almost too much for him to endure.

“Harry would care, because his heart is too big not to care. Harry Potter was put in this world to save so many countless lives. Not because he loves the glitz and glamour of being a hero, but because he would rather sacrifice his own life than see others suffer. That trait is as much a part of him as the green eyes he was born with or his black hair. And that is what he has to do now.”

Harry turned back to watch her, amazed by her words.

“He has to face that big bad man, that megalomaniac who wants to fix the world to suit his image. That monster wants to take away all that we hold dear. Freedom. Love. Life. I might think that you people are vicious, heartless beasts, but even I don't think you deserve to die simply because you were born what you are. And neither does Harry!” Hermione cried as she fought for breath. Her nose was red and running and her hair stood on top of her head, a beautiful mess.

Ron was gazing at her as though she were the loveliest thing he had ever seen. In that moment Harry would have been hard pressed not to agree with him.

“Harry is the only person who can make sure that such a tragedy doesn't happen, and right now he hasn't got that much time to do so. Now for some reason he has to come back to this godforsaken place before he can start. Due to some thankfully,” she stressed the word, “insubstantial amount of DNA he shares with you lot, he needs whatever protections this place affords him. He has to stay here for a few weeks before he can be on his way, never to be seen by the likes of you again,” she said pointing between them. “Ron here and I need to be with him every step of the way.”

Hermione then dropped her head into her hands. Her tremendous amount of hair fell in her face, veil-like. When she looked back up at the Dursleys, Harry thought he caught almost a pleading look on her face.

“I don't ask for your hospitality. I don't ask for your kindness. I don't even ask that you pretend to care if your nephew lives or dies. But what I do ask is that you don't fight us on this. Do it for your own sorry existences, if that will help you sleep at night.”

At this Uncle Vernon made a noise that sounded like the cross between a scoff and a cackle. His trollish eyes still burned like brimstone. Hermione seeing this rolled her eyes and pointed her wand threateningly at the man.

“YOU KNOW WHAT, SCRATCH THAT! I'M TELLING YOU!” she steamed, her voice sounding caustic. “Simply put, the three of us are staying here! Harry, Ron, and I are going to be staying in your house for however long we need to and you won't even think to object. You won't, or God help you,” Hermione aggressively added, “because we won't!”

For a moment silence reigned in the living room of Number 4 Privet Drive. All the other occupants seemed fixated on what the bushy haired girl would say, or do next. Even Uncle Vernon had the good sense to take the threat in Hermione's statement seriously. Then Dudley, being his usual cloddish self, broke the spell.

“But Harry can't do anything to us. Dad said,” Dudley smugly retorted. “Harry got in all that trouble when he blew up Aunt Marjorie. Harry can't perform magic until he...he...gets of age. That Dumbly man said that won't happen ‘til he's 17.”

Uncle Vernon turned his large head as much as he could on its fat neck to shoot his son a proud smile. Hermione, however, seemed to find the whole thing a joke. She even laughed a bit before she turned all of her attention to Dudley.

“You really are stupid, aren't you.”

It wasn't said in the form of question. Dudley looked almost humiliated at the remark.

“But you're right; Dudley is it? Harry isn't 17 yet,” she said in an almost sickeningly sweet tone. “But I am.”

Everything happened fast after that. Harry was so perturbed by the chilling note in Hermione's voice that he almost didn't move out of the way fast enough when she pointed her wand quickly at the fireplace behind him and shot a bluebell ball of flame into it. The hearth instantaneously exploded into a roaring blaze that not only scared the Dursleys witless, but seemed to frighten the hell out of Harry and Ron as well.

But Hermione wasn't finished quite yet. In a loud crack that echoed through out the house, Hermione Disapparated herself in front of the cowering family. Harry then heard the second crack of her reappearing in a room above them on the second floor. He couldn't tell if Hermione was upset or not due to her outburst, but he figured that she would need one of her friends desperately if she was. He asked Ron to lift the jinxes off the Dursleys while he went to see about Hermione. It also didn't hurt to let the sniveling idiots know that there was also one other guest who was allowed to perform magic in the house.

Harry ran into the hall and up the stairs. At the sound of feet on the steps, Harry's door swung open. Standing in the frame looking none the worse for wear was Hermione.

“I figured this room was yours,” she said, eyes twinkling. “It reeks of unkempt boy”

Harry could only stare at her in awe. It was as if the Hermione standing in his room was an entirely different person from the one who had terrorized the Dursleys downstairs. In fact Harry wouldn't be shocked if Dudders had left a dudder in his trousers at the fabulous display of wand skill she had just put on for the family.

“So what did you think? Was it a bit much?”

“W-w-what?” Harry stammered out.

Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, pulled him quickly into the disorganized room that hadn't been cleaned since the last day he was in it, and brought him over to his bed. They both sat down facing each other. Harry was still perplexed as Hermione grinned a mischievous, naughty little girl smile at him.

“I figured that for people as obtuse as your aunt and uncle I would need to put the fear of...well...” she said pausing, “a crazed witch with PMS into them. I remembered you telling me and Ron how Dumbledore toyed with them last summer and figured that something similar would do just the trick again. So did it?” she asked hopefully.

All Harry could do was laugh. Hermione truly was the cleverest witch of her age! Hell, of any age!

“Are you kidding me? I think Aunt Petunia is trying to figure out just what you'd like to have for afters once you've finished your steak and kidney pudding,” Harry delightedly said.

Hermione only rolled her eyes mirthfully.

“Silly woman, I said pie.”

The three friends stayed at the Dursleys for the rest of the month of June. The teens slept in Harry's room. Hermione was given the bed, while he and Ron slept on the floor on either side of her. At first Harry offered Hermione the use of the spare bedroom. He honestly believed that since the Dursleys thought that Hermione was insane they wouldn't object, at least not where she could hear them. But she declined the offer. She believed that all of them needed to be within arms reach if needed. Harry couldn't disagree with the idea.

The three of them would hold themselves up in that tiny room for hours. At times they would talk about the murky path ahead of them, but those were rare moments. Mostly they laughed and joked together, sharing warm memories of their childhoods (Harry didn't have much to add to this of course), silly anecdotes about friends and schoolmates, and fond thoughts of people who had passed on. Sometimes they didn't even speak, just sat near each other, content to be in each other's presence.

The Dursleys mainly left them alone and the Trio returned the favor. The only time their paths would cross was when Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to the kitchen for a bite to eat, or if they needed to use the loo or take a bath. But there were no big altercations. Except for the day that Ron turned Dudley into an albino piglet, that is.

Harry and Ron had been downstairs in the hall waiting for Hermione to come down so they could go out to eat for a change. Hermione was still in the room changing. As of late, her tendency to be even more girlish was becoming increasingly bewildering to Harry. Ron on the other hand didn't seem to mind at all. He said he would pop upstairs to see what was keeping her. Five minutes later Harry rushed up the stairs due to the commotion. All he could hear was the angry squeals of a pig, the high strung shrieks of his aunt, and the crazy giggles of Hermione and Ron. When he reached the landing, he saw Petunia cradling a baby pig in her arms as she shouted angry words at Ron. She wouldn't as much as glance at Hermione. Upon seeing Harry, they each grabbed a hand of his and took off down the stairs and out the door laughing like hyenas all the way.

They were so tickled because Ron had caught Dudley watching Hermione change her clothes in Harry's bedroom. Unluckily for him he didn't even get a good peek before Ron discovered the Peeping Tom, and angrily jinxed the Muggle boy. Ron was in such a strop that he didn't even know what he had changed Dudley into until the little pig began to run around the upstairs hall in a panic, the sound bringing Hermione and Aunt Petunia out of their respective rooms. All three kids had a good laugh at the incident. Hermione even told Ron that it was NEWT level work. Ron blushed at the compliment. Harry realized that his friend was doing that a lot around Hermione these days.

On July 2nd Harry prepared to leave Privet Drive for the very last time. He didn't know if he wouldn't be back due to bitterness or death, he just knew that whatever the cause he would never walk through those doors again. As he and Hermione waited in the hall for Ron to appear, Harry turned to stare at the tiny cupboard under the stairs. That small cramped space had been his home for almost all of his life. Harry knew as he gazed at it that he should be feeling a sense of anger and disgust at the treatment he endured at the hands of his aunt and uncle. That cupboard was the embodiment of that treatment. But all Harry could feel was a cold, dead numbness within. What if the road ahead only led him to just one more small box that would trap him in, this time forever? As if in answer to the questions hurtling through his head, Hermione grabbed his hand and brought his attention to her.

“You'll never have to go in there again.”

She spoke plainly and her eyes glistened. Her fingers felt warm in Harry's surprisingly much larger hand. He wondered briefly when nature had wrought such a change, before squeezing it to let her know that he believed her. Ron then came bustling down the stairs and the two dropped their hold on each other. The Trio then departed the Surrey neighborhood to begin the next leg of their journey.

If Ron was Harry’s brother, Hermione was his sister. She stuck by him through all of his endeavors, much like any sibling would. So then why do I see her naked every night when I close my eyes, he now wondered. Surely there must be some law against that kind of familial bonding, Harry thought. He had no solutions. At least none he would like to try twice.

He tried having sex with Ginny as much as he could at first, but that only seemed to fuel the strength of the fantasies. They started coming at him during the day. Slowly but surely he stopped sleeping with his wife altogether. It started to feel like he was betraying the woman in his dreams instead of the other way around.

Harry then decided to wear himself out in a different way. He threw himself into his work. Harry's group of Aurors started making collars at a breakneck pace, so much so that the Second Squad started to get even tougher cases assigned to them. But after a few weeks of great successes, he started to have daydreams about Hermione while at his desk. Actually the dreams took place on the desk, but that was beside the point. It all was becoming increasingly too much to handle.

Harry next decided to try a Muggle therapist. If he went to a mental Healer he was sure that word would get out all over the wizarding world in a matter of days. That would be a disaster! So he found the address of a well recommended psychologist one day while in Muggle London, and made an appointment to see him. Once Harry was laid out on the man's expensive leather couch, he unburdened everything about the dreams on him. Unfortunately, the stupid git only wanted to ask questions about Ginny and their marriage. Harry only saw the ponce the one time.

It was in April that a brand new theory began to run around Harry's head. When Hermione disappeared back in the spring of 2000 she didn't tell anyone of her plans. Harry later found out that at the time she was being courted by several foreign ministries and even a school of magic. At first it had hurt Harry deeply that Hermione hadn't confided any of this information in him, he was under the impression that they shared everything with one another. But Harry soon jumped to the conclusion that Hermione might have actually left the country under some sort of duress.

According to the detectives that he and Ron hired, she didn't take any of the jobs she had been offered. They checked every foreign ministry for any sign of her. They paid close attention to the French speaking nations since she was fluent in the language. They scoured all of Ireland thinking she may have gone to the place of her grandmother's birth. They checked all of the warm weather countries since she seemed to like the hotter climates. Nothing turned up. Except for one occasion, her wand was never used again. For all intensive purposes it appeared as if there had never been a witch named Hermione Jane Granger. Harry wondered just what could have happened to make Hermione abandon her life so completely.

For the first few years after she left, Harry worried himself almost sick after his friend. He didn't think anything foul had happened to her, he and Ron felt in their hearts that if something truly unfortunate had befallen Hermione they would have both somehow known. However he still feared that if Hermione was out there, somewhere, needing his help, she wouldn't be able to reach him. Harry’s Quidditch game began to suffer. He started spending long hours at the Ministry trying to find out if they had any new information on the Granger case. He even turned to Malfoy to see if he and any of his contacts in the Auror department could find any leads on her. Harry was desperate! Eventually Ron and the rest of the family convinced him that when Hermione was ready to come home she would let them know. Harry decided that they were right and tried to move on.

That is until the dreams started attacking him relentlessly. Harry came to the conclusion that Hermione must be trying to reach him through these dreams. Riddle had used similar tactics with Harry, sending him visions and messages while he was sleeping. No one knew this better than Hermione. As soon as the idea waltzed through Harry's head, he popped over to Hogsmeade so he could use the library at Hogwarts. It was one of the finest wizarding libraries in Great Britain, in fact on the planet. If Hermione was using his dream world to call for help, Harry would find the answer there.

Soon he found himself ensconced at a table in the back of the library. The librarian, Madam Pince, helped him find the books that would come in handy for his research. She even barely looked down her nose at him this time. Harry figured that growing up and becoming an adult came with some perks.

Harry paged through book after book dealing with the astrological importance of dreams, the significance of numerology in them, and other books dealing with Oneiromancy. He wanted to tear his hair out when he realized that all these books were about were some form of Divination or other. Surely what he was looking for could not be found in this garbage, he pondered. Harry even read through a book about astral projection. The theory was that the soul could inhabit an astral body that could then travel outside its physical one. Although Harry was intrigued by the concept, he soon brushed the notion to the side. Somehow the idea of Hermione Granger sending her astral body across the cosmos just so she could sit on his face held no merit.

After an hour of searching through several musty old books, Harry dejectedly decided to give up his research mission and leave. As he was exiting the library, he ran straight into Head Mistress McGonagall, his former Transfiguration teacher and Head of House. The older witch had come to the library in search of him. The Gray Lady, the Ravenclaw ghost, had spotted him in the library and reported the news to the professor. The Head Mistress, never one for beating around the bush, got right down to business with Harry as soon as he took a seat in her office. She told him that her current Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Vervain Lermontant, was vacating his position at the end of term.

Vervain was an American wizard from New Orleans. He was said to be a descendant of the famous Voodoo Queen, Marie Leveau. Harry knew him pretty well and found him a good enough chap, just oddly magnetic. Women flocked to him. Men aspired to be like him. His charm even seemed to work on animals. He had been the Defense teacher since the War ended and Hogwarts reopened. It would seem whatever curse the position once held died with Riddle. Now, after seven years of teaching young minds, Lermontant decided that it was time to head back home to the city of his birth. McGonagall was sad to see the man go; he was a fabulous and dedicated teacher. He also wasn't too hard to look at, though Minerva McGonagall would have never shared that thought with a single soul.

Although there were no dark lords hiding behind every corner any longer, Minerva still believed that it was important for her students to have a strong defense curriculum. She didn't want to just hire any old coot for the job. When she heard that Harry Potter was currently in the building she felt that her prayers had been answered. Potter would be perfect for the position! Sure he had little regard for rules per se, that however did not negate the fact that the young man's Defense OWL had been exceptionally high, he had been the leader of his own dark arts defense league, and was now currently a well trained and highly ranked Auror. There was also that little thing of him defeating Lord Voldemort. Potter was made for the job!

Minerva was certain that the school governors would agree with the choice. Even after the War some families were still reluctant to send their children back to Hogwarts. Many even opted for home schooling their children. The school never reached again the full capacity it had held during the Golden Age of Dumbledore. But Minerva figured that with Harry Potter as a professor there they might have to actually turn down hopefuls.

When McGonagall made her offer to Harry he was at first shocked, then pleased, then elated by it. Harry Potter, professor. It sounded right to him, never mind the fact that he would be teaching the subject that was closest to his heart, in the first place that he had ever considered home. It was a perfect fit! Harry left Hogwarts that day with a renewed vigor. He would leave the Department and teach at Hogwarts. Maybe this was the answer to the emptiness that wouldn't quit his heart.

Sadly, the new career prospect did nothing to alleviate the Hermione problem. He was still dreaming about her constantly. So much so that she began to fill his waking thoughts. If it had only been about sex he could have handled that. If all Harry had wanted to do was shag her just one good time to get some long buried curiosity out of his system, he would have found that completely understandable. Maybe the old adage was true; men and women just couldn't be friends.

But Harry was never good at lying to himself, at least not for long. He longed for Hermione. He longed for her in much the same way he wanted his parents' care, Dumbledore's guidance, and Sirius' companionship. It began to feel like he lived and breathed Hermione. Memories of their years together played themselves inside his head constantly. He soon realized that he was truly happy only when he had his brown haired witch in his arms. Even if it wasn't real, it was real in his heart. And that's when the horror of it all struck him. He wanted a woman that could never be his! He wanted a woman whom he had no idea where she was. He wanted a woman who technically was just a figment of his imagination. He wanted a woman who he should have never wanted in the first place.

It wasn't that he didn't think of Hermione as attractive. In fact there were times in those last few years that he would look at his voluptuous best mate and wonder where the bossy little know-it-all went to. Not to say that she stopped being bossy, or being an insufferable know-it-all, it's just the package that all that came wrapped in became infinitely more pleasing to look at. He never dwelt on those thoughts long, though. It always felt like he was betraying his other best friend, Ron. Harry felt that way even when Ron and Hermione were broken up which they always seemed to be.

Then there was Ginny to think about. Ginny probably wouldn't have taken kindly to the idea of Harry checking Hermione out. More importantly the idea that he could view the girl who was as good as his better half as just some bit of skirt seemed sacrilege to Harry’s mind.

So Harry compensated by trying to view Hermione only as some asexual being. This was hard, especially when Hermione began to flaunt and indulge in her burgeoning femininity. She wore clothing that was entirely too provocative for her (Harry secretly blamed her flat mate for that development). She even went to Muggle nightclubs every now and then (once again, the flat mate). But worst of all she began to notice other men, and Harry couldn't help himself from noticing men noticing her back.

When Hermione and Ron was a couple, Harry didn't mind it so much. One new bonus of their relationship was that their arguing decreased dramatically. Harry couldn't be sure exactly when the two of them had officially gotten together, he suspected sometime around the period when the three of them went to Godric's Hollow, but he was thankful for the cease fire. Although Harry valued their camaraderie, he wasn't so sure that he would have been able to handle the task at hand with their constant bickering.

But instead Ron would just shoot puppy eyes at Hermione, while she blushed a maddeningly pretty shade of pink. It was then that Harry would wish they would go back to fighting like the olden days. Thankfully they didn't do too much of that. Harry wasn't sure his stomach could take it, plus it made him envious. He would have liked to have someone to cuddle with too. Ginny would have been nice. But whatever exactly encompassed Hermione's relationship with Ron, they mostly did a good job keeping it hidden away from him. He figured that was Hermione's doing as well, she was always rather modest. Sure he saw a quick kiss here and there, but really nothing too much to make him that queasy.

By time the three of them lived together shortly after the War, Hermione and Ron, or “the Heron” as the twins jokingly called them, were entering Break Up #1. Harry was very happy he didn't have to encounter any hanky panky on the living room couch. He figured it would be too weird, seeing his brother going at it with his sister in the room he liked to eat his bowl of cereal. Sure he wanted them to be together, he just didn't want to have to see it.

With their relationship over, Hermione and Ron's arguing returned in full force, especially when she began to date. Her first paramour was Roger Davies, a former Ravenclaw Quidditch captain. Although Harry wasn't certain how well Hermione knew the bloke back in school, he naturally assumed they had become close by working together at the Ministry.

What started out as a few harmless outings soon turned into a full fledge relationship. Ron would seethe at the sight of them. Harry was just happy that whatever Hermione and Davies chose to do, they never spent the night at the Trio's flat. It would have been too awkward, what with Ron glaring at the ponce from across the table as his current squeeze, Lavender (ugh!), buttered his toast (double ugh!). He could just see Hermione finding the whole scene boring, stuffing her face instead into a Muggle law book or something, while Harry tried to pretend that he didn't want to throw a plate of hot kippers at Davies’ face. He might think Davies was an ok fellow, but that didn't make the berk good enough for his Hermione. Quite frankly Harry was rather relieved when she broke up with the jackarse after only seven months of dating him.

Soon Hermione and Ron got back together. Harry never knew if it was a passionate reunion, because Hermione was living in a flat in South London by this time, and the couple spent most of their time there. But the happiness was short lived. Hermione and Ron got back together in June of 1999 only to break up again in August. It was Ron who chucked her this time. He really wanted to be married and Hermione just seemed disinterested in the whole idea.

Harry almost didn't know who to be angrier at, Ron for doing the dumping or Hermione for not saying yes to his friend's proposal. His irritation with her only increased when at the start of Quidditch season, she began a steamy, in your face affair with Oliver Wood, Harry's team mate at Puddlemere. Sure Ron was being a git as usual by taking back up with Lavender (Merlin), but that didn't give Hermione any right to go snogging Wood in the locker room after matches, Harry nauseously thought. He tried to forget that he might have been the person responsible for the couple getting together in the first place.

Usually after every big win Harry, Hermione, and his team mates would go to a nearby pub to celebrate. Even after all these years Hermione still faithfully came to every single one of his games, Quidditch fan though she was not. Most times he would also schmooze her into coming out with the team afterwards. Ron would come to the victory benders occasionally, but since he was the enemy (proud wearer of the orange and black); he didn't make it a common habit.

One night at the start of October, after a particularly grueling game with the Magpies, Hermione was at his side as usual as he, Wood, Casey, Haversham, Wadcock, and the rest celebrated their hard fought win with bottles and bottles of Firewhiskey. Hermione had been looking particularly fetching that evening in a snug black turtleneck, painfully tight black jeans, a matching calf length button down jumper, and pencil thin heeled boots. Malinde Wadcock, one of Puddlemere's Chasers and the daughter of one of the team's former players, seemed to think so too as she flirted with a clearly inebriated Hermione, tugging on the chestnut curls that were falling on her shoulders.

A very beastly, very male fantasy of what the two very attractive women would look like sliding together on satin sheets rose up in Harry’s head. Then somehow Madeline got tossed out of the bed in favor of a chap whose hair was black like his, and whose eyes were just as green…

Before this picture could go any further, Harry very sternly beat the image down in shame. Hermione was his friend; he had no right to think of her in such a way. Harry then decided to leave that very moment so he could clear his head. The alcohol was obviously messing with his good senses, plus he needed to go to the Burrow and check in on Ginny who was expecting him. She couldn't join them at the Horse's End that night because she got stuck baby sitting Marcel and Lionel.

Harry told Hermione that he had to leave to go see his girlfriend and asked if she wanted him to accompany her home first. Hermione declined the offer. He was worried that she might have had too much to drink, her eyes were rimmed in red, but she told him to hurry and get to Ginny so the younger girl wouldn't worry about him. Malinde half-jokingly told him that she would make sure Hermione got home safe. Harry, reading correctly the appraising look in the woman's eye as she looked at the comely brunette, asked Wood to see Hermione home instead. Harry then darted out the pub and Apparated over to the Burrow. He enjoyed a few nice snogs with Ginny before heading home. In the morning he popped over to Hermione's to check on her, and was shocked to discover Oliver Wood looking at him sheepishly from the couch while dressed in one of Hermione's much too small for him dressing gowns. Crookshanks was nestled in his lap, purring lazily as Wood petted him. Traitor!

That relationship sold Daily Prophet issues for weeks much to Hermione and Harry's dismay. Hermione and the Prophet seemed to have a long lived love/hate relationship. She hated anyone involved with it and they loved to characterize her as some social climbing, bed hopping vixen. Rita Skeeter's portrayal of Hermione all those years ago had affixed itself in the minds of most of the Prophet's readership. It also didn't help that Skeeter had somehow managed to claw her way back to the top, and was now currently the Editor-in-Chief of the paper. But the Prophet wasn't the only publication that exploited the new couple. Hermione and Oliver were constantly seen on the front cover of all of the magazines and tabloids, usually snogging. It was a sensationalist wet dream, what with Ron (Hermione's long put upon ex-beau) playing Keeper as well on one of Puddlemere's rival teams. It got to the point that Harry stopped reading the news all together save for the Quibbler. Out of respect to Hermione and Luna's friendship the editor, Mr. Lovegood, left her alone.

Ron was heartbroken over these turns of events. Though he still dated Lavender, his heart just wasn't in it. It was with Hermione. The flat the two boys shared began to feel like a funeral to Harry now that his flame haired friend went from being chipper and sarcastic, to being a morose shell of his former self.

Harry felt cut a drift from Hermione as well. Where once he wouldn't hesitate to Apparate directly into her flat, he now was apprehensive to do so. Once Hermione's flat mate Glinda discovered that Hermione and just about all her friends were witches and wizards, Hermione chose Harry to be her FailSafe. A FailSafe was the one person who could Apparate and floo into a home at will by bypassing whatever elaborate wards the caster had set up on their place. A FailSafe came in handy in cases of emergency. When Glinda started seeing Fred it made it possible for Hermione to have a FailSafe, and since she was on the outs with Ron at the time, she unsurprisingly chose Harry. Even during the short periods that she got back with Ron she never changed their status. Harry took advantage of the situation to have breakfast with his best friend on many mornings, the two of them sitting at the comfy little breakfast nook that had once sat in the kitchen of the Grangers' old home in Notting Hill. They would dine on black pudding or French toast as Harry babbled on about anything and everything that came to mind. Hermione never seemed to mind him popping in on her, and she always was there to listen to him.

But when Wood entered the picture, Harry was reluctant to continue the practice. What if he floo'ed in only to catch them going at it on the lounge room floor? Harry would rather pluck his own eyes out at that prospect. So he stopped coming over to visit Hermione all together. It was painful for him to break off contact with her like that; since their days spent hiding from Riddle during the War Harry had never gone more than a few days where he didn't see her face. But his feelings were too conflicted on the subject now. Harry felt that Hermione should be with Ron and he didn't like the idea of some random bloke, even one he saw naked in the locker room shower every day, pawing all over her. Harry ended up spending even more time with Ginny, which wasn't such a bad trade off. He just wished that everything would go back to the way that it had been so he could have his Hermione back. Then, like an answer to his prayers, Hermione and Wood ended their relationship amicably before Christmas.

Harry was ecstatic over the news! Of course he didn't show his joy to Hermione. He did let her know that if she wanted to cry on his shoulder over the break-up, he was there for her. Hermione, however, didn't seem upset over the end of the affair in the least. Although she wasn't so forthcoming on details, thank Merlin, she really seemed to see the relationship as nothing more than a fling.

If she was really broken up over it she didn't have much time to stew because her grandmother, Bridget Granger, passed on Boxing Day. She and Harry went to Ireland shortly after to bury the old woman and to handle her estate. Hermione then decided to go to Hyères, a town on the Côte d’Azur for a week so she could recharge her batteries. She promised to meet up with Harry after his upcoming game with the Kestrals on the 13th of January. They would then go have a few drinks at the Spotted Jack afterwards.

Harry was despondent over his team’s loss to Kenmare, but even more so when he realized that Hermione had missed his first game since their Hogwarts days. She didn't show up at the pub either. Harry had barely gotten Ginny home with little more than a quick kiss and a pat on the head, when he immediately Apparated over to Hermione's.

His usual point of entry was her living room. The flat was small, just two small bedrooms in the back, a bath, and a tiny lounge area that seemed to barely fit the comfy furniture, Hermione's bookshelves, her computer, and the telly. Crookshanks' cat bed stood empty by her desk. The ginger cat hadn't been home in weeks much to Hermione's despair. The living room was separated from the kitchen by only a bar and half of a wall. Despite the size of the place, it always felt cozy in that as soon as you walked inside you could smell and see what was cooking in the kitchen. However this day Harry did not like what was on the menu. In fact what he saw almost made him vomit every meal he had ever eaten.

Though Hermione and Malfoy separated themselves rather quickly, the familiar sound of Apparition alerting them that they were no longer alone in the flat, they did not do it fast enough to save Harry from the picture of Hermione bent back over her small kitchen table while Malfoy leaned in seductively over her. Both of them were fully clothed, mercifully, but the damned Slytherin's pasty paw had been in her hair.

She tried to make herself look presentable, smoothing her skirt and patting down her wild curls, as Harry slowly and icily stalked to the kitchen doorway. A look of murder and rage sat upon his face. While Hermione had the good sense to look mortified at his discovery of them, Malfoy simply treated Harry to one of his signature smirks (the one he and Ron designated the “wouldn't you like to know”), kissed Hermione's hand (making Harry's temper reach near Uncle Vernon-like status), and exited the kitchen past Harry's wrathful form. He let himself out the front door, his training robes billowing out behind him dramatically. Twat-face!

Harry watched Malfoy's exaggerated exit, before turning the full brunt of his ire on Hermione. She had backed herself into her refrigerator and was staring at Harry with round, child-like eyes; the eyes of a child who knew that their parent was about to give them a good what for.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Harry asked in an oddly even and calm tone. He enunciated each and every word.

Hermione looked between Harry, who was blocking the nearest escape route, and the low bar positioned to her right. Harry could almost see the screws and wheels turning in her head, as though she were trying to figure out just what her chances of jumping over it might be. Obviously in the heat of the moment the woman forgot that she was a witch. She then turned fully towards him, Harry surmising that she realized that she was not athletic enough to make the leap, and swallowed deeply before squeaking out, “Imperius,” in a meek little voice.

She wasn't serious, and Harry knew she wasn't serious, and this only helped to further enrage him. Harry stared at her unbelievingly for a second before he chuckled darkly.

“You know, I would almost believe you too, if it wasn't for the fact that I know you can throw off an Imperius almost as well as I can.”

He stepped further into the kitchen.

“And then there is the little thing about Malfoy's wand being registered with the Ministry when he joined the Law Enforcement Department,” he said eying her crossly. “If his wand had cast an Unforgivable in here there would have been Aurors swarming the place by now,” said Harry as he folded his arm across his chest imperiously.

Hermione looked like she had about enough of his attitude. She stomped her foot angrily, crossed her own arms in a belligerent manner and said, “Oh hang it all! I don't have to explain myself to you!”

She then Apparated herself into her living room and began to head for the door. Harry was too quick for her, though. He was by her side in a moment, grabbing her arm and pulling her back to face him. She made a sound like a scalded cat.

“Oh really now? You don't have to explain to me why Malfoy was just manhandling you in the kitchen before I popped in?!” he asked, grabbing both her upper arms and shaking her roughly. “You don't have to explain to me why you looked like you liked it?”

“NO!” she shouted back at him, wrenching herself free.

It was a good thing that Hermione had made the flat imperturbable when she first moved in or all her neighbors would have been getting an earful.

“No, I don't! In case you missed the memo I am an adult, as in of age. And this is my flat. And you know what? I CAN BLOODY WELL DO WHAT I WANT IN IT!” she yelled.

He got right in her face and asked frigidly, “Does that include whoever you want as well?”

It was a low blow and Hermione returned it. She slapped him. She slapped Harry so hard that he momentarily saw bright flashes of light before his eye. He darted his hand to the spot where her hand struck him and felt the swollen flesh there. Harry had fought a basilisk. Harry had flown rings around a dragon. Harry had battled an army of dementors. But never in all his life had Harry been smacked by a girl, particularly this girl. Harry stared down at his friend and saw that she seemed to be in as much shock as he was over the situation. Her whole body wore an angry flush, and her breath came out in ragged puffs. Her hair looked like it was flying off her head.

“Oh my,” she faintly whispered as her hand traveled to her chest in a motion to stop her heart from jumping out of it.

She wandered slowly over to her beige couch and plopped down forlornly on it. Her hands then covered her face as she began to rock back and forth slowly. Harry shuffled over and sat down next to her. He placed a hand on her shoulder, but she just shrugged out of his grip.

“I think you should go home now, Harry,” she said huskily, not even looking at him.

Harry wasn't about to have this. He took both of her hands and held them in a tight grip as he tried to gain eye contact with her. She wouldn't let him.

“I can't, Hermione. Not when something is so obviously troubling you,” said Harry in a soothing voice. “Something has you so out of sorts that you actually hit me. You hit me, Hermione! You've never done that, no matter how much we have ever argued. Hell, you never even hit Ron!”

“I was angry, alright?” she explained irritably as she tried to squirm her hands from Harry's hold.

He wasn't letting her go.

“You got in my face and that's how I reacted. I'm sorry, ok?”

“No, not ok. Why didn't you come to my game today?”

She huffed angrily before giving up on getting her hands free.

“I didn't feel like it. I was tired when I got home from my trip, and I lost track of time. Besides, Ginny was there.”

Harry was mystified by her answer.

“What does Ginny being there have to do with anything?”

She finally made full eye contact with him before rolling her eyes.

“Well I figured with Ginny and the rest of your little Potterhead fan girls at the match, all the adulation you needed to boost your ego was there. One less would be no great travesty really.”

She said it so scornfully that Harry almost felt like she had slapped him again. It hurt just that much.

“Do you think that's why I like you coming to my games?” he questioned dolefully. “You think I want you there only to boost my ego? Hermione, you're my good luck charm. I've never played a game without you, you know that.”

The tenseness that radiated off of Hermione seemed to lessen at that. Harry took this as a good sign and scooted closer to her on the sofa.

“Even when I lose it makes me feel better to see your face there in the stands. It helps me to know that no matter what, there is one person who doesn't think I'm a loser.”

Hermione's eyes pooled with tears before she sniffed and wiped them away harshly, forbidding them to fall.

“Your girlfriend–”

“Once played the game, remember? Seconds after I came out the shower Ginny was already telling me how I let Donahue fake me out. And giving me tips on what to do the next time.”

Ginny could be quite annoying that way.

“What I needed was you telling me how you were going to burn some chocolate chip cookies special, just for me.”

She smiled at that. Whenever Harry lost a game, Hermione wouldn't even bring up the sore subject. Instead she would do something for him to show him just how special she thought he was. Usually she would try to cook or bake him one of his favorite treats. It always came out inedible, or at best burnt, but Harry dutifully ate every crumb.

Hermione tentatively raised her hand and touched the spot where she hit him. Harry winced only slightly as she barely grazed the slowly forming bruise.

“I'm sorry,” she said as her hand came down.

She then gazed into his eyes as if to apologize for every hurt she'd caused him that day.

“I'm sorry.”

For a moment their eyes held. Harry felt intoxicated by the way she was looking at him. His head seemed almost too heavy for his neck, like he was feeling a strange cocktail of too many emotions all at once. He felt like he was about to fall...into what he did not know. However the spell was broken when Hermione pitched herself from the sofa and walked over to the bar, her back turned to him.

“I'm sorry Harry, but I really do think you should go.”

Bitterness colored her words.

Harry knew he had a decision to make. If he left right then he knew that his friendship with Hermione would be intact, safe and sound. But if he stayed and continued to push her, find out what exactly was going on in her head, he might get his other cheek smacked for the trouble. Especially if he brought up Malfoy again!

“Sorry Hermione, but I'm not going anywhere until we have this out!”

Harry always knew he was a closeted masochist.

She turned to face him, perplexed.

“Have what out? You wanted to know why I didn't come today. I told you.”

“Yes you did, but you seemed to have glossed over the pink elephant in the room. Or should I say blond Ferret?”

Hermione looked down her nose at him.

“I refuse to have this conversation with you.”

“Oh really?” Harry asked mockingly. “You refuse to have this conversation with me? Well would you prefer to discuss it with Ron?”

At that Hermione's eyes bulged in disbelief.

“I can have him over here as quick as a shot if you'd like.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Oh I would.”

“This doesn't even have anything to do with Ron,” argued Hermione.

“Doesn't it? Him so heartbroken over you that he can barely stay on his broom during games now, all the while you're carrying on with Malfoy!”

As Harry said this, he had to fight the urge to cross the room and shake her again.

“Harry,” she said as if trying to plead her case, “Draco and I–”

He cut her off before she could finish.

“Exactly! Draco and I...Draco and I...” Harry mocked. “Tell me Hermione, just when exactly did it become Draco?”

Hermione looked gobsmacked at the line of questioning.

“'Cause see, I know when it happened, but I'm wondering if you even realized it?”

He had suspected for some time that Malfoy might have more than friendly intentions towards Hermione. It was never anything blatant Malfoy did to worry his suspicions, it was just a hunch Harry had. He always kept close watch where the bastard was concerned. His eyes would always follow Malfoy closely to see if the jerk would make any unwanted advances towards Hermione. Harry just never thought he should have been paying attention to Hermione as well.

“This thing that's been going on between you and Malfoy...” began Harry noting Hermione's horrified look, “...oh yes, I've noticed. I've noticed it for a long time now. At first I thought it was just coming from his side. The way he would stare at you like you were the last sip of water in the Sahara. The way he would follow you from room to room. The way he would call you...ugh...'Pet'. But I told myself that whatever was going on in that little tow-head of his I didn't have to worry because our Hermione is a smart girl. If he tries anything she'll let him have it. Guess I was right, eh?”

“HOW...DARE...YOU!” fumed Hermione, her face turning pink from anger. She looked like she was ready to deck him this time so he jumped up from where he was sitting and backed further away from her reach.

“Did I hit too close to the mark?”

“You have no fucking idea what you're talking about, Harry! Draco just came over here because he wanted to check up on me!”

Harry snorted at that.

“It's true!” she said as she stepped closer to him. “Draco was out of town when Nan passed. He knew how much she meant to me, just as much as you did.”

Harry scoffed at this.

“He wanted to see if I needed anything, if there was anything that he could do for me.”

Harry snickered. “Oh yes, Draco Malfoy, the benevolent.”

“Draco is a good man,” she countered. “You would realize that if you took your head out of your arse long enough to see it.”

“Merlin, he really has done a number on you,” Harry said as he met her in the center of the room. He cupped his hands around her face as though determined to get through to her. “Draco Malfoy is evil Hermione,” he said, searching her face for any sign of understanding. Seeing none his voice took on a begging tone. “You used to know this, back in school. What happened? What did he do to you?”

Hermione's eyes took on a fervent glow.

“How can you say that?” she asked him desperately. “He saved your life Harry. I...we wouldn't still have you if not for Draco.”

“For which he is still awaiting a thank you very much for,” Harry indignantly said. “Is that what you are, Hermione? His thank you?”

Her hand must still have hurt from the last time she hit him, because she simply pushed him from her.

“He gave his life for the Order! Just like the rest of us. He helped us bring down Voldemort.”

Harry turned his back to her. He didn't like the fervent look in her eyes as she detailed the greatness that was Draco Malfoy. Hermione, however, wouldn't let it go that easy.

“He's going to be an amazing Auror one day, just you wait. He's at the top of his training class now.”

She was unrelenting on this subject.

“Why, I had lunch with Alastor just the other day. All he could talk about was Draco. He says that Draco just might be the best he ever trained, like he was born for the job.”

Harry forced away the jealousy that surfaced at the praise. He was getting angrier with Hermione by the second.

“Oh, so is that it now? Did you run through all the Quidditch players in Britain, Hermione? You've decided to collect Aurors now?”

Even he was shocked at his venom. Harry turned to face her and ignored the pang he felt in his heart at the destroyed expression on her face.

“You should have at least given Wadcock a turn. She's fancied you for months.”

“Why are you talking to me like this?” she barely sobbed out.

“Because it hurt, Hermione!” he spat. “It hurt to fly around that stadium and not see your face in the crowd. It hurt thinking that you just blew me off when I needed you.”

It was all coming out now.

“It hurt not being able to be with you these last few weeks, not being able to see your face or hear your voice. And most of all it hurt to see Malfoy, of all people, draped all over you when–”

“You were hurt by seeing me and Draco?” she franticly asked, grabbing hold of him and studying his face closely.

Once again that tangled emotion that he had experienced earlier rose up inside him. Harry was confused, he was flustered. He didn't quite get what Hermione was getting at. Of course seeing her with Malfoy pained him. She was his friend. He wouldn't want to see a friend hurt, would he? Why else would he be mad?

“Well I would have to keep this all from Ron, wouldn't I?” he asked her.

She looked at him as though she couldn't comprehend his meaning.

“This...this is about Ron?" she exasperatedly asked. “You're upset because you don't want to tell any of this to Ron?”

She searched his face, and not finding what she was looking for, sighed desolately.

“Of course that's it.”

She turned and crossed back over to the bar.

“Silly Hermione,” she muttered so quietly that Harry barely heard her. She was confusing him more and more.

“Do you even realize how much this is going to pain me not to tell Ron?” Harry asked as he walked up to her. “He's still crazy about you, Hermione. I mean, yeah there's Lavender. She's like a right leach, Lavender is,” he paused hoping to hear her snicker at least. Hermione always enjoyed a good Lavender dig.

This time, however, it did not do the trick.

“But if you gave him any indication...any sign–”

“I can't, Harry!” she keened. “I can't do this any more. That ship has sailed.”

Harry was becoming even more frustrated by Hermione's ever shifting mood.

“But you can do,” he emphasized the last word, “Malfoy.”

She irately glanced over her shoulder at him.

“Would you drop that, please? I've told you before, Draco is only my friend.”

Harry didn't know what made him say it. He really didn't want to say it. It was as if he came down with a bad case of verbal diarrhea. As soon as the words left his mouth he knew he had crossed the line of all lines.

“Oh, so do all your friends bugger you on the breakfast nook?”

As long as he lived he would never forget the homicidal look on her face as she swung around to face him. She was fairly frothing at the mouth. He had never seen her in such a rage, at least not one directed towards him. Hurricane Hermione was about to make her first appearance.

First one book from her bookcase on the far wall flew at his head and struck him. Then another. Then several pelted him simultaneously. Harry was so shocked that he completely forgot that he was The Chosen One and let his arse get kicked by a couple of encyclopedias. That was when the telly in the living room shut on and the lights in the kitchen begin to blink off and on in a syncopated pattern. Harry knew that he could take down an over emotional witch in a strop, even without his wand, he just didn't want to do anything to harm Hermione. Or better yet, wind her up further.

She advanced on him menacingly, a malicious gleam in her eye.

“Pardon me, but have you never met RON WEASLEY?!” she raged in answer to his question as everything else went still.

Harry could have kicked himself. At this point he would have preferred the books again. Sure he wanted his two friends together, but he didn't want to hear about what they did together. He began pacing frantically back and forth in front of the box, his hands placed over his ears as if that could block out her voice.

“I don't want to hear it! I don't want to hear it!”

Hermione, sensing Harry's discomfort, decided to go in for the kill.

“What don't you want to hear? That I let Ron–”

“AHH! STOP IT! Stop it right now!” he practically begged.

“Stop what?” she asked innocently. When she got no answer she said, “Let me get this straight. You're the bloody Heron cheerleader, but you don't want to hear about what goes on between us?”

“Of course not!”

“Why is that?” she asked forcefully.

Harry was stumped as to how to answer that.

“B-because...” he stuttered. “B-because," he tried again. “Because it's just too bloody weird Hermione!”

“Weird?” she asked and he nodded his head. “Do you and Ron ever talk about any of the other girls he's been with? And yes, I know about the Hufflepuff.”

Why did he ever think he could best Hermione Granger in an argument?

“Of course.”

“But that's not weird?” she countered.

“NO!” He was starting to get flustered. Why was she badgering him so?

“So what exactly is so weird about me and Ron? If it's not Ron, is it me?”

“Well, yeah. I mean...well...well Hermione it's like you’re my sister!” he blurted out.

Hurt rose up in Hermione’s eyes for one brief moment before her lips curved into a hard, embittered smile.

“Of course I am. I'm like the bleeding kid sister you never had.”

Harry nodded his head, glad that she finally understood him.

“And you just can't stand the idea of Sissy getting any, can you?”

Shite! This wasn't going too well, Harry thought to himself.

“Hermione–” he said, trying to cut her off.

“You just can't stand the concept that Sissy has needs, that she is a sexual creature. I bet you never even noticed that fact have you?”

Just what was she going on about, he wondered.

“Hermione!”

“What did you think I did with Ron?” she waspishly asked.

Harry began to inch away from her as she came closer to him.

“With Roger?”

He inched farther still.

“With Olie?”

The back of his legs hit her recliner and he automatically sat down. She bent over him, arms on either side of the chair.

“PLAYED A ROUSING GAME OF EXPLODING SNAP?!”

He hopelessly tried to say that he didn't want to know, but she cut him off.

“SEX, HARRY!” she bellowed in his face. He was horrified at the outburst. “I'VE HAD SEX WITH THEM! EVERY SINGLE LAST ONE OF THEM! I've done things that would make you blush Weasley red, I have!”

It wasn't like Harry didn't know that Hermione was no longer a virg...that she'd had se...That Hermione couldn't go petting baby unicorns any longer. Harry just preferred not to think of such things. It kept him sane doing so. But here she was, flaunting the truth of it in his face. Why didn't she understand that he didn't want to discuss it? But Hermione continued. She would have her say.

“But you know what, Harry?” she asked hotly. “Believe me or not, I have never slept with Draco Malfoy!”

Her words were angry, yet edged in sincerity.

Harry looked in to her large brown eyes and saw the truth of those words.

“No?”

She took a hand in hers.

“No.”

Once again Harry's masochistic nature took over.

“Do you want to?” he questioned her.

If asked Harry would have described her pause as being the length of the World Cup pitch, but really it wasn't even a second in length.

“No. Draco isn't who I want.”

Before he could ask her who she did want, she got down on her knees in front of him, cutting him off.

“Look, this thing with me and Draco it's...complicated. But it's never going to go that far. It hasn't before.”

Harry looked at her, eyes agog.

“BEFORE?!”

Realizing that she might have made the situation worse, Hermione tried to smooth his ruffled feathers.

“Listen, I don't want to be with Draco. I don't. He's my friend and that's all he is ever going to be. So what you walked in on today, that's never going to happen again. Ok?”

She looked up at Harry so innocently, so desperately. She needed for him to believe her.

“Let's not argue anymore. I don't want to fight with you. Yelling at Ron has its moments, its cheap thrills. But arguing with you...it's...it's…”

“Yes?”

“Draining.”

“Just answer me this, Hermione?” he asked as he clasped her hands in his own. “Is he the reason you won't take Ron back?” Of course Harry was referring to Malfoy.

She went to answer his question, but choked on whatever words almost came out of her mouth.

Instead she said, “I know why you think you still hate Draco.”

Harry scoffed at her delusion. Harry didn't “think” he hated the git. He down right despised him.

“No, it's true. You haven't hated Draco in ages. But you still see him as the Slytherin ponce, the demon seed of Lucius Malfoy, when he hasn't been either of those things for a very long time. You refuse to see that he has changed. That's because you barely have yourself.”

Harry tried to untangle his hands from Hermione's grip but she wouldn't let go.

“No, it's true. You're still that dashingly noble boy you were when we first met; the kind that would stick up for a child you barely knew when a bully tried to take his gift from home, the kind that would risk his own life to rescue his best mate's kid sister, the kind that would save a hellion of a little swot from a full grown troll.”

Harry tried to protest, but she covered his lips with a single finger.

“You are the kind of big hearted young man who actually befriended said girl who up until that point never knew the meaning of the word, but so desperately needed a friend. That is who you are, Harry Potter. That's why I love...”

She paused, turning her head for a moment before looking back at him.

“That's why I love you. Why we all love you,” she finished breezily.

Harry felt filled with warmth, his cheeks were flushed, his head felt light. He fleetingly wondered if he was coming down with a cold.

“You were already too good to be true to start, Harry. You had no place else to go.”

She gave him an adorable half-smile that made his heart quicken, but as easily as it appeared it soon melted into a frown.

“But not everyone is like you, Harry. People are not static. We...we don't all just stand still. Sometimes we change.”

“Like Malfoy?” he grumped.

“Like Draco,” she answered.

She then turned her eyes away from him and to the floor.

“And like me.”

Harry couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of her words.

“Sometimes the thing you thought you wanted at 12 years old may not be what you want when you're almost 21. You can fight it and deny the truth of it to yourself for as long as you like, but eventually the lie...it wears you down.”

The full meaning of her words pounded into Harry's head. She just couldn't mean what she was saying, though.

“Hermione,” he began, “don't you love Ron still?”

If he had to pick anyone for his Hermione it would be Ron.

She wouldn't look up and meet his eyes. It seemed the carpet design was more engaging.

“I...I still love Ron. I think I'll always love Ron. But this thing between us,” she said, her melancholy gaining momentum, “it's getting old. All we do is hurt each other, and try again. Hurt each other, and try again. Rinse, lather, repeat. Well I'm sick of it. I'm tired of dancing around...dancing around...”

Harry lifted her chin so he could look into her eyes. Once again he felt that tug.

“Dancing around what?”

She grasped at the hand under her chin franticly as Harry held her gaze. He almost wondered if she felt the same unnamed emotion he did, but was too scared to ask. When she could no longer stand the strength of his gaze, she wrenched his hand from her face.

“Nothing Harry, it doesn't matter,” she whispered.

Harry was starting to become annoyed with Hermione. He knew that there was something else troubling her, something deeper, but she wouldn't tell him what it was. This was unlike her; the Hermione that he thought he knew told him everything. Or so he thought. Harry briefly wondered if she had mentioned whatever it was that was bothering her to Malfoy, and instantly felt his anger rising at the thought. Instead he changed the subject.

“Hermione, you and Ron...you belong together. Everyone says so.”

He slid out of the chair and on to the floor next to her.

“Just like they say it about me and Ginny,” he finished as if bringing home a point.

“Merlin!” she exclaimed, irately pushing herself away from him. “Not everyone was meant to be like you and Ginny,” Hermione said, voice full of scorn. “Not everyone was fated to be together. Just because she has red hair, and just because you look like your dad; it’s just not that simple for the rest of us you know!”

She quickly got up from the floor and stamped her way back into her kitchen.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said as he got up to follow her, barely withholding his own anger. “No need to take my head off. That's not what I said!”

Once again he was in the kitchen doorway. She was seated in the corner at her table, head in her hands.

“Why are you trying to put words in my mouth?”

When she would provide no answer, he continued.

“Hermione, Ron misses you.”

He walked over and slid next to her on the bench.

“Quite frankly I think he's going spare without you.”

Hermione looked up at that. Her face was impassive.

“Really?”

“He's writing poetry.”

He made a face.

“Bad poetry. It's really awful.”

The utter absurdness of this thawed her mood and made her chuckle. The sound made Harry's heart beat faster. He wanted to keep her smiling at him.

“I need you to put the bloke out of his misery. Take him back. Do it for me.”

The small grin that had begun to spread on her face died midway. She suddenly looked lost. She looked wrung out. She looked defeated. Harry searched his head for anything that would make the smile return.

She started to say something.

“Harry...Harry I...I–”

“You know I always pictured us together...”

Once again the smile appeared. It then stapled itself to her face.

“Someday. Me and Ginny, you and Ron.”

He threw his arm around her shoulder and drew her close to him.

“We'll all live next door to one another. I always pictured us being at the Hollow, but I wouldn't mind living in St. Catchpole. We will be in and out of each other's doors all the time. All of our children will be in the yard playing together. You and Ron will have a cute little flame haired kid, named Harry of course. And I...I don't know how good a dad I'd be, but me and Gin might one day have our own little Ron.”

All through this speech Harry's eyes were set before him as he pictured this perfect future. It was the simple desires of a man who only wanted peace after a life of so much pain and uncertainty. Some might say it was sedate, and boring, but Harry only saw it as normal. After everything that Harry had endured these last few years, that was all that he wanted; a little bit of normal.

“And what if you had a girl?” Hermione asked. Her eyes were very wet. Harry could see that his dream touched her as well.

“I 'spose Rondah will do,” he replied.

Hermione gaped at him, unsure if he was joking or not.

“Then again Ronilla also has a nice ring to it,” he continued, enjoying the playful way she slapped his arm once she realized he was indeed taking the mickey.

“That child would hex you and Ginny as soon as it got of age,” she responded. “Probably Ron and me too for allowing it to happen.”

Harry just smiled contentedly.

“Well, it's just a silly little fantasy I've had.”

Hermione turned her head to get a good look at him.

“And that's really how you see us, the future? That's what you truly want?” she asked him.

“Well I'm no Trelawney, or anything,” answered Harry giving her a small squeeze, “but it's a nice dream. Don't you think?”

She regarded him carefully before answering.

“It sounds perfect.”

Harry would never get his dream, though. Well, not exactly. He and Ginny came home from their honeymoon in early May of that same year to discover some shocking news. The newly wedded couple had been in Australia and New Zealand since the day of the March wedding. They indulged in their time alone together, never even checking in at home while they were gone. As soon as the couple got back from their trip, they headed to the Burrow. They were met by several grim faces there.

The whole family knew that the newlyweds would be coming home that day. Harry had to be back to join up with his team for the British Cup finals and he needed to begin practice soon. He and Ginny were all smiles as they walked into the Weasley family kitchen hand in hand. Molly and Fleur were standing at the sink, whispering in each other's ears as both held one of the quarter veela's small sons in their arms. Glinda was breast feeding her newly born baby girl at the table as Fred stood behind her chair, hands resting protectively on her shoulders. She seemed upset, but Penelope awkwardly tried to comfort her with soft words all the while balancing her own infant son in her lap. Bill, George, and Ron came bursting into the room while discussing something in hushed, ominous undertones. Everyone seemed to pause as they realized all at once that the happy couple had finally arrived. Ginny had jokingly asked who died. When no one laughed, both she and Harry nervously asked the question again.

All the other occupants in the room looked at each other apprehensively. Harry felt a sickening chill amass in the pit of his stomach. He realized that Hermione was nowhere to be seen. He caught Ron's eye and asked him anxiously where his girlfriend was. Harry didn't know at the time that the two, who had gotten back together not too long before his engagement, had broken up yet again shortly before his wedding. When only silence reached his ear, Harry ran into the living room to look at the family clock, the rest of the troop filing in after him. It displayed the status of all of Arthur and Molly's brood. He and Hermione had been added to it long ago. While Harry's hand rested on HOME, Hermione's was pointing to LOST. Before Harry could go into hysterics, Arthur and Percy floo'ed home and joined the rest of the family in the living room. The two men had just come from the Ministry where they apparently had been seeking further leads on Hermione's disappearance. Arthur sadly informed the family that so far they still had none. Hermione was gone.

Now here Harry was, years later, madly in love with her.

A/N: Next up is Ginny's POV. Things to look forward to: lunch with Lavender, gossip, and a closer look into the Potter marriage.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Bath’sheba Holliway, Donovan Jacoby, Casey, Haversham, Donahue, Malinde Wadcock, and Bridget Granger are canon.

2) “You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?” is taken from Chapter 30 of HBP.

3) Oneiromancy is a form of Divination that is dream interpretation.

4) Marie Leveau, often referred to as the Voodoo Queen, was one of the most revered and feared (if not the most) voodooiennes in 19^th century New Orleans.

5) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a runespoor is a magical three headed snake, a favorite pet of dark wizards. Their eggs are profitable on the black market.

6) The Spotted Jack and The Horse's End pubs, the FailSafe concept, as well as the Animatentia poison are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

7. Chapter 6

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 8,146

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: Some one-sided H/G. It might make some uncomfortable. And yes it is mean. *g* You have been warned.

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, 05/27/05

“That cow!”

Ginny looked up from her plate of Death by Chocolate cheesecake, and stared across the table at her dining companion, her fork still poised at her lips.

“THAT COMPLETE AND UTTER COW!”

At the second earsplitting utterance Ginny blithely rolled her eyes and proceeded to swipe a bite of the creamy morsel off of the gold plated utensil she held in her hand.

When Lavender had floo'ed that morning to ask her out to lunch Ginny had jumped at the invitation. She had been feeling forlorn and inconsolable since dawn, and thought that maybe a change of scenery and some good girl talk might help improve her mood. But if Lavender thought that her own minor trials and tribulations were so earth shattering, Ginny found herself feeling hard pressed to feel any sympathy for her. Ginny knew of trouble, real trouble. It had only been a few hours since she and Harry had had an encounter, of the frustrating kind, and she was still smarting from the experience.

Ginny had awoken during the middle of the night to hear her husband whimpering loudly in the bedroom down the hall from her own. She had been worried about him as of late. Something seemed to be weighing heavily on Harry's mind.

For the past few nights at the dinner table Ginny would look up from her stew or her salad to see a detached and far away look on her husband's face. Ginny surmised that whatever was disturbing Harry had a lot to do with the big case he was working on currently. Draco Malfoy had even stopped by the Palace late one evening two weeks prior to drop off some important looking parchments. Harry made it a point to never socialize with Malfoy outside of work, so Ginny could only view this breach of normal conduct as important.

Ginny hardly minded that Harry showed so much devotion to his career. The thought of the great and powerful Harry Potter, taking on all evil doers, and making the world safe for all wizarding kind was far more of a turn on than she cared to admit. When Harry left Puddlemere to become an Auror, Ginny convinced herself that for Harry chasing after the Snitch would never compare with saving the world. Harry Potter was a hero. And that was who Ginny married, a hero. Ginny's only wish was that he would show as much devotion to her and their marriage. She cooked for him. She kept his house clean (with a little help from Dobby). She attended to his every whim. How could she love him any more? Here she was even, leaving the comfort of her cream colored duvet to see why her husband wasn't sleeping well.

She was in such a tear to get to him that she didn't even bother to slip on her bedroom slippers, or throw on her dressing gown. He's seen me in less; she mused as she smoothed down the front of her ankle length midnight blue peignoir, and pulled its left strap back onto her shoulder. As she padded down the oriental patterned runner of the hall, she could hear the sounds from Harry's room getting louder. When she reached the oak door of the bedroom she knocked tentatively on it.

“Harry?” she nervously queried.

All she got back were jumbled, muffled groans that sounded like “stop” and “don't”. Ginny gently pushed open the door, thankful that it hadn't been locked. She had foolishly left her wand back in her room.

As she stealthy entered through the door, she looked towards the bed. Although she could barely see due to the darkness surrounding her, she could make out Harry's form writhing on the mattress. Ginny's heart sped up in fear. Back when they were still dating Ron had once joked that if Harry and Ginny were ever to get married Ginny would need to invest in crash padding for their bedroom. Ginny had assumed that her prat of a brother was making an off-colored joke at her and Harry's expense, so she hexed his eyebrows off in retaliation. She had used a non-verbal incantation and Ron hadn't been aware that his brow line had been spelled as smooth as a new born babe's bottom until his girlfriend at the time, Hermione, entered the Burrow's kitchen and collapsed onto the floor in a fit of tears and laughter. When Hermione would answer his questions of “what's so bloody funny” with only more giggles followed by pointing, Ron retreated to the bathroom to go have a look see.

Ron didn't speak to Hermione for two days after that. It took him one whole week to finally forgive Ginny.

Hermione later confided to Ginny that in those last few months before Voldemort's defeat Harry, who had always been prone to nightmares before, had almost gone mad from the visions Riddle started sending him during the night. The Dark Lord, sensing that the end (either way) was near, decided to go for broke and use the connection he had to Harry's head like a weapon against him.

As soon as he would fall into a deep sleep, Harry would see before his eyes scenes of death and destruction. Mangled bodies would be everywhere, and all of them would resemble the people that he loved and cared about the most. The insides of Harry's own head had become a battlefield. No matter where he laid his head at night; the Hollow, Hermione's, Hogwarts, those dreams would follow him.

Since Ron usually slept nearby his best friend it usually fell to him to try to comfort Harry during these episodes. Ron would even get in the bed and hold him while he whispered comforting words to try to help both of them get to sleep. This went on for months with poor results until Hermione ended up in the bed with both boys as well. She and Ron would sleep on either side of Harry; all three faces pressed together so closely that one could hardly tell whose tears were whose. Eventually Harry was able to sleep through the night.

“I'm sure that after Harry and I get married I'll be able to take care of him just as well,” Ginny had high-handedly told Hermione then.

However Ginny never got the chance to make good on that claim. After the wedding, once she and Harry began sharing the same bed, Harry never once roused her from her sleep. Ginny began to suspect that Hermione had simply exaggerated the whole story. Typical. However when Ginny questioned Harry about it not too long after they got married, he confirmed the truth of Hermione's claims.

“Well you don't dream so awfully any longer,” she irritably complained.

They were both lying in bed at the time preparing to go to sleep. He turned on his side to face her.

“That's because I have you now.”

He then leaned over and kissed her forehead.

“You’re the best security blanket a bloke could have.”

Of course no sleeping was done after a comment like that.

As Ginny reached the bed and crouched over Harry, she couldn't help but think that such was the case no longer.

By this time her eyes had adjusted to the dark. Harry was lying on his back with the sheets thrown off him. His right leg was bent on the bed while the other was twitching. He was clad only in a pair of satiny black pajama bottoms; his nicely sculpted chest was bare. This was the closest Ginny had been to her husband in weeks, and her mouth nearly watered due to the proximity. She bit down on her lip to withhold the groan that wanted to come out at the sight of all that smooth, hairless skin.

Harry's head was turned facing her and his usually untidy, shaggy mop of unruly long hair was even more tousled than normal. He looked like an angel, a ravished angel. He had his right arm thrown across his forehead while his left was at his side, the hand mindlessly clutching at the bed slip. Ginny couldn't help but be entranced by the imprint of the swollen erection that strained against the material of Harry's pajama bottoms.

Even though she knew that Harry was having a nightmare, Ginny was a tingle all over. To put it bluntly, she was in heat. There was just something unquestioningly erotic about his appearance. His tensed body just seemed to hum with some kind of kinetic sexual energy. Why with the way his face was all screwed up in concentration, it looked almost similar to the way Harry looked when he was about to...

“Please...”

Ginny furrowed her brow, her train of thought lost.

“Please, don't...” Harry moaned.

Ginny ducked down nearer to him and placed her hands softly on his shoulder.

“Harry, wake-up,” she gently said trying her best not to spook him.

“Stooooooooooop...”

His voice sounded so wretched and pleading that Ginny had a hard time believing that it actually belonged to her big strong husband, and not to some snotty nosed little brat begging his mum for a lolly. As Ginny pondered on this further, she felt two strong hands latch on to her upper arms in a firm grip. Before she knew what was what, she had been flipped on to her back, her body being pressed into the bed by the man straddling her.

“What the–”

Ginny didn't get to finish her sentence; a pair of soft full lips was in the way.

Yessssssss! Ginny nearly wept from the sheer relief of it. This was it. This was what had been missing all this time. This was what had been lacking in her marriage. Passion! Fuck devotion. Passion was what she wanted, she thought as their tongues tangled over and over again. Why Harry hadn't kissed her like this since...well, Harry had never kissed her like this! It was like he was trying to pour his very soul into her. Ginny almost protested. It's just all too much! It will never fit, her thoughts screamed in her head. But her body? Her body didn't seem to mind. Parts of Harry were touching parts of Ginny that they hadn't touched in ages.

When Ginny had been thrown on the bed her nightgown had ridden up to her hips. Without even realizing, it she wrapped her legs around Harry's waist and tried to urge him as close as she could by pressing her heel to his bum. The only thing keeping him from sliding right into where she desperately needed him was his pajamas and her knickers. Damn the luck! Ginny would have reached down and removed the offending garments herself if her two hands hadn't already been busy, fisted in Harry's shock of cool crisp hair. Harry's own hands were caressing the sides of her face. His calloused fingers rubbed at her skin gently, and the two sensations combined made her almost scream in delight. Instead Ginny moaned into his mouth as Harry slowly moved his hands across the planes of her face. His fingers crept slowly into her hairline, then plunged into her fiery mane; her silky, straight hair. They threaded through out her baby fine tresses.

All of a sudden everything stopped. Fingers stopped stroking. Lips stopped caressing. Harry's pelvis stopped pushing furiously against hers.

“Ha-Ha-Harry...”

To Ginny's confused mind she couldn't figure out why all of the good, tingly sensations had ceased. As she slowly opened her eyes, and dropped her legs and arms to the bed, she caught the soft glow of light that was emanating from Harry's wand tip. He was still on top of her, but he was in a sitting position. Though his whole body was stiff with tension, Ginny could see that his...arousal...had deflated somewhat.

“Harry, I don't understand. What's wrong?”

That was when she looked fully at his face. As long as she would live, Ginny believed she would never forget the expression she saw there. Shock. Harry was completely surprised to find that the woman underneath him, the woman he was about to make mad, passionate love to, was his wife of more than five years.

“Ginny?!”

“Yeah, it's me. Why did you stop?”

Harry looked at her with wide, dark green eyes clearly confused as to how they had ended up in this particular predicament.

“I...um...I...” Harry stuttered out. “I g-guess I had been dreaming?”

Ginny rolled her eyes and swallowed back her irritation.

“That much is clear. You were making so much noise that I came in here to see what I could do for you.”

“Oh,” he said dully.

“Yeah, oh.”

Ginny sat up and Harry practically leapt off of her, kneeling on the bed to her left.

“Then we started...well, you know. And then you stopped.”

That last bit came out a mite bitter.

“Why did you stop?” she asked again.

Harry ran his hands through his hair and looked around the room as if he was searching for answers anywhere he could find them.

“I don't know, Ginny. I guess I was just tired and confused. I really didn't know what I was doing,” he casually said. His eyes seemed determined to look anywhere but at her.

“Oh.” Ginny closed her eyes and willed herself not to cry. Not now at least!

Harry spoke the incantation to extinguish his wand and slipped it back under the pillow where he usually kept it. The room once again was shrouded in darkness.

“I'm zonked,” he said as he stretched his body out and gathered his poor rumpled sheets over him. “I think I'm going to try to catch a few more winks. Tomorrow is Friday and I need to be alert for our department briefing.”

He closed his eyes as he laid his head back on the pillow.

“Are you staying?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

If she had still been Ginny Weasley she would have snapped at this point. She would have jumped on Harry and beat at him with her tiny fists until he was black and blue. She would have jumped on Harry and shagged him good and proper until he was black and blue. She definitely wanted to jump on Harry and cry on to his chest, be it black or blue. But she was Ginny Potter. Her husband was tired and he needed to be up bright and early so that he could save the world.

“No Harry, I don't think so. I'm afraid my feet are too cold and they'll just keep you up the rest of the night,” she said as she removed herself from the bed. The false cheer in her voice nearly made bile rise up in her throat.

A dreamy sort of smile crossed his face and Harry turned over on his side, his back facing her.

“You’re just too good to me, Ginny,” he murmured sleepily.

Ginny wasn't sure how long she stood at the side of that bed, but it was well after sleep descended on Harry making his breathing shallow. Eventually she found herself back in her room. She walked over to her nightstand in a trance-like state and picked up her wand. She then went into the bathroom connected to her bedroom. She cast a spell to lock the door and one to block all sounds from leaving the room. She then cried herself to sleep on the tiles of the floor.

Harry had already left for the day by time Ginny came downstairs to prepare breakfast.

“I don't care if she has the most read column in the Prophet; Daphne Greengrass is a no-talent hack!”

Ginny picked up another morsel of cheesecake on her fork and lifted it to her lips. This is almost better than sex, she thought as she swallowed the delectable confection down. Well, definitely better than not having sex.

“What are you on about, Lav?”

They were having lunch at the Leaky Cauldron that day with plans to go into Diagon Alley after. Lavender was sitting across the table from her, head lowered over a copy of the Daily Prophet, her plate of fruit salad untouched.

“THIS!” she exclaimed irritably. She practically shoved the page she had been reading into Ginny's hands. “Just look at this tripe!”

Ginny dropped her fork on her plate and picked up the paper. The first thing she saw was a small picture of the witch who covered the society section for the paper by her byline, Daphne Greengrass. The cute, dark haired, coal eyed woman had been in Lavender's year back at Hogwarts. Her column was called “Daphne Tells It All”. It covered the big social events of Great Britain's wizarding elite. Engagements, weddings, baby announcements, parties, promotions; all of it was spread out over three to four pages. If you also wanted to find out what couples were living in separate houses, the names of those engaging in torrid affairs, or who was going to kill his wife if he walked in on her with the wireless repairman yet again, Daphne told that all too. It really was little more than a gossip sheet. It was also the first section most people usually turned to in the morning. Daphne's picture winked at her. Ginny and Harry's comings and goings had once been featured often.

“What am I supposed to be looking at again?” Ginny asked trying to figure out what had her friend all in a tizzy.

“My Morgana, Ginny, the bloody mention of the engagement party!”

Ginny spread the paper out on the table and looked all over for the announcement. She eventually found it at the bottom of her right hand side.

“Aha! Found it.”

“Took you long enough,” grumbled Lavender.

Ginny ignored the comment. She scanned the notice quickly, and finding nothing wrong, looked back up at Lavender again.

“I don't get it. What's so bad about this?” a confused Ginny asked.

“What's wrong with it?!” Lavender exclaimed. “What's wrong with it?!”

Ginny sighed. Lavender could be so dramatic.

“What happens when two Gryffindors fall in love,” Ginny read from the paper in a fake announcer’s voice. “Wedding bells! Ronald Billius Weasley, charming Keeper for the Wimbourne Wasps, and Lavender Brown-Pye, the young widow of the late broom entrepreneur Cornelius Shepfield Pye, will be joined on June 23rd at an as yet unnamed location. Since the banns were announced just a few days ago all of Great Britain has been a-twitter over the news. If you always knew that these two lovebirds were destined to be together, like I did, come join the happy couple this Sunday begin the Rites for their blessed union. The fête will be held at the Weasley family compound in Ottery St. Catchpole. Although this will be the bride's second wedding, we here at the Prophet are keeping our fingers crossed that it will hopefully be her last.”

Ginny had to smother the giggle that bubbled up at the subtle dig.

“Why did she have to mention Corn?”

“Well you were married to the man, Lavender.”

Lavender looked at Ginny as though she were simple minded.

“That was ages,” she said, a bored expression on her face.

“The man only died three years ago.”

Lavender scowled at that, so Ginny quickly switched topics.

“Other than that, you must admit it was a perfectly fine mention.” She then handed the paper back to Lavender.

“Sure, but who is going to read it,” she said in a loud and whinging tone as she snatched the paper back.

At this point most of the other customers at the tables surrounding them turned to see what the fuss was about. Lavender gave them all the stink eye.

“Ron and I got tossed to the bottom of the page as if we were rubbish,” she pouted as she turned back to the table.

Lavender loved her social standing almost as much as she loved Ginny's older brother.

“But did you see who got a big photo and interview?”

“It looked like McLaggen and the Pug,” Ginny said as she took a sip of her butterbeer. Lavender had opted to try a frothy, fruity drink that would pop and fizz and put on a little firework display every few minutes. After she swallowed down a bit of it, she opened the paper back to the society section again.

“Pansy and Cormac: Tales from a happy Slythedor marriage,” she read in a voice oozing with disdain.

She turned back to Ginny.

“What's so special about a Slythedor marriage?”

“Well you know there has always been a long standing rivalry between the two houses. Some say the grudge goes back as far as Godric and Salazar. You hardly ever hear about inter-marrying between the two.” Ginny shrugged. “I guess some think that the McLaggens are rare and therefore special.”

“Well it's not like they rewrote the bleeding Magna Carta!”

Ginny snorted. Lavender was really taking her Muggle studies seriously.

“The Pug and her li'l bitch are always in this thing,” Lavender said as she shook the paper furiously. “The happy couple this...the happy couple that, when we all know that Cormac can't keep it in his pants.”

“He used to chase Hermione around her desk when they worked together at the Ministry.”

“Gabby Delacour says that he is always over at Beauxbatons recruiting the pretty young things for his department. Ha! She can hardly keep the silly little bints in class when he comes around.”

“I hear he does the same thing at Hogwarts. Never chats up any of the blokes.”

“Humph,” muttered Lavender as she speared a melon chunk off of her plate and chewed it furiously. “Of course Parkinson probably doesn't give two shits. She only married the brute because he had the three things she loved most; money, connection, and pure blood,” Lavender counted out on her fingers.

Ginny tittered.

“Well...” she took another bite of her dessert, “...I bet I know one thing McLaggen has that Pansy doesn't love.”

Lavender looked at Ginny, half-listening as she sipped on her Pink Pixie.

“A penis.”

Lavender's drink went shooting out of her mouth. Once again they drew stares.

“Sorry,” Ginny apologized sheepishly to those sitting nearest her. Lavender scooted her chair closer to the table.

“No!”

Ginny shook her head affirmatively.

“No!”

Ginny chuckled.

“But what about Malfoy, weren't they an item once?”

“Yes. Then in my Fifth Year, your Sixth, Draco Malfoy became He Who Must Not Be Named's errand boy. Pansy needed someone to keep the loneliness at bay, didn't she?”

Lavender hung on to Ginny's every word. It was as if V-Day had come early this year.

“Tell us who Ginny, tell us who?!” she pleaded.

Ginny looked at her with an evil gleam in her eye.

“I don't know if I should,” she teased.

“Ginny, please?”

Ginny laughed.

“Ok, ok.”

Ginny looked around to make sure that their conversation wasn't being listened to. She then turned back to Lavender.

“Let's just say that Parkinson might make that gossip section constantly, but I'm pretty damned sure that dear Daphne isn't telling it all.”

For a second, Lavender was totally at a loss as to what Ginny could mean. And then she made the connection.

“You are fucking with me!”

“No, no my friend. You and I don't have that kind of relationship, but Daphne and Parkinson sure did. Moaning Myrtle told me.”

“Myrtle?” asked Lavender bemusedly. “Forgive me Ginny, but I have a hard time believing anything an emotionally stunted 14 year old dead girl would tell you.”

“Don't knock the dead, missy. The Hogwarts ghosts knew all the best gossip,” Ginny confided. “And if it went down anywhere near the pipes, you can believe Myrtle saw it.”

When school reopened after the War, Ginny found herself back at Hogwarts being named Head Girl and Gryffindor house Quidditch captain. She also was Harry Potter's newly re-established girlfriend. This should have made her the most popular girl in school. Instead Ginny never felt so isolated.

The boys avoided her as if she had the plague. None of them wanted to get too friendly with The Chosen One's girl. If he could take out a dark lord, what couldn't he or wouldn't he do to them. Since Ginny only had eyes for Harry she didn't really mind the lack of male attention.

Most of the females ignored her as well, though. She had a gorgeous, rich, older boyfriend who was being recruited by all the top teams in the Quidditch league. It also didn't help that said boyfriend was the savior of all wizarding kind. Oh how the girls hated her! At first it had hurt, but eventually she came to see that all the other girls were just jealous. Ginny could hardly blame them. She would be jealous too if she wasn't so damned lucky.

Ginny had prestige, power, and at last she had her man. She convinced herself that if it meant having Harry in her life, she was willing to suffer the abuse. She just wished she had a friend she could talk to. With Colin dead and Luna off in her own world usually, Ginny realized that she wasn't really close to anyone else in her year. Before she had spent most of her time hanging with Harry, Hermione, and Ron, now she was all by herself. Neville was once again living in Scotland, in the city of Aberdeen going to school, and would visit her on the weekends. But other than those too brief moments spent with him Ginny felt terribly alone. That was how she and Moaning Myrtle became friends.

Myrtle had long held a grudge against Ginny because of the whole chamber opening, Riddle possessed, diary throwing incident back in First Year. What most people didn't know, and what Ginny was far too embarrassed to tell, was that for years after Myrtle would harass Ginny whenever she could. If the ghost caught the poor girl in the restroom on her own, she would soak her from head to toe. The harassment only got worse after she and Harry officially started dating in her Fifth Year. Myrtle had always had a bit of a soft spot for Harry.

By her final year Ginny felt that it was time to bury the hatchet with the dispirited spirit. One night after making rounds, Ginny entered Myrtle's sanctuary in the first floor girls' toilet. Before the usually high strung ghost could attack her, Ginny told her that she wanted to call a truce and be friends. Myrtle made crying like noises for ten minutes straight before happily agreeing. After that Ginny would spend an hour or two with Myrtle after her Head Girl rounds almost every night. Ginny would gush about Harry to the enraptured ghost, and Myrtle would tell her all of Hogwarts’ secrets. It was a relationship of mutual benefit.

“You remember that restroom on the first floor, the one that Myrtle haunted?”

“More like terrorized,” Lavender huffed.

“Yes, well, let's just say that a lot of...interesting things went down in that bathroom. Harry, Hermione, and Ron stole some ingredients from Snape and brewed up a potion in there once. Myrtle told me.”

Lavender arched one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows.

“You're sure that's all they did in there?”

“That's sick, Lav!” Ginny snapped.

When the pretty young blonde looked perfectly chastised, Ginny immediately regretted losing her temper.

“They were only Second Years back then, besides Myrtle gladly told me all of the sex stuff.”

“Like?”

“Filch bawling like a baby crying, 'Selene, Selene...why can't you love me Selene? Why can't you notice I'm alive', while wacking off.”

“Selene? As in Professor Sinistra, that Selene?”

“That Selene.”

“Gracious,” said Lavender as her hand fluttered to her chest.

“Yes. Then there was the story of Terry Boot. He would sneak in there every Tuesday night with a duffel bag filled with girl's lingerie and knee socks he filched from the laundry. He also would carry around a large pair of Mary Janes. He liked to strip all of his own clothes off, slip on a pair of the stolen knickers, the socks, the shoes, and nothing else. He would then study his Arithmancy book until the crack of dawn.”

“I always knew he was a poof.”

“You only thought that because he didn't ask you to the Yule Ball way back when,” Ginny teased.

“I had a perfectly lovely time with Seamus, thank you very much.”

Ginny laughed as Lavender stuck her tongue out at her.

“But finish tell me about Parkinson and Greengrass,” Lavender begged.

“Nothing much left to tell. They would just have these passionate little trysts and Myrtle would watch.” Ginny snickered. “She would even act them out for me.”

Ginny gave a little cough and changed her voice to sound eerily enough like Pansy's, high pitched and annoying.

“‘Ooh Daph, your hair is as soft as a demiguise’.”

Lavender chortled.

Ginny adopted a lower, silkier Welsh accent.

“'I'll love you forever and ever Pans'.”

Lavender could barely control her laughter.

“You know, her plumbing might not work any more, but Myrtle sounds like a right perv.”

“And how!” Ginny agreed.

The two women then entered into a companionable silence for a few seconds. Ginny finished her cheesecake and Lavender plopped a grape she lifted off of her plate into her mouth.

“Think they're still doing it?” asked Lavender curiously.

“Parkinson and Daphne?” Ginny queried. “I don't right know. But I have been at a Ministry function or two where you could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

“Goodness,” exclaimed Lavender. “But you know it all makes sense now, all the little write-ups she gives the Pug. You know Slytherins never believe in giving something for nothing. I always knew Greengrass was an old snake through and through.”

“Aww, Lav, Daphne isn't that bad.”

Lavender scoffed at that, but Ginny still tried to argue the matter.

“She isn't, as far as Slytherins go. She's always been nice to me.”

“Probably wants in your knickers!”

“Lav!”

“Well it's true.”

“No really, Daphne never fell into that whole pureblood rigmarole that most Slytherins hold to. In fact her parents backed the Ministry during the War,” Ginny said.

Lavender picked up the paper again and began to skim it.

“Be that as it may, I still don't like the bitch,” Lavender said as she gave a toss to her summery blonde hair. “And I'll never be able to read this thing the same way again. Listen to this: As I was having supper at Presto's, the place to see and be seen, late Monday night Perfect Pair−rubbish−the McLaggens popped in for a bite. Being on such intimate terms with the couple...”

Ginny sniggered.

“...I made my way to their table to sit down and have a chat. As the three of us reminisced over our happier years in school; Hogsmeade visits, the Yule Ball, getting caught after curfew, I couldn't help but be in awe of the affection that lay between the couple. As Cormac, the Assistant Deputy Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, left the table to discuss important Ministry matters with his colleague, Galeta Hersh–”

“Oh come on now, she doesn't even work in his department!” Ginny interrupted.

Lavender continued to read.

“Pansy and I got down to business–goodness, at the table in front of everybody, ladies...kinky.”

“You're so bad, Lav!”

“Shush! I'm still reading,” she said in a mock stern voice. “'Pansy', I asked, 'please tell all the faithful readers of Daphne Tells it All just why you have such a lasting strong marriage'. The stunning, statuesque–oh I think I'm going to be ill now–blonde gave me a peaceful and content smile. 'My marriage is strong because I make sure my Cormmy is happy. I didn't need to bind him to me to keep him by my side–why that sanctimonious little–He's there because he wants to be there. I wasn't one of these pie in the sky little girls who think that marriage is all rainbows and unicorns. I knew that if I wanted a long lasting, healthy relationship I would have to work for it'.”

As she continued to read from the paper, Lavender raised it in front of her. The view of her redheaded friend was blocked. She babbled on and on, completely clueless to the fire she was fanning before her.

“'And my hard work paid off. You know Daph, there are mornings when my darling husband won't even let me out of bed'−somehow I doubt that, old girl−As Pansy and I laughed over this−I bet they did−she slowly leaned in and left me with this final thought to share with you, dear readers: 'If you have to question the strength of the marriage, you might want to question the marriage'.”

Lavender lowered the paper.

“The woman has no shame,” she said, finally looking at her friend.

She was stopped cold.

When a magical child is born, its lineage doesn't automatically guarantee that the small babe will grow up to be a witch or a wizard. In fact the question of whether or not a child would have substantial powers or be a Squib(a condition that had once been rare, but was now growing steady prevalent due to the marriages of such closely related purebloods) could not be answered until said child showed any magical aptitude. Generally this occurred around the ages of 4 or 5 once the child expelled their first bit of accidental magic. This was a small blessing in and of itself. No mother would like to have a tot going through its terrible twos that could make its porridge fly across the room. Of course there are always exceptions. Yevgeny Murat was fabled to have somehow charmed his stuffed chimaera to stalk and eat his older sister's pet crup all at the tender age of 18 months. But such cases were rare.

In the Weasley household Molly and Arthur's boys' powers tended to pop up at age 5. Percy actually performed his first bit of accidental magic at the age of 3. Even then he was a suck-up. But the only Weasley daughter did raise concerns. By the summer of her 9th birthday Ginny Weasley still hadn't shown any magical abilities. Her parents were not overly concerned, though. They still had another year before drastic measures that would encourage her powers to come out would need to be taken. George had even helpfully proposed that they lock her in a pen with a half-starved quintaped once...and was promptly boxed in the ear for the suggestion.

Ginny, by all accounts, seemed to be unaware of her deficiency. She appeared to be a cheerful, boisterous child who lived for fun and mischief. But this was all an act. Ginny hated not having what others had! Although Ginny's parents made due for their large nest as best as they could, she still felt their lack of wealth keenly. Being a female didn't even exempt her from having to wear her brothers' old hand me down robes and trainers. Ginny valiantly soldiered on through this degradation.

But the idea that she might not grow up to be a witch, something that should be her natural birthright...Ginny couldn't even bear the thought of it. She would rather die than be a Squib! She never told a soul any of this though, just buried it deep down inside and put on a sunny smile. Ginny suffered Ron's teases. Ginny withstood pitying pats on the head from her mum followed shortly by a murmured, "poor dear". Ginny even ignored Percy's adult-like quips of, "at least she can't cause more trouble". She did plan to turn him into a pigeon the very first chance she got.

Then that fateful summer the whole family, minus Bill, went to visit Charlie in the Ukraine. Charlie, having recently graduated from Hogwarts, was in Chernihiv to apprentice under the acclaimed dragon huntress Gerda Winkler. She was a diminutive, older witch whose grandmotherly appearance often concealed her fierce temperament. She was the foremost expert on all dragon species, both living and extinct, in the world. She was also missing the limbs and an eye to prove it. She could hog tie a baby Fireball, smoked imported Salem pipes, and had a voice like a brass gong.

Gerda also liked for the young men in her tutelage to call her mother. Charlie simply adored her! He wrote home, sometimes three letters a week, gushing about “Mother”. Molly couldn't stand the woman, sight unseen. As soon as Arthur got some leave time from the Ministry, and Percy finished up his Fourth Year while the twins were leaving their Second at school, she packed up her family to go visit her second born.

They spent two weeks camped out by the Desna river. Arthur and the boys would go out in the field with Charlie and his work mates, while Molly would watch Gerda like a hawk from the sidelines. Ginny usually was forced to stay with her mum. All in all though, Ginny enjoyed the trip. On their last day there Arthur gave Molly a wad of Muggle money, to Ginny's eyes what looked like a small fortune, to go buy his little princess something nice for her birthday.

They walked into town and Molly looked for a shoe store to buy Ginny a nice new pair of girl's shoes. But as they walked the streets, Ginny's attention was caught by the display in a nearby shop window. The store sold expensive porcelain figurines. Ginny instantly fell in love with a statuette of a Ukrainian noble woman dressed in a lilac colored Renaissance gown holding a small brown puppy. Ginny wanted to be that girl, but she would settle for being able to buy her and put her on her bureau. She tugged her mother into the store.

Molly at first tried to refuse her daughter's request, but after seeing Ginny's pleading face, acquiesced. The two Weasley ladies entered the store and waited for someone to serve them. And they waited. And they waited. They stood there for twenty minutes and watched customer after customer get served, some who had even come in after them.

After a while a discomfited Molly tried to shuffle her child out of the store, but Ginny would have none of it. She had to have that pretty lady! And her little dog too! Didn't her mum understand that? But before she could ask, Ginny saw one of the very attractive, well dressed shop girls lean over to her colleague and say, "bidnny" (poor), then look at her and her mum. Ginny may not have spoken the language, but she knew what that look meant. It was the same look she received from the other children when she showed up to Mandy Brocklehurst's birthday party in patched robes. It was the same look her mother got from passersby as she walked into the secondhand stores in Diagon Alley. It was the same look in little Meleficent Avery's eye as she informed Ginny that her mum said that they couldn't play together any longer.

Oh yes, Ginny knew that look. Usually she would force down the anger that would swell up inside her at those moments.

But not this day.

Something inside of Ginny just…snapped. She felt a heated wave throb, vibrate all through her body. It felt coarse. It felt sickening. It felt ugly. It felt powerful. For the first time in her young life Ginny Weasley experienced rage. Molly, who had been halfway out the door at this point, felt the pulse in the air of powerful magic being expelled. She turned to see her child's eyes turn indigo and her long red hair nearly stand off her head. Molly yanked her daughter out of the store as a porcelain swan sitting on a stand near her head exploded.

Ginny ended up breaking every figurine in the store that day, all save the girl and her little brown puppy. Ginny was officially a witch. She was also grounded. Molly stressed to her that if she ever let her emotions get out of control like that again it could be disastrous. Ginny had to learn how to control her temper. And she did. She never had another episode like that one in Chernihiv again. Until now.

Lavender tore her gaze from the near purple face of her future sister-in-law, and placed it on the now empty flute she had been drinking out of. The glass had been rattling around on the table as if it were doing an angry jig. As Lavender looked at the tables nearby, she saw that all of the glassware and teacups were doing the same thing much to the consternation of the other patrons.

“Um...Ginny...” she fearfully said.

Ginny snatched the paper from her hands.

“Let me see that!” she snapped as the tremors came to a halt, thankfully. “Why this is just a pile of tosh! Absolute rubbish! Daphne obviously left a few things out. Ahem...” Ginny said before mimicking Daphne's accent. “'Pans, luv, how have you and your man whore of a husband managed to not kill each other after all these years'?”

She then gave an airy toss of her head and began to simper like Pansy.

“‘Why Daph, dear, I simply allow my husband to chase after anything in knee socks and pig tails. And when I'm feeling particularly peckish myself, I invite you over, spread you wide open on my marriage bed, and put my tongue up your crotch!”

Ginny then threw the newspaper across the table. Lavender looked at her in shock.

“Ginny!”

Ginny defiantly met Lavender's eye and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“What's gotten into you today?”

More like what hasn't gotten into me today, she broodingly thought.

“Well whatever it is, I like it!” Lavender beamed, eyes bright with mirth.

Ginny looked at Lavender's big cheerful grin and couldn't fight the small smile that appeared on her own face.

“I've missed this you know, having a close female friend. I haven't had one since Parv ran away to New Guinea to chase after that mad Muggle she was in love with,” Lavender said as she reached across the table, grabbed Ginny's hand, and squeezed it affectionately.

“I'm going to love being your sister, Ginny!”

Ginny squeezed back.

“I'm going to love having you for a sister, Lav. I wouldn't have chosen anyone else for Ron. I'm really glad he is marrying you.”

Lavender squealed at this and clapped her hands merrily.

“I am too. Now let's pay the bill and get out of here so we can do some shopping.”

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

Ten minutes later the two nattily dressed women were walking down Diagon Alley, arms linked, chatting away. They made a lovely picture and some men couldn't help but gawk. Both girls were slender and stunning, though Ginny was a tad on the short side. Their elegant robes (both had accounts at Twillfit's and Malkin's), and stylish coifs (Ginny's long auburn locks were up in a French twist, while Lavender's fell just above her shoulders in golden waves) spoke of money. Though Ginny was easily the prettier of the two, Lavender's naturally vibrant and vivacious personality radiated from her and made her virtually the center of attention. They were the cream of the magical elite and every little girl wanted to grow up and be them. Lavender and Ginny knew this and relished it.

“Oh, did I tell you? Ron and I are going to file the adoption papers later today.”

“Oh Lav, that's brilliant,” Ginny said and squeezed her friend's arm. “Mum will be so excited!”

Lavender smiled.

“She treats Vi just like she was one of her own grands.”

“And spoils her rotten too,” Ginny clucked. “I never had it half so good. Rosemary, Felicity, and Violet get away with murder.”

“Violet Weasley, that has such a lovely ring to it, doesn't it.”

Even though it was not really said as a question, Ginny still shook her head affirmatively.

“Much better than Vi Pye, by any account. Could you imagine?! That's what the children at Hogwarts in a few years would have called my child; Vi Pye. Why that's tantamount to child abuse!” Lavender proclaimed.

Ginny was too amused.

“Well you did marry Olde Pye, Lav.”

“I declare a change in subject,” she stated primly.

“Alright, alright,” Ginny said while giggling.

“Did you see that bit about Blaise Zabini in the paper?”

“No, what?”

“Looks like he got married.”

“Oh? Do we know the witch?”

“The name didn't sound familiar; someone named Amparo Leon.”

“Hmmm. Probably just left Hogwarts. More than likely some pure-blooded, elitist snob like him.”

“Snob or not, back in school Blaise was such a yummy piece of arse,” Lavender said in a dreamy tone.

“Lav!” Ginny exclaimed, scandalized.

“You know I never got to date a black bloke.”

“Lav!”

“Did you and Dean ever–”

“Don't you dare finish that sentence!”

“Ok, ok. Spoil all my fun,” she said in mock seriousness.

As they came to halt suddenly, Ginny felt the dark cloud she had been under all day, begin to finally disperse. She really did enjoy the times she spent with Lavender. And she felt just horrible about losing it like that in front of her friend. It wasn't Lavender's fault that Pug Faced Parkinson was a horrid little bitch! Ginny could barely even remember what she had been so upset about. Everything about Pansy's life was a lie. Her secure marriage, her happy husband; they were all lies. And what's more, the woman probably had even begun to buy into her own self-invented delusions. Ginny could almost feel sorry for her. In fact she did feel sorry for her, she decided. Ginny Potter pitied Pansy McLaggen.

“Oh look, there goes Susie. She must be on lunch from Mungo's.”

Ginny turned to look across the street at the plump, short woman whose dark blonde hair was tied in a severe top knot on her head.

“SUE! OH, SUSAN!” Lavender shouted failing her arms about.

The woman in the lime green Healer's robes walked into Obscurus Books, oblivious to Lavender's cries.

“Oh poo! She must not have heard me. You know I heard Parkinson is seeing her. I wonder how Susan in putting up with that nightmare. You would think the Pug would have gone to one of her little Slytherin mates. Tracy Davis has had her own practice over in Hogsmeade for years. 'Course Tracy Davis was as dumb as a garden gnome back in school. I wonder how she managed that.”

“Hang on Lav, why would Pansy be seeing Susan Goldstein?” asked Ginny, a perplexed look on her face. “Susan treats pregnant witches.”

“Well...yes,” Lavender said, turning to look at the younger woman. “The McLaggens are expecting. I thought everyone knew that. It was in the paper just last week. Though how they managed that...”

Lavender chose that moment to look into the store front she and Ginny had stopped in front of and instantly lost her train of thought.

“Ooh, looks like Persephone's is having a sale today. Goody for us,” she said as she turned back to her friend.

Lavender's happy smile quickly turned in to a frown of worry at the sight of the younger woman.

“Hey, your eyes are watering,” she said.

“Oh, are they?” Ginny asked as she took the white handkerchief with her monogram, GMP, out of her robe pocket and dabbed at her eyes hurriedly. “I think I may be allergic to this new scent I'm wearing, is all.”

“Oh, I hope it isn't that Chased garbage. It's made by that Cordelia Hunting; she plays Chaser for Appleby. I tried a sample of it just last week and it turned the back of my neck pea green. These barmy celebrities! Just because she can fly a broom real fast, does not make her qualified to make and hawk perfume.”

Lavender continued to prattle on and on, never noticing her friend's stilted laughter.

“Next thing you know the stupid bint will have her own line of women’s robes. Imagine!”

Lavender strolled right into the lingerie boutique and immediately walked over to a rack of sheer night gowns that left nothing to the imagination. Ginny followed slowly behind her. Lavender picked up a risqué, rose colored baby doll, and held it up against her body.

“You know, I bought one of these last year for Ron's birthday. He wouldn't let me out of the bedroom all weekend long,” the flighty blonde boasted with pride.

Must be nice, thought a gloomy Ginny as she sidestepped the peek-a-boo nighties and headed straight to the back to look at the thermal underwear.

A/N: Next up is Harry's POV. Things to look forward to: Horcrux hunting, Tonks and little Wolfie Lupin, as well as the answer to just how and the hell Harry managed to get himself married to Ginny.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Galeta Hersh, Yevgeny Murat, Gerda Winkler, Meleficent Avery, Felicity Weasley, Amparo Leon, and Cordelia Hunting are canon.

2) The ages of the Weasley boys might be a little off for purposes of this story, but not by much.

3) I don't think we've ever been told clearly how old Myrtle was when she died so I made her 14.

4) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a demiguise is an ape like creature that can make itself invisible and whose long silky hair can be used to make invisibility cloaks. A quintaped is a dangerous carnivore that is covered in thick reddish-brown hair, has five clubfooted legs, and a low-slung body. It has a taste for human flesh.

5) Persephone's lingerie boutique, the Pink Pixie martini, and Presto's restaurant are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

8. Chapter 7

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 22,549

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None really, but it might be a bit angsty for some. And super long. You have been warned.

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.

Saturday, 05/28/05

Harry was sitting at a table in a pub located a few steps into Knockturn Alley. The place was called the Haggling Hag, and because of its prime location it was able to serve both the dregs of the magical world and those that wanted to associate with those dregs. It was the kind of place where a hag didn't have to hide her face, a fellow could openly buy a poisoned potion with no thought of recrimination, it wasn't too uncommon to see a goblin picking up a human trick for the night...and everyone knew your name.

It was also the kind of place that a respected Auror could meet with an informant and no one would pay either any mind. That was what Harry was doing there. He had come to the Hag to meet with Mundungus Fletcher for lunch, a few pints, and whatever information the ginger haired criminal could give him. Mundungus had sent an owl to Harry's house earlier that morning. According to him he had some information he felt that Harry would be very interested in hearing.

When Harry got up from the breakfast table to leave the house for the day, Ginny had thrown a tantrum. She was furious that he would actually use his Saturday off to do department business, especially when most of the family would be over at the Burrow helping prepare for the Commencement ceremony the next day. Harry tried to explain to his wife how important it was to close the case he was working on, and that he was sure that Ron wouldn't be too upset that he couldn't make it. Knowing Ron, Harry assumed the redhead probably would be hiding out somewhere himself.

It turned out that Fletcher did not have info on any of Harry’s current cases, but instead had heard some gossip pertaining to a plot to kidnap the very popular WWN personality, Glenda Chittock. There were some folks who felt that their favorite group, The Hobgoblins, were not featured nearly enough on the program that Chittock hosted and were determined to rectify the situation, never mind the fact that the group had broken up ages ago. 'Dung, who just so happened to be an ardent devotee of the stunning Miss Chittock, and a big fan of The Witching Hour, felt that it was his duty to make sure that Harry knew about this nefarious plot. He also was hoping to score major brownie points with the young Auror.

Mundungus had recently fallen in with a two-bit ring of crooks who were selling malfunctioning sneakoscopes to Muggles illegally. The things were being billed as personal alarm systems, and were being sold to poor little grandmothers in Hackney all the way to young mothers in Chessington. The stupid things didn't work a bit, but that didn't matter. The Muggle Protection act had been violated, and due to Mundungus' very extensive rap sheet, he was guaranteed a nice long stay in Azkaban as soon as someone from the Hit Wizard Squad caught up with him.

What Fletcher desperately needed from Harry was a recommendation. Even with the dementors now gone, Azkaban was still a dreary, desolate, soul destroying place. Misery clung to the prison as if it resided in the very stone walls. This after all was where Riddle had made his last stand. Some said the essence of the monster practically permeated the air, and that alone was enough to make a man go insane if he stayed there for more than a fortnight. After the War ended and the prison was reopened, this was where the Ministry sent all of the wizards who hoped to fill Voldemort's shoes, as well as the career criminals they hoped to be done with. 'Dung fell in this last category.

A few years ago, to curb over crowding, the Ministry built a new prison village on one of the Outer Hebrides Islands, St Kilda. It was named Darthmont and it was the place that wizards and witches were sent if they were guilty of smaller petty crimes. Sure the place was volcanic and the landscape foreboding, but in comparison to Azkaban, Darthmont was a bloody holiday resort. This was where Mundungus was hoping to get sent to if he was caught. All he needed was for Harry to put in a good word for him.

Harry was not pleased with Mundungus' news. He had been hoping that 'Dung had some information on any possible whereabouts of Ptolemy Cadmus. That was the biggest case that the Second Squad was working on and the case that Harry most wanted to close. Some alleged kidnapping, that was probably just drunken talk heard in a seedy pub, was of little interest to him. 'Dung was quite lucky that Harry didn't call in a team of Hit Wizards right there on the spot. It was only because of Fletcher's past ties to the Order that Harry stayed his hand.

Harry's relationship with Mundungus Fletcher had been contentious for years. 'Dung was a useful snitch, but Harry had never fully trusted the bounder after that day in Hogsmeade when he caught the crook with goods he had stolen from Grimmauld Place. In Harry's mind Sirius was barely gone, yet here was Fletcher already picking the meat off the carcass. In fact when he, Hermione, and Ron cottoned on to the fact that they might have actually come across the Slytherin Locket at Grimmauld just two summers before, Harry automatically assumed that Mundungus had it.

It wasn't that large a leap for them to deduce that the R.A.B. that stole the locket Horcrux might actually have been Sirius' younger brother, Regulus Black. It was during one of their late night brain storming sessions on Little Whinging that Ron remembered seeing a locket just like the one Harry described to them. It had been one of the many objects they came across in the drawing room of number twelve. As Ron recalled, none of them could get the thing opened. Harry shared the fact that Regulus had been a Death Eater who for some unknown reason went on the run shortly before he was killed. Hermione provided them with the information that Regulus’ middle name was Arcturus, named so after the Black brothers' paternal grandfather. She found that in a book she was reading that she had removed from Grimmauld back when Sirius was alive and had given her permission to. Nature's Nobility was a book on genealogy and listed every pureblood, magical family of worth. It was a veritable who's who of the wizarding world, so of course the House of Black had its own chapter. Why Hermione was reading the book she wouldn't say, but the pieces of the puzzle were finally starting to come together. Could Regulus Arcturus Black have become disillusioned with Voldemort's plans? Could that be his reason for stealing the Horcrux? Could that have been the reason why Voldemort had him killed?

Harry had no answers for these questions, but he did know that if that mysterious locket that they found once was the Slytherin heirloom, they needed to find it again posthaste. When Harry noticed Mundungus at the Burrow after the wedding, he quickly cornered the fellow near the broom shed. 'Dung denied ever seeing the locket of course, but Harry didn't believe him. He was a thief, wasn't he?!

It had taken the combined efforts of Ginny, Neville, Fred, and George to pull Harry off of the older man. Harry was incensed! His judgment was so impaired by anger and fear that he barely listened to a word that Mundungus said in his defense. Hermione and Ron, looking rumpled and harassed, soon entered the mêlée. Both of them grabbed an arm as they pulled their enraged friend away from the throng.

To say that Hermione read Harry the riot act wouldn't even come close to describe the tongue lashing that she dished out.

“Are you bloody mad?! To attack poor Mr. Fletcher like that? An Order member, Harry?! AN ORDER MEMBER! How could you?! And then on top of that you announce to anyone within hearing distance that you're looking for something important! Way to go Potter! Why don't you just alert Voldemort to all our plans right now, it would be easier!”

After he and Hermione had a screaming match that put any she had ever had with Ron to shame, it was agreed upon that Mundungus more than likely didn't have the locket. Their next course of action was to search Grimmauld Place. Harry wanted to go off then and there that very night, but Hermione and Ron vetoed the idea. Or rather Hermione said that she didn't think it was a very good plan and Ron agreed with her. When the hell did Ron start taking her side over mines, Harry briefly wondered as he fought down the intense wave of irritation that had reared its head.

“In a couple of weeks the Ministry is going to have a testing day. We can all floo into Diagon Alley, and while Ronnie is taking his Apparition test, you and I can search the house. We'll stay the night at the Cauldron, then we can take the train into Nottingham station. Hopefully someone can take us the rest of the way.”

Harry also wondered just when the hell she had started calling their best mate Ronnie? What the bollocks was that all about?!

With a course of action set, the three friends spent the remaining few days at the Burrow enjoying what freedom they had left before they got down to the serious business of Horcrux hunting. At least he assumed Hermione and Ron were enjoying themselves. Harry instead preferred to isolate himself from them, Ginny, and everyone else in the house. He was beginning to feel the burden of his destiny settling about his shoulder. It was cumbersome, it was wearying, and most of all it wasn't fair!

What happens if I fail? Why is this job mines to do?

What happens if I fail? When do I ever get to live my life?

What happens if I fail? How am I to manage this?

What happens if I fail? Where are my parents' happy ending?

What happens if I fail?

What happens if I fail? Will anyone even care?

That was the constant refrain that played itself inside of Harry's head. The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Saviour of the Wizarding World; all of those were just meaningless titles to him. Down deep in the dark recesses of Harry's heart he knew exactly who he really was, the child so unlovable that he had to be locked away for most of his life. He could try all he wanted to live up to the accolades and the praise that was heaped upon him, but in the end it would all be for naught. He would die. How could he not? He couldn't possibly win. There was no way he could really take on Riddle. Never mind that scene in the graveyard after the Tournament. That was just dumb luck. Plus his parents had been there telling him what to do then. According to the damned prophecy neither he nor Riddle could live while the other survived. When he still had Dumbledore behind him Harry believed he was strong enough to do this, but now with his mentor gone...he would die. And no one would care. There would be no future for him.

The day that he and Hermione foraged through Grimmauld Place he was still holding on to these dark thoughts. It was nearing afternoon and they had been searching the house since morning. The two of them came straight over to Grimmauld after renting two rooms at the Cauldron and dropping off their shrunken trunks. Ron would be meeting them back there after he was done with his test.

Currently they were separated having split up to make the search go faster. They had already gone through the kitchen, Kreacher's filthy little cubby hole, and a few of the bedrooms. Now he was upstairs looking in the dusty, cobweb filled attic while Hermione was on the first floor in the drawing room. Harry had just uncovered a box that contained two wands and a toy model motorcycle when he heard a scream that shook him to the core. There was only one other person in the house with him, there was only one person it could be.

He ran, on legs that felt too heavy, for the stairs. He practically jumped to the first floor landing. Once he got to the door of the drawing room the sounds of sorrowful weeping reached his ears. Someone was sobbing inside.

“Hermione?” he whispered as he eased open the door.

There was no answer, but the sobbing continued. As Harry fully stepped into the room, he saw the shape of someone, a girl, cowering near the wall. Her wand was in her hand. Spread out before her on the dusty old carpet was a dead body. His dead body.

That unmistakable sinking feeling of déjà vu hit him all at once. His head felt almost weightless as he recalled the night he walked into this very room and stumbled on to a scene similar to the one before him now. Same dirty moth eaten curtains? Check. Same creature infested couch? A-yup. Opened writing desk? Oh yeah! The only difference was back then it was Molly Weasley whose worst fears were being played upon by a boggart.

“R-r-riddikulus!” sobbed Hermione.

Another difference was that the boggart back then had the good grace to not only change into him, but every Weasley son as well as the father. But no, Hermione had used the spell to banish the creature and yet it still remained and still looked like him.

Blood was matted in boggart Harry’s dark hair, his glasses were cracked and dangling off of his nose, and his green eyes were dull and sightless. The lightning bolt scar on his forehead was now a livid looking red welt that stood out on his pale, bloodless face. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head hoping to clear the picture from his mind, but when he opened them again boggart Harry still remained dead on the floor. The only difference was that now Hermione had draped herself over the lifeless corpse.

“Oh Harry!” she heartbreakingly wailed.

She hadn't realized that the living version was also in the room with her. All of Hermione’s attention was focused on boggart Harry. Harry watched, spellbound, as she lifted her head and ran her hand tenderly through the hair on boggart Harry's bloody head. As a tear fell from the tip of her red, raw nose she closed her eyes and silently mouthed his name again. It was this act that forced Harry to finally take action.

He noiselessly crept across the room and settled himself on his knees on the other side of the boggart. Hermione was facing him.

“Hermione, luv,” Harry said gently, “make it go away.”

He knew she heard him because she shook her head childishly, as though she were trying to ward off the Boogey Man in the room, but she didn't raise her eyes from the body. Harry tried again, this time with a little more force behind his words.

“Hermione, you know it isn’t real! Please Hermione, make it go away.”

Her eyes drifted up and bulged at the sight of him. She quickly looked back at the body on the floor as her mouth began to work itself open and close wordlessly. He'd never seen Hermione so upset. He could see the confusion and turmoil in her eyes. He also saw when some sort of realization snapped into place.

“No, no, no, no...” she cried frantically as she scuttled away from the body like a bug and pressed herself against the wall. She continued to moan and wail the word “no” over and over again as she shut her eyes tightly and covered her ears with her hands, dropping her wand.

Seeing that Hermione was going to be of no help, Harry pulled out his wand from his jean pocket and pointed it at his own image. But in the blink of an eye his body vanished, and in its place a black robed figure stood over him, reaching out its scabbed, slimy-looking hand to him. Harry felt the dementor's rattling breath to his very bones. His glasses fogged due to the rapid temperature drop in the room. But either he no longer feared fear, or he was more concerned with his friend's continuous whimpering to pay the creature any heed. Whichever it was, Harry pointed his wand at the dementor as he rose slowly from the floor.

“RIDDIKULUS!” he shouted very firmly, very clearly. And just like that the boggart disappeared in a puff of smoke.

The silence that remained after the boggart was banished was almost deafening. The two people in the room said not a word to each other. By this time Hermione had opened her eyes again and was watching him with a wary expression on her face. Harry didn't really know what to say to her, how to react. What he did, however, was scoop her wand up from the floor and step over to her prostrate form. As he offered her the wand, her large brown eyes, glistening with the tears that still demanded to be shed, shifted between the thin vine wood to Harry's eyes. She reached out her hand, hesitantly, eyes never leaving his. Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could leave his lips Hermione grabbed her wand from out of his hand, leapt up from her position on the floor, and ran out the door so fast that one would have thought a grim was nipping at her heels.

Harry was astounded. It all happened so quickly that he hadn't realized she was making a run for it until he heard her footfalls on the stairs. He turned on his heels to follow her out. By time he got to the musty, dimly lit entrance hall the place was a cacophony of shrieks and shrills. Hermione had apparently made such a ruckus in her haste to exit the house that she roused the hated portrait of Sirius' mother from its rest. Harry could hear the Black matriarch screaming about disgusting creatures of dirt spoiling the purity of her home, and complaining about half-breed monsters that didn't have the decency to die properly. Harry simply ignored her and the rest of the family portraits who had begun to squawk and bellyache inside their frames as he ran pass them and headed for the wide opened door, nearly tripping over the overturned troll leg umbrella stand that was lying on the floor. By time Harry got outside there was no trace of Hermione to be seen. She had obviously Apparated away. Harry sighed wearily to himself. It was going to be a long walk to Charing Cross.

Almost an hour later Harry was greeted by the sight of his two best friends sitting at a table in the dining room of the Leaky Cauldron, chatting animatedly with one another as their near empty plates sat before them. Ron's back was facing the door so Harry couldn't see what kind of a mood he was in. Harry was hoping that it was a good one because that would mean he had passed his test. With Harry not being eligible to take his test until August they could use another person who was legally allowed to Apparate. It would come in handy in cases of emergencies, like if one of them got separated from the others. Harry would still be able to side along with the other one. This thought and his aching feet brought his attention over to Hermione.

She had changed from the faded blue jeans and red and white striped cotton shirt she was wearing that morning into a light weight yellow jumper and denim skirt. Her hair was pulled into a neat pony tail. She looked fresh faced and cheerful, and if Harry hadn't seen it for himself he would have never guessed that this was the same girl who had seemed practically broken only a couple of hours before.

As he walked over to their table, Hermione looked up from her conversation and smiled cheerfully at him. Harry momentarily lost his footing and almost tripped over his own feet. The total 180˚ turn of her personality must have unnerved him to the point that it actually disturbed his equilibrium. Yeah, that had to be it. Ron, wanting to see what or who Hermione was beaming at, turned in his seat and offered up his own large grin at the sight of his best friend. Harry couldn't help but return the smiles.

“Guess who passed his test with flying colors?” Hermione asked brightly while turning to look at Ron affectionately.

Harry took a seat at the table and turned to look at Ron as well.

“Since I see both eyebrows are still firmly in place, I'll wager a guess and say Weasley here. Although...your nose does look slightly higher than it did this morning.”

Ron chuckled humorously.

“That's it, take the piss. I don't mind much,” he quipped as he threw a dinner roll at Harry.

Being the brilliant Seeker that he was, Harry expertly caught it, then gnawed off a piece hungrily. During his walk he had worked up a ferocious appetite.

Hermione stood up from the table as she took a couple of silver sickles out of her pocket and laid them on the table. Ron picked the money up and handed it right back to her. An argumentative look crossed her face before it faded causing her to only shake her head complaisantly. Harry watched all of this with an odd, removed interest.

“I think I'm going to go into Diagon for a bit, probably get a new quill. Do you lot want anything?”

“The twins have these new sweets called Sour Apes. Your mouth puckers up so much that you can barely talk except make sounds like an orangutan. Then you're filled with a sudden yet overwhelming urge to climb a tree. They're wicked! Get me a few packs of those, please?” Ron asked sweetly while grabbing on to her hand.

Hermione rolled her eyes skyward in false seriousness.

“I'll enable you, but my poor dentist parents might need to deprogram me once I finally get back home after all of this.”

Both boys laughed.

“Would you like anything Harry?”

Harry looked up into her large brown eyes and didn't see even a trace of the frightened girl he had encountered in Grimmauld’s drawing room. He wanted to tell her that he needed to know what the hell was going on with her. Why did that boggart turn into him? Why was her reaction so extreme? But the girl seemed determined to act as though nothing was amiss between them.

“No, nothing thanks.”

As she walked out of the room both boys watched her go; Ron looking as though she was a chocolate éclair and he was a starved man, while Harry's face wore a more thoughtful, contemplative expression.

“So Hermione tells me that Grimmauld was a bust,” Ron mentioned as he turned to face Harry. Harry had been looking out the doorway still, so he missed what Ron said at first.

“Come again?”

Ron frowned at him exasperatedly.

“The Horcrux Harry!” he said, a little too loud for Harry's liking.

“RON!”

“Sorry,” the redhead mumbled sheepishly. “She just said that you two didn't find anything at the house.”

“No,” Harry dolefully replied. “And we looked high and low.”

“Rotten luck.”

“Yeah,” he said dejectedly. “Say Ron, is that all Hermione mentioned?” Harry asked curiously.

Ron pondered on the question for a moment before answering in the affirmative.

“Why, did something else happen? Is that why you hung back after she left?”

Harry looked at his best friend for a moment as he tried to decide what he was going to say. For some reason Harry knew that Ron wouldn't take this boggart story well. When both he and Hermione had been invited into Slughorn's Slug Club, Ron was not quiet about his unhappiness at being left out. And there were times still that his hot tempered mate would get almost jealous if he and Hermione were off alone for even a moment. Although that had lessened somewhat as of late, that still didn't make Harry want to share with Ron what had gone down at number twelve any faster. He wouldn't lie to his best friend, but he wouldn't tell him the full story either. Besides, Harry reasoned, how can I explain something that I don't understand myself?

“Well there was no Horcrux there,” he began as he motioned to Tom across the room so that he could place an order, “but you'll never guess what I think I did find.”

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

The next morning the three Gryffindors took a cab to St. Pancras station and bought tickets to Nottingham. They were costly, and Hermione and Ron tried to put up a fuss when he paid for them all to ride, but Harry eventually prevailed. The trip reminded them of so many journeys on the Express to and from school that they all almost expected Ginny to run in at any moment to share the goings on of the rest of the train, or Luna and Neville to join them. But it was just the three teenagers in a car by themselves. They didn't even speak, just left each other alone to their own thoughts as Harry sat across from Ron and Hermione. It wasn't that long of a trip, just under two hours, but at one point Hermione fell asleep against Ron's shoulder. He carefully maneuvered her into a position where she could stretch out her body on the rest of the seat while her head laid comfortably in his lap. As Ron reverently ran his fingers through the sleeping girl's curls, Harry had to turn his head from the scene. It reminded him too much of the day before, Hermione doing the same thing to his blood soaked hair. Ron was absentmindedly staring into space so he didn't notice Harry's unease.

Once they reached their destination they decided to eat first. Although none of them exactly voiced it, they were not sure what would be waiting for them once they got to the Potter cottage. None of them wanted to meet that prospect on an empty stomach. Hermione suggested the old Inn, she had read that it was actually carved into the castle and wanted to see it. She also figured that they could find someone there to give them a ride out to the Hollow. The two boys were so famished that they didn't really care where they went.

It was when the cabbie refused to drive them to the former Potter home that they first realized that something was off. The bloke let them off in front of the church and told them that he wouldn't go the rest of the way. The house they wanted to go to was haunted and if the three of them had any sense they would stay the hell away from it. Hermione paid the man and thanked him for his advice. Luckily all of their trunks and belongings were nicely fitted into Hermione's book bag so the walk wouldn't be that difficult. The two boys took turns carrying it although she continuously reminded them that she was no helpless female. They were all dressed comfortably in trainers and jeans and looked like just the average uni students from town. No one paid them any notice as they walked down the main road, Harry and Ron on either side of Hermione.

Remus had already told them that the house would be at the far edge of the village so they at least knew where they were going. Remus had also told Harry that his parents were buried in the small cemetery of the village church. Harry tried not to focus on that last piece of information, tried to keep his mind on the task at hand, but all he could wonder was if his parents had a nice shaded spot under a tree. Was there anyone who took pity on their poor untended plots and maybe put flowers on them from time to time? With his head held low as he walked, and his mind wrapped up in these torturous thoughts, Harry almost missed it when Ron and Hermione came to a halting stop. He was confused by their awestruck faces until he turned to face the cottage in front of him.

“It's beautiful,” Hermione whispered in wonder.

And it was. It was the kind of cottage where a beautiful princess from a storybook was likely to live with her Fairy Godmother. Or you fully expected a troop of singing dwarves to make their way out the door at any moment. Hansel and Gretel would have marveled at the spacious two story Gingerbread cottage standing before the three teens, though they wouldn't have been able to satisfy their sweet tooth on it. The thatched roof looked well maintained and there was a little chimney stack protruding from it, while the wide bay window in front sparkled from the rays of sunlight playing across it. On the right hand side of the foyer door stood a well tended rose bush, while the rest of the house was surrounded by flowerbeds of various blossoms. The whole splendor of the place was almost too much to take in. Harry's breath hitched in his throat, he knew he had finally come home.

“I thought you said the house was rubble?” Ron stage whispered to the still enthralled girl.

“I thought it was,” Hermione whispered back at him through her gritted teeth. “At least it's supposed to be. According to The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century the place was completely destroyed.”

“That doesn't look like a heap to me,” Ron smartly replied under his breath.

“Well what do you want me to do about it, Ron?!” she retorted shrilly.

“You guys know that I can hear you right?”

Hermione and Ron turned to Harry as though just realizing he was even there.

“Sorry, Harry.”

“Sorry, mate.”

Harry hadn't taken his eyes off of the house. He felt spellbound to the spot and his nerves tingled through out his body. It felt almost as if he had entered an electricity field.

“What do you reckon happened here?” he asked.

Hermione's face wore an expression of unease and apprehension.

“I'm not sure. But you feel it too, don't you?”

“Yeah,” Harry stated, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. “The hairs on my arms are practically on end.”

Ron looked at his two friends incredulously.

“What the bollocks are you two yammering about?”

“Magic, Ronnie! Very powerful magic. It's all around this place. It's fairly humming in my ears,” she said in answer. “Can't you feel it too?”

Ron's face scrunched up in concentration for a moment before settling on a frown.

“Nope, but I do feel my stomach talking to me. I'm starved.”

“WELL RON, IF YOU WEREN'T SO CONCERNED WITH THAT BOTTOMLESS PIT YOU CALL A BELLY–”

“Guys, please,” Harry pleaded, “if you two start in on each other now I don't think I could take it.”

For their parts, Ron and Hermione both looked ashamed for bickering at such a critical juncture.

“Sorry, Harry,” they both said.

For a moment none of them said anything else. Harry just continued staring at the cottage while the other two stared at him, waiting for some sign. After a few minutes of this, Hermione caught his attention. He looked at her as she raised her palm to his face and wiped at the tears on his cheek. Harry hadn't noticed he was crying.

“Why don't you show us your home, Harry,” she fondly said as she gave him an understanding, reassuring smile.

He smiled back and nodded his head firmly.

“Well,” said Ron breaking the moment, “let's do this on three then.”

The other two nodded in agreement.

“One,” Hermione began as she took Ron's hand in her empty one. They all inched forward.

Ron smiled down at her as he said, “Two.”

The Trio moved closer to the house yet again.

“Three,” Harry called as the friends all squeezed each other's hands for courage, each stepped forward with their right foot...and promptly fell back into the grass.

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

When Harry came to he was lying on a soft, comfortable bed. It was very similar to the one he had at Hogwarts, but only larger with dark blue hangings. They were currently pulled back. He felt a cool hand on his forehead and didn't want the soothing sensation of calm and security it filled in him to stop. As he opened his eyes, it was Hermione's face Harry saw.

“Finally decided to join the living?”

“Where am I?” he huskily asked, his head feeling like someone dropped bricks on it as soon she removed her hand.

She got up from the chair she had been sitting on and walked into an adjoining room. When she came back out with a wet cloth, Harry deduced that it was a bathroom. She laid it across his head and took her seat again.

“This was your mum and dad's room. I figured you'd like to stay in here,” she began. “The only other bedroom in the house is your nursery across the hall, but I didn't think you would fit in the crib.”

“My...crib...”

“Uh huh. And your bassinet. And about fifty gazillion toys and games.”

She smiled impishly at him.

“You were a spoiled little monkey weren't you?”

Harry tried to sit up and lean against the stack of pillows on the bed, but she had to help him.

“I don't really remember,” he said frowning sadly.

Hermione's smile faded slowly.

“No, I suppose you don't.”

She then gave his knee a comforting pat.

“But I left it all there for you to see, although I am going to need a place to sleep myself. I figure I can take one of these pillows and transfigure it into a cot or something. Fit it in the corner or maybe just sleep downstairs on the sofa.”

“Not on your life,” said Harry shaking his head furiously. “You can sleep in here and I'll sleep on the cot.”

“And where will Ron sleep?” she asked tartly.

Harry's face went beet red at the implications of the question.

“Let's compromise,” she suggested trying to withhold a smirk. “We can move little Harry’s things into the basement downstairs later on, and I'll conjure myself up a sparkly pink canopy. How does that sound?”

He grinned at the thought of Hermione sleeping in something so girlie and monstrous.

“Excellent.”

“It's really a beautiful place, Harry,” she enthused. “You can tell that there was love here.”

Hermione then blushed at the boldness of her own statement. All Harry could think was how she endeared herself to him more and more each time she did that.

“Goodness, I'm making no sense.”

“You are to me,” he said smiling.

“Well your parents must have owned a car at one point because there is a huge garage. And there's this great big kitchen. Almost makes me wish I could boil water. There also is an absolutely lovely wrought iron porch glider on the outside patio, and a great big green backyard with a tree swing.”

Her excitement was rubbing off on him.

“And the tree! Oh! You should see this tree, Harry. There must be magic on it. It's gargantuan and loaded with dozens of different fruit. Ron pinched a few before he went off.”

He couldn't wait to see all of this for himself. Harry's mood was almost taking an upswing until he went to run his fingers through his hair and felt the lump on his head.

“Ouch, bugger,” he groaned. “What happened to us, Hermione? One moment we were outside, and then the next I have a bruise the size of Millicent Bulstrode on my noggin.”

“It was the SnowGlobe,” she simply answered.

When Hermione gave no further explanation, Harry gave her a baffled look.

“Obviously I have a concussion because you are making no sense whatsoever.”

She chuckled at that.

“No, no concussion. That bump might take a bit to go down, though. I'm not nearly as good at my healing charms as I would like,” she admitted.

This truly was a day of surprises. It wasn't everyday that Hermione Granger admitted to not knowing something.

“What we ran into was a SnowGlobe Charm that was surrounding the house,” she explained. “It's kind of like the Bubble Head, but much larger and infinitely more complex to produce. They don't even teach it for NEWTs. You've seen a snow globe before, haven't you? They're usually these tacky little tourist gifts you pick up on vacation. Shake them up and snow falls on a little cabin on a mountain, or glitter on a sandy beach.”

“Dursleys never really took me anywhere.”

“Beasts,” she sniffed disgustedly.

She shook her head as if to clear it of their foul presence.

“Didn't you see the ones the twins got for their shop? They were showing all the guests at the Burrow; poor Filch.”

Harry did recall the little novelty items the twins had been terribly proud of. They had been showing them off at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. George had given him one on the house. The twins had designed a miniature Hogwarts suspended inside a small glass ball. When you shook it, four little figures dressed in the four house colors came out the building and flew around the castle on their tiny brooms. Then when they flew back in the door a minuscule, gray haired, balding Caretaker would jump off of the Astronomy tower. It was brilliant!

“Well that's how the charm works. Everything inside that ball never changes, and nothing from the outside can get in and disturb it. That is unless you break the enchantment.”

Hermione told him how she was the first one to wake-up after all three of them were knocked out. Since she had read about the SnowGlobe Charm over the Christmas holiday she had an idea that that was what they had encountered, though she had no idea how to cancel the spell. A simple “Finite” wouldn't work. So she had to Apparate to her house because she had accidentally left the book that had the spell she needed there.

“Did your parents leave on their trip yet?” he asked nervously.

“Sadly no. Dad looked so happy when he saw me. He thought that I had decided to change my mind and visit Nan after all. When I told him that I had no intention to go to Killarney with him and mum he was not pleased. Dad even tried to use Nan against me. He gave me some old song and dance about how the poor old dear might not be with us much longer and that I needed to be with my family.”

“You know Hermi–”

Before the words could even leave his mouth she cut him off with a defiant glare.

“Don't you dare say it! Don't even think it!” Hermione stated as she folded her arms across her chest and crossed her legs. “My Nan is as tough as nails. She'll outlive us all, I swear! Besides if she knew what all of this was about, she would tell me herself that my place was here beside you.”

She said this with so much conviction that Harry could almost believe it was true.

“So I got the book and popped back over here. Ron was already coming to by then. We floated you in and I sent him off to that Muggle grocery we walked by earlier. Unfortunately, whoever put the SnowGlobe up didn't leave us with any food or supplies.”

“I'm still confused. Why isn't this place in ruins?”

She shrugged her shoulders at the question.

“No idea. But I figure it was the same person who put the place to right as well. I think this may even be the original furniture. It would have taken something far stronger than a Reparo, that’s for certain. All I can think is that a very powerful wizard was here before us.”

Harry really didn't have to ponder too long on who that powerful wizard could be.

“Dumbledore.”

“My guess as well.”

“He must have known that...that I would want to come here. To see it in case...that is...if I don't...”

His words choked up on him and he had to pause a moment before he could speak again. Hermione stroked his hand with care, urging him to go on.

“And he must have known you would be with me.”

“We don't know that at all,” she said while blushing charmingly again.

“No, it's true. He told me that I needed you…and Ron. He said that I would need you two more than ever and he was right. Who else could have taken down that spell? He had to know you two would follow after me.”

She gave him a fond look.

“Well you do yourself a great disservice. I'm sure you could have broken the SnowGlobe yourself somehow. You didn't need me. I told you that you were a great wizard once, a long time ago. Remember?”

“Yes, but you were 12 then. Twelve year olds don't know any better,” he answered in false seriousness.

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him. She then got up and headed to the door, but before she could walk out Harry called out her name.

“Yes?”

He knew he should have left it alone, but Harry felt that something had to be said.

“About...about the boggart, Hermione...”

A queer look ghosted her face for a moment. It was the kind of expression you wore right after you've tasted something sour and displeasing. She quickly smiled shyly at him as she came back in the room. But instead of coming closer to where Harry was laying, she wrapped her arms around the post at the end of the bed.

“Big difference from the little swot who went running out of the room because she thought Professor McGonagall was going to give her all Trolls, hmm?”

Harry smiled to himself as he remembered that day in Remus' class. It had taken forever to calm Hermione down back then.

“Good thing Ronnie wasn't around to laugh at me again.”

That remark curbed his amusement. Harry didn't know why, but her bringing Ron up in conjunction with this whole boggart business made him feel uncomfortable for some reason. She must have thought that he was going to suggest that she go back home to her parents or something because she quickly became defensive.

“Look, I'm not going mad or anything like that. Don't think I'm becoming some swooning girl or something.”

“I don't think that.”

“Good,” replied Hermione. “Besides it's not really a big deal, is it?” she continued airily. “You and Ronnie are the people I care for the most in this world, save for my mum, dad, and Nan of course. And with everything that's going on with Voldemort it's no big shock that that...thing would turn into you. It very easily could have been Ron.”

Hermione let go of the bed post and began slowly backing towards the door.

“Trust me Harry, it really isn't that big a deal,” she said before walking out the room.

Except it was a big deal. It was a big deal to him. But if Hermione wanted to sweep the whole thing under the cauldron, so be it.

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

They stayed at the Hollow for two weeks; up until Harry's birthday. Because the tiny village contained only 300 souls altogether, including the three friends, and because of the isolated location of the cottage they didn't have to worry about anyone prying into their affairs. The three of them soon settled into a cozy routine. After Hermione nearly burnt the kitchen down in a sweet, yet misguided attempt to cook breakfast one morning, they all began Apparating into Nottingham for meals. During the day Harry and Ron would practice their wizard dueling outside on the Potter's wide expanse of backyard, and at night they usually played chess or Exploding Snap in the living room. Hermione would read and make suggestions from nearby. Ron also helped him go through his parents' belongings and store what he wanted to keep in the basement.

He visited his parents by himself. He knew that all he had to do was ask and Ron and Hermione would have gladly accompanied him, but Harry felt that it was something he needed to do on his own. He gathered a bouquet of cabbage roses, daisies, peonies, and wildflowers from the bushes and flowerbeds outside the house and brought them for his mum and dad. Hermione informed him that all of the plant life surrounding the house was protected by an Ever Blooming Charm. So that even when plucked, the flowers never withered and died. That knowledge comforted him. It meant that the flowers would remain fresh and beautiful as the day he placed them on his mum and dad's graves; Muggles be damned. Harry was also pleased to discover that the Potters did indeed have a beautiful shaded spot under an old English oak.

What Hermione did with her days, they didn't discover until later. She was always rushing off to the small village library that also doubled as a town hall. At first Harry assumed that she was looking up information on the Founders, but that didn't make much sense to him. Why would she be doing research in a Muggle library?

During the evenings Hermione was usually obsessed with looking through book after book on Gryffindor or Ravenclaw. Since they already knew that Riddle had broken his soul in pieces and put them into objects that belonged to the other two Founders, they were trying to figure out what heirlooms of Godric's or Rowena's Riddle could have gotten his hands on and turned into Horcruxes. Harry and Ron tried to give her a hand, but she got so frustrated at their efforts that she forbade them to touch any of her books. She had gotten special permission from McGonagall to borrow most of them from the Hogwarts library and she was under strict orders not to damage any of them. She was so uptight about the maintenance of all of those old books in fact that one night she nearly went mental over them.

“ARG!”

Hermione was sitting on the floor in front of a little wooden coffee table, a pile of books stacked on it and spread out around her. Ron was in the kitchen foraging for food, while Harry was sitting before the empty fireplace. He turned to look at her.

“What's the matter, Hermione?”

“THESE BLOODY BOOKS, THAT'S WHAT'S THE MATTER!” she screeched, tugging on her own hair. “THEY’RE ALL SO BLOODY USELESS!”

Ron came strolling out of the kitchen holding a plate with a sandwich in one hand and a large cut glass bottom tumbler filled with water in the other.

“Hermione's putting down books?” he wondered aloud as he sat down on the sofa she was leaning back against. “Has the world gone mad?”

Although Harry wanted to laugh, one look at Hermione's face told him that to do so would be a suicide mission.

“I've been going through all these books on Ravenclaw and they all say the bloody same thing,” she grumbled. “Moving floor plan, moving floor plan; oh look, BLEEDING MOVING FLOOR PLAN!”

As if to prove her point she pointed accusingly at all of the books closest to her.

“Can't any of them come up with anything original?!”

“That's all you've been able to find?” asked Harry anxiously.

She wearily sighed.

“I'm afraid so. I mean the older texts suggest that she might have fashioned the very first Pensieve, but I've yet to find anything to substantiate that claim. For all I can tell it is just hearsay rot. I can't even find proof that Rowena Ravenclaw even owned a Pensieve, much less made one,” she said morosely.

“Well what's this one about?” asked Ron as he leaned over to place his now empty glass on the table and picked up a smaller paperback book that had been lying on the sofa. “Ravenclaw of Gaul,” he said, reading the title of the book out loud.

“Oh that?” she dismissively asked, barely looking up from the huge tome she held open on her lap. “It's just some stupid historical novel. Historical, please! It's supposed to be about the Founder's years after Hogwarts.”

Harry's interest was piqued.

“After Hogwarts?”

“Yes, she left Hogwarts sometime around...1169. She got called in front of the Wizengamot, but refused to appear before the court and instead went into exile. According to that book Ravenclaw lived out the rest of her life somewhere in France. That tripe is practically a bodice ripper. Ravenclaw would have been, at the least, over two hundred years old. Bunch of over romanticized claptrap if you ask me.”

Now she had both boys eager attention. This wasn't the kind of thing you heard in Binns’ class.

“Wha'dshedoosh?” came Ron's mush mouthed question between bites of his sandwich.

Hermione made an exasperated sound of disgust at Ron's negligent table manners and looked between the two of them.

“Do you two really want to hear this? Because if either of you so much as yawn, I'll turn you both into kumquats.”

The two male members of the trio grinned at each other before smoothing their faces into studious, serious expressions.

“Alright,” she said as she moved the book off of her lap and folded her legs under her. “Have either of you ever heard of the Auld Alliance?”

Harry and Ron both answered no.

“Well it was this agreement, you see, between Scotland and France. They became allies. It was decided that if ever England were to enter into conflict with one country the other would invade English territory.”

“But what does this have to do with Ravenclaw?” a puzzled Harry asked.

“Well, although there is no proof, it's believed that the Auld Alliance was initiated back in 1165. William “the Lion” was the Scottish King and it was rumored back then that he had a secret adviser. Some even said she was a witch.”

“Ravenclaw?” Harry asked, thunderstruck.

In answer to his question Hermione nodded her head.

“England and Scotland's relationship with one another was contentious for hundreds and hundreds of years until King James took the throne. They say that it was Ravenclaw that brokered the deal; she played Merlin to William's Arthur. No one really knows if any of this was true of course because she took off.”

Ron continued to chomp on his food.

“Sh-o, wha-'s sh-o wong 'bouth at?”

Hermione eyed Ron irritably.

“What's wrong is that it totally violates the most important tenet of the Wizengamot and wizarding society as a whole. As magical people we are not allowed to interfere in the affairs of Muggles. We don't play Fairy Godmother for them. Wars, disease, weather, famine; if it doesn't affect wizards and witches on a whole, the problems of Muggles are not our concerns.”

“But say if a power mad, self-styled dark lord wants to clean the slate of them...” pondered Harry aloud.

“Then yes, that is when we step in. But monsters like Hitler, Napoleon, and Nero? When it comes to them we just sit on the sidelines as casual observers.”

“Hardly seems right, does it?”

“Well Harry, it protects the natural order of things. Look at it this way, Merlin was the greatest wizard of all time and he felt that wizards should help Muggles. That's what he created the Order of Merlin for. And yet even he screwed over the lives of a lot of the poor Muggles he came into contact with. No,” she said resolutely, “there is a reason why we have these rules.”

“So let me get this straight,” said Ron as he finished his sandwich and placed the plate on the floor by his feet. “Ravenclaw breaks this big bad rule so she decides to make a run for it?”

“That is what is believed. No one knows where she went off to, though.”

“Except she might have gone to this Gaul place...” Ron said as he thumbed through the book he was still holding.

“...and Gaul is what is now considered modern day France. Like I said, it's garbage.”

She had her body turned around to face Ron when she noticed his plate on the floor.

“Ronnie! Must you leave your dishes all about the place?!” she exclaimed as she picked the plate up and went to place it on the table. That was when Hermione noticed where Ron had placed his tumbler.

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

She practically roared his name. Harry at first didn't realize what had set her off until he noticed Ron's glass sitting on one of the open books on the table. Harry knew right away that this wasn't going to be pretty.

“THESE BOOKS ARE NOT MEANT TO BE BLOODY COASTERS! HOW CAN YOU BE SO CARELESS?!” she yelled bitingly as she rose up from the floor.

Although Ron was huge in comparison to Hermione, he cowered before her wrath appropriately.

“Madame Pince will murder me in my sleep if I bring back one of her books with rings on its pages!”

As she said this, she reached to lift the glass off the book it was resting on when suddenly she stopped. She was looking strangely into the bottom of the glass.

“BLOODY HELL!”

Harry was by her side in an instant. Ron stood up on the other side of her.

“What is it, Hermione?” Harry apprehensively asked.

“Look at this picture,” she said. She was wound tight, ready to burst.

Ron and Harry looked at the portrait in the book. It was of a woman dressed in a set of ornate medieval dress robes. Her dark hair was threaded with elaborate hair accessories. She looked out of the book at the three teens with keen, intelligent eyes.

“Rowena Ravenclaw, right?” asked Harry.

“If Ron hadn't been such a clever prat I would have never noticed this.”

She took Ron's glass and put it back over the picture.

“This makes a right nice magnifier,” she said in reference to the glass. “Now look at this picture again.”

First Ron looked, but he shook his head confusedly. He saw nothing. Then Harry looked.

“In her hair!” he said in a strangled whisper. “That's a Pensieve! A miniaturized Pensieve is fastened in her hair!”

“Indeed!” Hermione replied. Her brown eyes were filled with glee and Harry briefly thought she had never looked prettier or more vivacious.

She picked up a few more of the books and turned them all to pages with pictures of the Founder.

“All of them have the Pensieve in them. It was quite common for noble women of that era to wear jewels threaded throughout their hair. Some even fastened gold balls on the end of their curls. She must have carried it around like a hair decoration to hide it. It looks more elaborate than the stone basins of today. No one would have been any the wiser. Guys, I think that this just might be what we've been looking for.”

Harry grabbed her in a fierce hug.

“You're brilliant, Hermione!”

As he looked over her shoulder he saw Ron's jealous scowl. He quickly let her go to the sound of awkward silence.

“Y-yes, w-well...” stuttered an overwhelmed Hermione trying to break the unease in the room, “if it wasn't for Ron here we would have never figured it out.”

She then gave the redhead a tiny smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek. But before her lips could reach their intended target, Ron turned his head, ever so slightly, and their lips met instead.

Harry hardly felt his feet move. He didn't even remember opening up the sliding glass doors that led out to the patio. Just one moment he was watching his two best friends play grab the Snitch with their tongues, and in the next he was sitting outside on the grass under the large tree in the backyard. He couldn't explain his strong reaction. He remembered back to that day in Herbology just last school year when it looked like Ron and Hermione were about to finally figure things out between them. Harry had worried then that if they got together and then broke up it would ruin the trio's friendship. But the two practically killed each other (well if he was being honest it was Hermione that attacked Ron) last term over petty jealousies, yet here they all were, still close. So that couldn't be what was bothering him now. Maybe he still thought that the two of them would abandon him. Would Hermione actually do that? Would she desert him right when he needed her most?

“Sorry about that.”

Harry looked up to see the girl he was just thinking about sitting on the tree swing, pushing herself back and forth slowly with her big toe.

“About what?” he asked evenly although he felt his stomach roil.

“The kamikaze kiss you were witness to just now; sorry.”

Harry lay back on the grass, propped up by his elbows, and tried to put on an air of indifference.

“You and Ron kissed?”

Of course it would have helped if his voice hadn't cracked on that last word.

“I know that it upset you, but–”

He sprang up into a sitting position quickly, rushing to his own defense.

“Who's upset? I'm not upset. Why would I be upset?”

“Because of Ginny of course,” Hermione answered, cocking her head slightly to the side.

“What?!”

“It can't be too easy seeing two hormonal gits pawing at each other,” Hermione explained. “Especially seeing as how you and Ginny...I wanted to spare you of that; is all. I guess Ron just forgot.”

“I'm happy for you two,” Harry insisted. “W-why would you think that would upset me?”

The agitation in his tone almost made his declaration seem null.

Hermione gave him a questioning look. “Because you miss Ginny obviously.”

She then bent forward to look at him more closely.

“You do miss Ginny, don't you Harry?”

In truth he did kind of miss his former girlfriend. He could talk to her about Quidditch, hold her hand, and kiss her. And best of all she didn't cry when he did it.

“You know, for a few weeks there I felt normal. And free,” Harry answered wistfully as he cast his eyes down and played with the grass under his fingers. “And things were so uncomplicated for once. I didn't even have to think.”

“Well snogging does have that particular effect on the brain,” she tried to joke lightheartedly. However it had no effect on his melancholy mood.

“Things just seem so difficult again,” sighed Harry ruefully.

When he happened to glance up he felt comforted by the compassion he found in Hermione's gaze.

“Having you and Ron here does help,” he added gratefully.

She smiled.

“I’m glad.”

“So you and Ron then?” he asked, nervously clearing his throat as he rubbed at the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” she bashfully responded.

“I thought at the funeral...but then I wasn't sure.”

“We've finally stopped snogging third parties and sending bird minions after one another. In therapy they would call that progress,” she jested.

Harry honestly tried to laugh at her little joke, but his heart just wasn't in it.

Hermione stopped swinging and stared at Harry hard before saying, “After we finish what we've set out to do you can come back and have that easy, normal life again, Harry. You and Ginny can get back together. Things will go back the way that they were. You'll see.”

“You sound so hopeful, so sure. I just can't see it from where I'm sitting right now.”

“Well, it's always darkest before the dawn.” Harry looked at her curiously which made Hermione sheepishly grin. “My schedule planner gives me words of wisdom to live by each morning; that was yesterday's maxim. Today's was, 'After shaking hands with a Slytherin, count your fingers'.”

Harry couldn't help but laugh. She joined him. When their laughter finally began to peter out he said in a reflective, musing tone, “Darkest before the dawn, huh? I could almost believe you.” He sighed. “I want to believe you.”

“Well you should,” she remarked. “I hear I'm pretty clever. I knew that you would eventually realize that the perfect girl for you was standing beside you all the while, didn't I?” she smugly continued.

“About that,” he smirked, “Ginny mentioned how you'd been coaching her this whole time.”

The gobsmacked expression on her face was enough to lift Harry’s mood exponentially.

After the shock wore off and Hermione finally managed to close her mouth, she muttered, “Ginny has a big fat yap.”

Harry fell back on the grass laughing hysterically. When he finally calmed down he continued to grin at her scampishly.

“I should have known you had your fingers in it. Don’t think I didn’t notice all those sly looks you would shoot me whenever Ginny was around.”

She was completely flustered.

“Y-yes...w-well...it worked, didn't it?”

That just sent Harry into a fresh gale of laughter. When he was finally able to catch his breath he noticed that Hermione was staring at him intensely.

“There is nothing I wouldn't do for you Harry. You know that, don't you? What ever it took to make you happy, if it was within my power to get it for you, I would. I'd do anything to ensure your happiness. It's...”

Hermione paused in search of the right word.

“...important to me.”

The sincerity of her words made his heart ache.

“I know,” he breathlessly answered.

Obviously pleased with his answer she smiled impishly at him as she jumped out of the swing.

“Good. Come along then,” she said as she held out her hand for him. He grabbed on to her as she hauled him up. “I've got Ron reading through some books on Godric for his penance.”

“You're punishing him?”

“He knows why,” she drawled. “Besides we still have so much left to do. We don't even know where to begin to look for these blasted things. We haven't a moment to spare. After all, time and dark lords wait for no man.”

“Ack! Hermione, that one was just awful,” he complained, making a face. “Did you get that from out your planner too?”

“And what if I did?!” she demanded. “It's still true, isn't it?!”

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

On Harry's birthday the three friends Apparated into Nottingham and spent the day at the small amusement park in town. It was really a place for small children, but they didn't care. This was one of the last few days they would get to be just kids. They played miniature golf and drove the pedal karts. They even jumped around in the bounce house much to the chagrin of most who watched them. Harry felt certain that it was the best day of his life.

When they got back to the cottage Ron and Hermione both presented him with his gifts. Ron gave him Galvin Gudgeon's (the hapless Seeker for the Chudley Cannons) brand new autobiography, To Seek, or Not to Seek. Harry thanked him, but he was far more pleased with the colossal sized bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans Ron gave him as well.

Hermione decided to surprise all of them by baking a chocolate torte the Muggle way. Even though she some how managed to make it crunchy on the inside and tasteless on the outside, Harry still was touched. The thought, after all, was what counted. It was the second gift that she gave him that evening that meant the world to him, though.

“This is for you,” she said handing over to him what looked like a diary. He and Ron had been sitting at the kitchen table playing chess, as was the norm.

Harry eyed the journal nervously.

“Um, Hermione, if you remember we don't do too well with those.”

She rolled her eyes.

“It's not a diary. If you'd open it you'll see that I've already written in it. It's some research I've been doing.”

Ron was appalled.

“You're giving him homework?!”

Hermione scowled at him before returning her attention to Harry.

“It's not homework,” she replied. “It's something far more important than homework.”

If it was something that Hermione deemed more important than homework then it must be something special indeed, he thought. He turned back the cover of the journal and on the first page, written in Hermione's neat hand, was the name James Ellis Potter. Listed by it was the date of his birth and the day that he died. He didn't know about the Ellis part, but he knew the rest of the name well. It was his father's name. The rest of the page was filled with other facts about James Potter. On the next page was the name Julian Jameson Potter and Sylvia Witherspell. Written next to those names were the words grandparents. The dates of their births and deaths were listed as well. Harry flipped through a few more pages as the enormity of just what Hermione had given him began to weigh on him. He saw Potters after Potters, but he also noted the other surnames as well. Wilbanks, Huxley, Cosgrove, Blane, Quigley, Bulwater, Pleasentgood. There was even a Black!

“I've been working on it since Christmas before last,” she said shyly. “I found this book on wizard family lines in Grimmauld’s library and got the idea from there. Sirius even helped me with it a bit. I had hoped to finish it that summer and give it to you for your 16th birthday but...”

She didn't have to explain what got in the way. Dolohov's curse, Sirius' death...

“I kept working on it though, every chance I got,” she continued. “I read through book after book; I've Got a Witch up My Tree, How About You, Of Warlocks and Wizards, and Sons of Albion: A Historical Study of the Magical Families of Olde Britain. My Morgana! That book was heavier than I am.”

“Let me see that,” Ron said as he excitedly snatched the journal from Harry's hands. Harry was in such a daze that he didn't even think to protest. All he could do was gape at Hermione in awe.

“Cor Harry!” shouted Ron as he thumbed through the book. “There's a Prewett in here. We're cousins, mate!”

Ron slapping his back hard brought Harry out of his daze.

Hermione giggled as she plucked the book from Ron’s hands.

“Yes, you and Harry are connected on Mrs. Weasley's side, but very, very distantly related. About twenty times removed in fact.”

“Don't care, it's still wicked! I'm going to pop off home and tell mum right now. Probably tease Ginny that she's been kissing her cousin all this time too.”

Ron Disapparated on the spot.

With Ron gone only Harry and Hermione remained in the kitchen. Harry was still stunned by Hermione's gift to him. He felt practically Spellotaped to his seat. Hermione seemed to ignore his strange behavior because she kept babbling on.

“Sadly, I couldn't find any direct line living relative of yours. The Potters weren't much like the Weasleys. For most of the last two centuries only one Potter son seemed to be born in each generation. But you'll find Harry that you'll see a lot of familiar names. Fawcett, Tugwood, Abercrombie; most pureblood families are interconnected and intermarried somehow. But your line has stayed mostly Potter. In fact that little library down the road helped a great deal too! Your family has lived in this town for ages.”

Hermione began to flip through the pages looking at all the different entries.

“James Wynnton Potter, Ellis Elijah Potter, Rordynn George Potter...he ran off the Gytrash of Groby. I reckon you just have that saving people thing in your blood.”

“It's so much. So, so much,” was all that Harry could choke out when he finally regained the use of his voice.

“Believe me at one point I had to stop or I would have never been able to finish it and give this to you. I wanted you to have it more than ever this year. In fact I wanted to do your mum's side too. But every time I walked into the room your Aunt would scurry out.”

Hermione smirked naughtily.

“I can't imagine why.”

“Why would you do this for me?” Harry asked in all seriousness.

For a moment it looked like Hermione didn't understand the question. She sat back in the chair Ron had been sitting in and pensively chewed on her bottom lip before replying.

“Do you remember finding the Mirror of Erised?”

How could he ever forget that night, as well as the two consecutive evenings he had sat before it?

“You told me how you saw your family in it. The faces that you had never seen before, but you knew they belonged to you and you to them. Do you remember how that made you feel?”

“Complete,” he murmured. “Like I had a past. A history. A real family. But that was only fleeting. It wasn't real.”

“True. But this...” she said pushing the book across the table to him, “...is. Since I couldn't give you the Mirror I thought that this would do just as well.”

She stood up from the table.

“I'm going to leave you alone with them,” she said as she headed for the doorway. As she reached it she gave him one final look and said, “Just know that you have a future as well, Harry.”

And with that parting thought she left for the stairs.

“Wotcher, Harry!”

The sound of someone calling his name almost spooked Harry out of his chair. As he grabbed a hold of the table and righted himself again, he turned to look into a heart shaped face framed by a cloud of short, curly, fire engine red hair. The woman had taken the chair in front of him.

“Dammit, Tonks! What the hell do you think you're doing?!” he irritably gritted out between his teeth. Although his greeting was rude, it only seemed to amuse Tonks.

“Trying to say hello to you for the last five minutes, that's what. I saw the back of your head from the door and we decided to pop in.”

She turned to the beige and white pram that Harry just realized had been sitting there all the time. The hood was up so he couldn't see the baby that was in it.

“Isn't that right li’l Wolfie?” she cooed to the sleeping infant inside.

Harry's eyes bugged out in shock.

“Tonks! Are you mad?! What are you doing in here with a baby? Knockturn Alley's no place for a kid!”

Tonks rolled her eyes.

“It's like I said, I saw you when I was walking by the door. I was looking for that hag who sells those teething talismans, but she must have moved her stall.”

“Aren't those things illegal?”

When placed around the neck of a teething child the talisman relieved a baby of the pain and irritability caused by a new tooth coming in. The problem was that part of the talisman was made from goblin skin and bones. The relationship between wizard and goblin kind was already strained. The goblins didn't take kindly to the fact that wizards used the remains of their dead for cheap novelty items. Years ago the Ministry, in an effort to improve relations with the goblins, banned the making and selling of the talismans, much to the despair of young nursing witches everywhere.

“'Course they are, but you try sleeping the night through with a screaming 5 month old! The sleeping charms just don't stick!” Tonks said huffily. “And if you've forgotten, I'm an Auror same as you Potter. I can stun a perp and burp li’l Wolfie here without breaking my stride. Don't go treating me like some li’l witch just ‘cause I popped out a kid,” she berated him. Her eyes twinkled though so Harry knew she wasn't really upset at him.

“I wouldn't dream of it,” he replied, holding up his hand before him in entreaty.

“And look at you, Mr. Super Auror, sitting with your back to the door. Hanes in the Arse would write you up if he saw,” she teased.

Harry's lips curled in disgust.

“Ugh! Don't remind me. Any roads, I chose this seat for specific strategic purposes.”

“Spying on a suspect?”

“No, I met 'Dung Fletcher here for lunch earlier. I didn't want to sit downwind of him.”

Tonks, who was bent over to fix the blankets around the baby, snapped back up and gave Harry a look of mock horror.

“Blimey! If that isn't a good enough reason I don't know what is.”

They both laughed chummily at that.

“The last time Mundungus came by the house he reeked of Ogden. I had to send a freshening charm at his back. And then he wanted to hold the baby! You should have seen his fingernails, Har! No wonder your eyes were all glazed over when we came in here. I swear I watched you for about five minutes and you didn't blink once.”

In truth Harry’s meeting with Fletcher had been very short. After Harry dismissed the berk, his mind had drifted back to memories of looking for Slytherin's locket. But then the next thing he knew his brain had wandered onto thoughts of Hermione. This was his usual state as of late. He would see a girl dressed in yellow and think back on how that was her favorite color. He would smell the scent of wildflowers somewhere and remember how Hermione loved to pick the lady slippers, orchids, daisies, buttercups, honeysuckles, and hogweeds that grew in his mother's yard. If he saw a head of curly brown hair walking away from him he had to curb his footsteps from following after. It was really becoming maddening.

“Yeah,” Harry said sheepishly, barely meeting her eyes. “'Dung really did a number on me. Let me get you something Tonks,” he said, jumping out of his seat and hoping to quickly change the subject.

“Thanks, Har! Butterbeer would be nice.”

Harry ran to the bar and was back shortly with two bottles of butterbeer.

“How's Remus?” he asked as he sat back down and pushed a bottle over to her.

Tonks made a sound of frustration as she popped her butterbeer open and took a swig.

“Driving me mad and him to boot! His editor has been on his case for months looking for a sequel.”

Harry's former professor had had a tough time of it after the War. Although he was counted as a hero when his work with the Order of the Phoenix had been exposed to the public, Remus Lupin almost drowned himself in self-hatred and guilt after the War. Having lived with the Werewolf curse since he was a small child, he'd never killed anyone. That is until the final stand at Azkaban. The night that Harry vanquished Voldemort, was the same night that Remus killed Fenrir Greyback. He had been kidnapped and held in a cell at the prison for months. He'd had to endure the change without aide of the Wolfsbane Potion during his stay. Why Voldemort chose to keep him alive, he never understood, but when Harry and Hermione had come to rescue him he almost killed them. The only reason he didn't succeed in doing so was because Fenrir, who had just completed his own change, had entered the tower. The two alpha-males ended up doing battle with one another over the human kill. In the end Remus came out of the fight alive. He also took out a few random Death Eaters as well.

The next morning after Remus came to he wanted to die from the shame of what he had done. Everyone tried their best to convince him that they didn't think he was a monster. After all Fenrir was the person responsible for him even being a Werewolf in the first place. But that argument fell on deaf ears. Although the rest of the wizarding world was celebrating the defeat of Voldemort, Remus began to withdraw himself from his friends. After Harry signed Grimmauld Place over to him, Remus went and shut himself in the old decaying house like a hermit. It seemed as though there was nothing anyone could do for him. It was when he tried to end his already tentative relationship with Tonks that his friends finally decided to take action. They convinced Remus to see a mental health Healer. After months of crystal therapy and aura readings did nothing to help him, his Healer suggested that Remus try writing in a journal. The Healer convinced him to use parchment and quill to drive the dark thoughts out of his head. Having run out of options, Remus decided to give it a try.

Remus ended up writing his life story. He poured out the whole tale from how he became a Werewolf, to watching his parents die in a fire, to his school career and his joining the Order. It was a compelling, enthralling read, and once finished Tonks and Hermione convinced him that it was worthy of being published. Hermione thought that it would work wonders to improve the welfare of Remus' fellow Werewolves. However My Memoirs gathered dust on shelves from Diagon Alley to Hogsmeade for years.

It wasn't until much later that Remus caught a break. A well known and respected publisher in New York City came across My Memoirs. He was a Muggle, but his wife was a witch with a Werewolf fetish. He read the book and thought it was a brilliant parody on the vampire novels of the day that were so popular and put out by his publishing firm's rival. He got on a plane the very next day so he could meet Remus and convince him to let his company reissue the book, this time for Muggles. After verifying with the Ministry that the book would be billed strictly as a work of fiction, thus not in violation of the International Statute of Secrecy, Remus agreed to the deal. In the end A Limey Lycan's Life ended up becoming a moderate success in the States as well as in Great Britain.

“What's the matter, writer's block?” Harry asked Tonks.

“No,” she sighed, “nappies. No one wants to read about a happily married Werewolf who can't wait to be a peewee Quidditch coach.”

Harry raised his butterbeer to his mouth to drink it and hide the smirk that was on his lips. He polished it off in one long gulp.

“Although I am glad that the first book got made otherwise Remus would have never married me. Thought he was too poor. I was getting so desperate I almost went and got myself sprogged up on purpose.”

“TONKS!” Harry cried, horrified, as he nearly dropped his empty bottle. He slammed it down and glared at his friend. “TOO MUCH INFORMATION, TONKS!”

The expression on Harry's face nearly sent Tonks into hysterics. She laughed so hard that she ended up jostling the table, knocking over her butterbeer, and spilling the drink everywhere; even getting some in Harry's lap. He barely blinked at her clumsiness before vanishing the mess, and ordering her another bottle from the bar. As he slid the bottle across the table and sat back down, she began to tease him some more about her and her husband's very active sex life, but the sight of two blonde, pigtailed heads peeking around the corner of the pub's open doorway distracted her. When the twin girls became aware that Tonks had spotted them, they quickly drew back out of sight.

“Har, I think you have company.”

Harry, who had just regained his composure after Tonks’ bold disclosure, glanced over his shoulder towards the direction she was looking in. When he saw the two identical faces that Tonks was referring to, he quickly covered his ears to block out the earsplitting screech he knew was coming.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!”

“What the bollocks was that?!” shouted Tonks as the girls squealed in glee and ran from the doorway. The noise barely drew the attention of the other patrons of the Hag, but it did wake-up Wolfie Lupin.

Tonks reached into the pram and pulled up the cranky, crying infant. She took a blanket out of the pram, threw it over her shoulder, and rested the baby's head against her shoulder. She began to rock him and smooth his back. Eventually the child was quieted.

“That would be the Poe sisters,” Harry said as his face began to flush from embarrassment.

“Poe? As in Clayton Poe? As in owner of the Magpies?”

“One in the same. Those were his daughters, Hecuba and Hecate. They call themselves Pottermates,” he said, chagrined.

“Pottermates? Blimey!”

“Yeah, and they are annoying, believe you me. Those two are the self-appointed presidents of my fan club. They follow me around, do that screechy thing that only dogs can hear, send me gift baskets full of canary cremes, and give Ginny dirty looks on the street.”

“Lucky you,” said an amused Tonks. “But look on the bright side. By the looks of them they should be off to Hogwarts come next term, right? You won't have to deal with them much longer.”

At this Harry's lips curved into a shy, nervous smile.

“Well Tonks...you see...the thing is...I'm going to be at Hogwarts next term as well.”

Tonks cocked her head sideways as if trying to make heads or tails of Harry's confession. Coming to the conclusion that he must be making a joke, she quipped, “Fail Divination, did we?”

“Har, har,” he said drolly. “Actually Mrs. Nymphadora Lupin,” Tonks narrowed her eyes at the dreaded name, “you are looking at Hogwarts next Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Harry finished proudly.

“You're joking!”

“'Fraid not.”

Tonks face broke into a wide smile, before a pressing concern weighed in to make her frown suddenly.

“Oh no! But what's going to happen to Mr. Tall Dark and Dreamy?”

Harry rolled his eyes in irritation. Although he liked Professor Lermontant, it was a bit bothersome the way that women flung themselves at the man. At the last Victory Ball there was a seven witch brawl, all admirers vying to partner him in the opening dance. A few curses were thrown, a black eye was handed out, and Roger Davies new wife lost the heel of her shoe...and a fistful of hair. It was a bloody massacre!

“The man has a name, Tonks. It's Vervain. You women are ridiculous with the way that you drool over the poor chap. Glinda calls him the Creole Cupcake. To his face! It's no wonder he's running away from you lot as fast as his feet can carry,” he remarked. “Even Ginny gets all syrupy whenever she sees him. I hope poor Remus knows that his wife finds some other bloke so fanciable.”

“Shows how much you know. Remus thinks Vervain's quite dishy too. Probably attracted to all that raw animal magnetism; Big Wolfie is very modern like that.”

Harry covered his ears and closed his eyes as if that would block out her voice.

“I can't hear you.”

Tonks laughed and laughed at Harry's distress. Her cackling only ebbed once Wolfgang gave an infuriated cry.

“Poor thing is hungry. I'm going to need to feed him soon,” she said before slapping her free hand to her head. “Cor! Now it's all making sense!” she cried.

Harry had no idea what she was going on about.

“Hanes called me in today, more like summoned really, because he wants me back at my desk Monday.”

“What? He can't do that! You're still on maternity leave!” an outraged Harry exclaimed.

“It's alright. Big Wolfie and I were getting on each other's nerves anyway. I think he wants me out of the house just so he and the cub can bond. Men!”

“But why would Hanes call you back in? You still have one more month, don't you?” questioned Harry, completely perplexed.

“Well Hanes has it on good authority that one of his Aurors is going to be quitting soon. Bit of office gossip that had been going around Level 2 until he squelched it under his boots, to hear Hanes tell it. He said that he needed his best, which would be me,” she rested a hand on her chest, “back on duty as soon as possible to help with the transition.”

“That opportunistic bastard!” Harry fumed. “He probably just hated the fact that the Department was paying you to sit on your bum and eat chocoballs all day.”

“Whatever the case,” began Tonks frowning at Harry's remark, “I agreed.”

“Bugger. Wonder how he found out,” he said running his hands through his hair. “Hardly anyone knows. Sure I told Ginny...”

“How'd she take it?”

“Oh...pretty much like a Bludger to the head,” admitted Harry.

“Not pleased then?”

“She thinks teaching is below me. She pretends like it's not even a subject up for discussion.”

Tonks raised the fresh bottle of butterbeer to her lips and gave Harry a pointed look after she took a long sip.

“The wives of Hogwarts professors rarely make the cover of Witch Weekly.”

“She's not that bad,” Harry offered weakly, although if pressed he would have conceded that Ginny did like the spotlight more than his liking. “But I honestly had no intention to just skive off my duties. Lermontant still has to finish out the school year. And I still have Cadmus to find.”

Tonks noticed the glint of fire that flared in Harry's eyes as he spoke the name of his current quarry.

“How's that going by the way?” she asked, shuffling the baby from her shoulder and cradling him in her arms.

“It's not,” he sullenly groaned. “It's like the man is made of smoke. I can see him. I've seen all the chaos he's caused and yet...I can't put my finger on him. I've never had a case that frustrated me so.”

Harry rested his elbows on the table and placed his chin on his upturned hands.

“At least we finally got the Prophet to stop spelling it out whenever someone married a Muggle. We haven't had an incident for a month now since.”

“All you have to do is ask if you need any help Har. I've got your back,” said Tonks encouragingly.

Harry's eyes began to dance mischievously.

“What? A celebrated member of the illustrious First Squad wants to help my lowly team?”

“Stop taking the mickey you,” she said in a fake huff. “You know I'm a member of Potter's Posse in my heart.”

As Tonks suspected, Harry's modesty made him cover his face with both hands. Harry was good at what he did, but he was no glory hound. Accolades always made him uneasy, and his teams' devotion to him, though merited, often made him blush.

As though finding his godfather's abashed reaction funny, the baby gurgled merrily in Tonks' arms.

“Oh, look who wants to join the party?” she cooed into the face of her little boy.

Wolfgang grabbed onto a few of her fingers and held on tight. His merry, chubby face, a pleasant mixture of both of his parents, stared up at his mother in rapt adoration as he began to smack his lips. It was a look that said that Tonks was the most important person in his world. The little scene tugged at Harry's heart. He wondered what it would feel like to have someone love him so purely.

“He's a cute kid, Tonks.”

Harry ignored the little tickle of want in his chest as he said it.

“Thanks. I think we'll keep him,” she said sweetly.

She then opened up her robe, unbuttoned her blouse, popped out a nipple, and proceeded to breastfeed her son...in the Hag...next to a table of goblins paying cards.

“TONKS! WHAT THE BOLLOCKS DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” scolded Harry, averting his eyes quickly. He turned from side to side hoping that no low life scum was trying to cop a peek at her goodies. No one really seemed to be paying them a whit of attention actually.

Tonks was quite amused by Harry’s reaction.

“Ya know Har, you are entirely too high strung. Are you getting enough lately?”

Harry peevishly turned his whole body to the side to avoid looking directly at her. This only caused Tonks' grin to widen.

As she continued to feed her son, and lovingly caress the little tuft of brown hair on top of his small head, she added, “You really should get one of these, Har.”

“What, a breast?” he snidely questioned.

“No! A kid; they're dead fun!”

“So says the shadows under your eyes.”

“Seriously, when are you and Ginny going to pop out a wee'un or two?”

Harry was used to his family and friend's asking this question.

“You just want company in your sleepless nights.”

He was also used to giving evading answers.

“Well that too. Not fair that you lot get to be all sexy and fancy free. You don't know what it's like to have to check your robes for spit-up every time you leave the house,” she told him sounding only slightly bitter.

“Look,” Harry began weakly, “Ginny and I love our lives. It's nice. It’s easy. Besides we're too youn–”

“Yes, yes too young,” she quickly dismissed. “You've given me this speech already, Potter. And it was rubbish then too. You're almost 25, mate! And Ginny isn't getting any younger. Hell, me and Remus even beat you to it and we got married after you two.”

Harry, trying his best to keep his irritation on a leash, tried to take the focus off of him.

“You're starting to sound like my in-laws. Arthur drops Ironbelly-sized hints about me and Ginny having kids at almost every family dinner. You'd think with Fleur's litter living with them they'd be satisfied, but nooooo.”

Despite the nursing baby, Harry turned back to face Tonks fully. He sighed dismally.

“Now is just not the right time for Ginny and I to...we just aren't ready yet,” he explained.

“I don't know, Har. Ginny looks plenty ready to me,” Tonks shared conspiratorially. “The other day Molly had me come over to get some of Dash's old togs. I reckon Fleur must be having a girl again this time. Anyways, Ginny was visiting and she couldn't keep her hands off of my Wolfgang. The way she was looking at him...you better be careful Harry. Your wife's got the smell of new baby up her conk.”

Although Harry hated to admit it, he knew that Tonks was telling the truth. He wasn't blind to the fact that his wife was chomping at the bit to have a baby with him. He didn't miss the look of yearning that would pass on Ginny's face as she held on to one of her nephews or her nieces. He often heard the slightly jealous tone her voice took on as she regaled him with tales of how Lavender bragged on Violet Pye's latest grand feat of accomplishment; tying her shoes all by herself, or not eating the plimpy egg paste at day school. Nor could Harry pretend that he didn't understand the plea that was practically shouted at him each time his green eyes met her blue ones. When Harry? When?

But Merlin help him, even though he hated the fact that he was causing Ginny so much anguish, Harry’s answer never wavered. He wasn't ready to be a father. He wasn't sure he would even make a good father, wouldn't even know how to be one if he tried. It's not like he had long term, first hand experience of how a real dad was supposed to be. Sirius had been in his life much too briefly. He had spent a good year being bitter and angry towards Dumbledore when he should have been striving towards the relationship that he eventually developed with the old wizard. That was one of the things Harry regretted most after his former Headmaster was struck down. Harry once imagined Arthur Weasley as the kind of dad he would have liked to have had, but then he started dating the man's daughter. Then he married her. Then their relationship just became...strained. Harry didn't like to dwell on it. Harry and Remus had grown close over the years, Harry was even godfather to his and Tonks' son, but Remus was more like a favorite uncle than a father figure in his eyes. More so than Vernon ever was, Harry would sometimes think broodingly.

And as for his own dad...Harry always imagined, always dreamt that his father would have lived up to his every hope, wish, and desire. But the unfortunate truth was that Harry would never know. Just another sad fact of his life. Yes, Harry was very conflicted when it came to issues of fatherhood.

But it wasn't that he hated kids or disliked them. In fact the exact opposite was true. Harry had a huge soft spot for children. There was nothing more that he loved than being Uncle Harry to the large number of Weasley grandchildren.

Whenever Harry did think about the prospect of having his own set of ankle biters he often thought that Marc Weasley was the ideal child. Marc was Bill and Fleur's oldest, born right as the War was ending. He was the kind of fearless, reckless kid that any man would be proud to call son. He was the kind of kid that would “borrow” his Uncle Ron's brand new racing broom so he could go for a spin. He was the kind of kid that would jump in the pond behind his home, dressed in his very best robes, just to rescue a drowning gnome. He was the kind of kid that would bloody any little tyke's nose who dared to tease his baby sister, even if the bloke was his own kid brother.

Or Harry would have loved to have a little girl like Fred and Glinda's 5 year old, Felicity. Adorable Felicity was a cocoa colored cutie with large dark eyes like her mum, and was a Weasley through and through, minus the red hair and freckles. It was like someone decided to take all of the other Weasley key traits (mischief making, love of laughter, enormous temper), mix them in a pot and boom...out popped Lish. Even when the child was going through a bout of bad health, she still managed to pass on to anyone who crossed her path one of her infectious smiles. People rarely didn't smile back at Lish.

Harry didn't have any problem with the idea of kids; he was nothing at all like Hermione. Hermione seemed to have had an honest to God fear of children. Harry wondered if that stemmed from her childhood. According to Hermione when she was younger she never learned quite how to socialize with children her own age. She preferred the company of adults even back then. This led to her awkwardness with most of the Weasley tots in her later years. Whenever Molly tried to lasso her into babysitting Marc and Leo, or on a very rare occasion Percy's Junior, to prepare her for the day she had her own little Weasley, Hermione without fail found some way to weasel (pun intended) out of the chore. Ron would joke that she just hated kids because no matter how brilliant she or anyone else thought she was they would still tease her unmercifully about her hair. Hermione figured that she was just one of those women who didn't possess a maternal bone in their body. Somehow Harry found both of those answers too pat.

Interestingly enough Hermione was unknowingly responsible for the one other reason Harry was subconsciously reluctant to have children. Well, maybe not responsible. That was too strong a word. That was the kind of thinking that would send Ginny searching every hovel and hole in the world so she could scratch Hermione's eyes out of her face. Ginny would not hesitate to blame the other girl for her misery. No, it was more like Hermione explained to him just what having a child would mean for him and Ginny. She did it intending to help him understand the choices he was making. She probably never thought it would leave him in a self-imposed limbo.

He proposed to Ginny on Valentine's Day. It seemed right. They had been back together for almost two years by then and Harry figured that it would make sense to finally make everything official between them. Everyone else acted like their marriage was a forgone conclusion anyways, so Harry didn't really see any reason to go against the grain. Besides, marrying Ginny seemed like the natural thing to do. He pretty much loved her and figured it was time for him to grow up and fully embrace the life he was now free to live.

If he was being honest with himself it was a less than romantic proposal. All the family, save for Percy, had come to the Burrow with their significant others for a big dinner. They were celebrating the holiday as well as having a baby shower for Glinda. Charlie was in town and Molly had convinced Hermione to invite one of her friends from work over to the house; a Bernadette Fournier. None of them were quite sure if she was supposed to be there for Charlie or for George, but they were all enjoying the spectacle of watching Molly throw the poor flustered French woman at both of her sons trying to see which one she stuck to. Molly was enjoying being a grandmother immensely and she was ready to get the rest of her children paired up and married so she could have more. It would seem that Charlie turned out to be the lucky fellow because he and Bernadette soon went off for a walk down the lane after all the food was eaten.

Harry and Ginny decided to go outside as well, to get some fresh air they told everyone. George and Fred made smooching sounds as they walked out the door. As they laid down on a stretch of grass beside the pond, they somehow wandered into a discussion about their collective futures. Ginny had been out of Hogwarts since June and she hadn't really made any long term plans since leaving school. She intimated that her reasoning for being such a layabout was that she thought that she would have had other plans by this time, but since it didn't seem like that was going to be the case she might as well go to the upcoming Harpies training camp. That is unless Harry could offer her a better solution, she casually hinted. Harry, hating the idea of being bored without her in the months ahead, suggested that they just get married instead. Harry figured that Ginny broke all kids of records with the speed she jumped into his lap. She asked him if they could do things the old ways. Harry unwittingly agreed.

He and Ginny rushed back inside the house, gathered the family in the living room, and broke the big news. On a whole they reacted pretty much the way he thought they would. Molly cried. Arthur popped open a bottle of champers. The twins slapped him on the back in congratulations, the blinking light sign that George pasted on his back that read “Dead Wizard Walking” going unnoticed by all in the excitement. Ron as usual chose the joyous occasion to crack a joke.

“'Bout time, mate! I was beginning to wonder when you were going to make an honest woman of my little sister.”

Ginny, who had been on the other side of the room at the time discussing with Molly the wording of the wedding announcement, turned irately to her brother and spat out nastily, “You're a fine one to talk, Ron! I don't see Hermione allowing you to make an honest woman of her. Circe knows you two have been at it long enough!”

That put a damper on the celebrating real quickly. Although the two of them were trying yet another reconciliation, Hermione's reticence on officially becoming a Weasley was always a touchy topic amongst the family. Ron left the room in a snit. Fleur and Bill made the excuse that they had to put their baby boys down for a nap. Molly asked Arthur to assist her in finding Auntie Muriel's goblin-made tiara. Glinda, Fred, and George pretended to find the titles lining the bookshelf interesting, although Harry doubted the twins had ever voluntarily picked up a book a day in their lives.

Hermione, who had been quietly sitting in a corner the whole time, pretended to ignore the outburst. The only reason Harry knew that her feelings had been hurt was because she turned a sickly, grayish color. She didn't even bother with congratulating the newly engaged couple. Instead she asked an odd question as she anxiously wrung her hands together.

“You two are getting married using the Olde Rites, Harry?”

Harry answered her with his usual knowledgeable aplomb.

“Erm...”

She bit forcefully on the corner of her mouth, almost hard enough to draw blood.

“It's just...do you even know what that means?” she questioned him apprehensively.

“Galloping Gorgons, Hermione! Could you leave the poor guy alone!” interrupted Ginny as she tore George's sign off of Harry's back and stepped in front of him. “Of course Harry knows what it means. I told him!” she insisted emphatically. “And what if he didn't? Not everyone puts their nose in a book every five minutes like you,” she added icily for good measure.

Harry looked back and forth between Ginny and Hermione, bewildered. He knew that the two of them had been having some issues as of late, but he couldn't understand why Ginny would take that tone with a girl who was supposed to be a good friend of hers. He was about to ask her what was going on when Mrs. Weasley stepped back into the room.

“Ginevra dear, I need you to come try on the tiara. We need to see if it's a good fit or if we need to have it shrunk down for you.”

Ginny gleefully clapped her hands and gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek before bouncing off in the direction her mother went. When Ginny was fully out of the room he brought his attention back to where Hermione had been sitting, but she was gone. He quickly peeped out the front door and saw the back of her retreating form heading down the lane.

“Hermione, wait up!” he called to her.

If she heard him she didn't acknowledge it, just kept trudging along her way. Without bothering to let anyone know he was leaving the house he hurriedly took off after her.

Something had Hermione steamed because by the time Harry reached her side she was talking animatedly to herself. She didn't even look at him. He wondered if she was just hacked off at Ginny for what his newly minted fiancée had said. He was about to ask her if that was the case when Hermione stopped in her tracks and faced him squarely.

“It's just that I don't think it's fair...you not knowing what you are getting yourself into, I mean,” Hermione began aggressively. “You have every right to be sure that you are doing the right thing!”

Harry was at a loss for words. He had no idea what she was going on about.

“Harry, answer me honestly. Do you know what the Olde Rites are?”

“Has something to do with the wedding, right?” he queried nervously. “Ginny asked if we could do it in the old ways and I agreed. What is it, some kind of vow?”

Hermione snorted at his ignorance.

“More like a vow, an oath, some blood, a ritual...”

“Hang on! BLOOD?!”

Hermione roughly took his hand and immediately Harry felt the sensation of being squeezed through a bottle. He didn't know what it was about side-along Apparition that made him so queasy. He never felt half as bad when he Apparated himself to and fro. He always meant to ask Hermione if she knew why that may be, but he decided that now wouldn't be the right time. As Harry opened his eyes, he was surprised to find that they were in the bedroom of her flat.

“Damn!” Hermione swore. “I over shot.”

Harry was about to ask her what the hell was going on, but she quickly told him to take a seat on the bed as she went out of the door. As he did so, he briefly worried that Ginny would get angry that he had left the house to go chasing after Hermione yet again. She often complained that he had a tendency to do that. A lot! His fear was also compounded by the fact that he had once again forgotten to take with him the little two-way mirror she'd given him as a birthday gift only two years ago. “So we never miss each other,” she cloyingly told him as she showed him the one that she would carry with her. Ginny was not going to be too happy with him, not one bit, but he couldn't help but see the bloody thing as a tether around his neck she constantly felt the need to tug at. He could only see this getting worse, especially now that he had decided to marry her.

The mirror also brought up unpleasant memories of the one that Sirius had given him all those years ago that he unfortunately never got to use. Of course he couldn't bring this up with Ginny. She probably would be cross that he didn't appreciate her gift, but Harry somehow knew that Hermione would understand his reluctance to bother with the thing. She always seemed to have a way of grasping the idiosyncrasies of his mind and knowing just what made him tick.

Since he had nothing else better to do, he took a good look around Hermione's room. Harry had always liked it, although he had only been allowed inside her sanctuary on a few rare occasions. The colors she had chosen in her decorating pallet were green and a warm yellow that gave the room a tropical feel. Off in a corner stood a large, standing cheval mirror. It always amused Harry to see it, to think of Hermione as some vain bird who was worried about her appearance. But in truth he knew that the beautiful cherry wood antique meant a lot to her. It had once stood in the Granger home; it had once belonged to her mum.

Most of the bedroom furniture in her room and the apartment were actually owned by her parents before they passed, including the king sized mahogany bed that he sat on. Laid out lovingly across it was a colorful patchwork quilt he knew had been taken from her grandmother's home. When he noticed her trusted daily planner, open, resting right on the bed next to him he took a quick peek down to see what sage wisdom it had for the day. Look before you leap, it told him. Harry didn't think he needed to heed its warning so he closed it. Where he had been jumpy and on edge just moments before, he suddenly felt worlds calmer. His anxiety had mellowed considerably. Just drinking in the aroma of the room seemed to fill him with a sense of peace; serenity. What was that smell, he wondered. Lilac? Lavender? The scent always seemed to put him at ease.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione said as Harry drifted back from his reverie. “I honestly only meant to bring us into the living room.”

She was standing in front of him holding a gigantic book in her arms. Harry scooted over to allow her to sit beside him. As she did, she held up the cover of the book so he could see it.

“I knew I had it somewhere here, but it took me a bit to find it on the shelf.”

She smiled at him timidly.

“I bought it just in case Ron decided to propose again. I wanted to be sure about what I would be getting myself into if I were to just give in and say yes one day.”

Harry couldn't miss the hesitant sound in her voice. He also felt the slight lurch his own stomach made at her words. He dismissed it as the pudding he had eaten at supper.

“Rituals and Customs of Olde Briton,” he read from the cover as he took the heavy book from her. “What's this about?”

“It's an interesting read actually. It’s all about most of the ancient traditions and practices that were observed by the first wizards and witches here in the British Isles. Fertility charms, war rites,” Hermione answered. “Joining rituals...” she trailed off quietly.

“Oh,” replied Harry as he flipped the book open and began to thumb through the pages. “You mean there's more than one kind of wedding ceremony?”

“Several actually,” she said as she began to fretfully pick at the long red skirt she was wearing. “But the oldest and most prevalent is called the Olde Rites. The original name has been lost through the years. It's often referred to as the Cycle as well.”

“Ok, so what's so special about it?”

Hermione brought her eyes up to his, but anxiously turned them away.

“Well it was originally centered on the phases of the moon. Once upon a time the actual ceremony had to be performed on the night of a full moon, the proposal done the night before the previous one. Over time though that was done away with.”

“I still don't get it,” Harry declared, this whole lesson she was giving him going straight over his head.

As was her way back at Hogwarts, she became incensed at his dimness.

“Circe! Did you and Ron ever pay attention in Sinistra’s class? There are only 30 days between full moons!” she snapped at him. “Well actually 29.5, but that's just splitting hairs.”

Her eyes were glowing almost feverishly, and her words were coming at him far too fast. He started to get concerned that she was falling ill, but then her next words stopped him dead.

“Don't you get it yet, Harry?! Thirty days from now you are going to be Mr. Ginny Weasley!”

When the book he was holding tumbled out of his hands and fell on his foot he didn't really scream like a girl. But it was a close thing.

“T-t-t-thirty days?!” Harry managed to stammer out.

In answer to his question Hermione soberly nodded her head.

“But that can't be right,” he argued. “Bill and Fleur were engaged forever before they got married!”

Truthfully they had been engaged for about a year, but that was still longer than thirty-bloody-days!

“That's because Bill and Fleur adhered more to the Franco traditions. The French don't rush about these things. Bernadette was telling me last week about her great-aunt Amalie's wedding she had just came back from. Bernadette's aunt had been engaged to her fiancé for over fifteen years! Fifteen years!”

Where Harry was sitting right now fifteen years sounded like a dream as opposed to thirty-bloody-days!

“Bill and Fleur actually were quite fast about it. Then again back then everyone was rushing to get married, with Voldemort and all...you know. That's when the Rites came back into vogue.”

She reached down and pulled the heavy tome off of the floor. She flipped through some pages until she ultimately came to what she was looking for.

“The time between getting engaged and married is fully plotted out,” Hermione explained as she began to read to him from the book. “Five days from the proposal, an engagement party is held at the home of the mother of the groom.”

She looked at him apologetically.

“I suppose Molly could do that for you still. You know she would love to,” she kindly remarked.

She read on.

“At the party all who wish to give their blessing to the impending marriage may attend. A brief ceremony is held where two large tapers are lit by the couple. It's supposed to represent the commencement of the Rites. The candles then burn until the day of the wedding. The couple must be married before the candles go out. The book clearly stipulates that. Also there is a ceremonial blade involved as well as a ceremonial chalice. You and the future bride cut your selves and bleed into the cup–”

“Hold on...wait just one minute,” Harry cut her off, completely disturbed by what she was telling him. “Blood? Blade? Bleeding? BLOOD? WHAT?!”

“Very macabre sounding, isn't it?” she replied. “At the wedding ceremony mead is poured into the chalice that the blood had been steeping in, and the groom and bride drink from it. It's supposed to create this bond between the couple. A bond so immense, so intimate that if either party is ever unfaithful their spouse knows it immediately. The injured party actually feels it.”

Dobby could have jumped in and made a home of Harry’s mouth, it was open so wide.

“Blood magic is very powerful, Harry,” she reminded him. “Now where was I,” said Hermione as she went back to the book. “Ah yes! Five days out from the engagement a ceremony is held to choose the people who will stand up for the groom and bride. They call it the Naming Tea now. I suspect just to be able to have another party, but whatever. That is usually held by the mother of the bride. At this ceremony the Maid of Honour is also given her charge. She arranges the whole wedding from then out.”

Hermione closed the book with a beleaguered sigh and placed it on the other side of her.

“I can't begin to tell you how happy am I that Glinda decided to pretend she was religious for her mum's sake. I don't think I could have dealt with any of this.”

One of Harry's eyebrows crept up at that statement.

“Didn't you just say the other day that you wished that Glinda would stop pretending to be religious so you won't have to be named godmother at the bloody christening once the baby is born?”

“Must you remember everything I say?” she asked vexedly, yet there was a small hint of a smile on her lips. “Well she won't let up. Yesterday she threatened to turn me into a tampon if I didn't agree to it. Of course I keep reminding her that although she is married to a wizard she can't use a bloody wand, but does she listen?”

Though Harry wouldn't have minded listening to her complain about her insistence that she would not make a good godmother, he needed for her to go on about this clusterfuck he had haplessly gotten himself into.

“So is there anything else I...” he paused to swallow tensely, “should know about?”

“Pretty much the rest is cut and dry,” she answered. “There are a few little things that get taken care of before the wedding; the bride's robes must be charmed, a ribbon must be picked out, fertility rituals done...”

“Fertility rituals?”

“Yes; getting married quick, and having a baby quicker seem to be the name of the game. Oh! I almost forgot about the Seclusion.”

“Seclusion?”

“The bride and groom are isolated from each other for seven days. This happens right after the Temptation day. For the Temptations the couple used to be confronted with the opportunity to change their minds. Ages ago the wizard was taken to a Muggle brothel and left alone with one of the prostitutes. If he didn't touch her he was golden.”

“What about the woman?”

“I'm sure she still got paid.”

“No, Hermione, I meant the bride.”

“Oh!” Her cheeks colored. “Oh, well...I haven't read too many stories about what the woman went through. Probably nothing as big as all that, though. Bloody double standards! A man can be all virile and do what have you, but let a woman–”

“HERMIONE!”

“Sorry. Like I was saying, you won't have to worry about the Temptations. Now it basically is just a bachelor and bachelorette party. Then that segues into the week long Seclusion right before the wedding. The bride and groom are not allowed to see one another until the reception the night before. They, however, can not be left alone.”

“Why not?”

“As not to damage the bride's purity, or something or other. Way back when she had to be as lily-white and pristine as the day she was born,” Hermione said, smacking her lips in disdain. “Even nowadays they still like to give the pretense that such is the case. Bah! As much as Muggles get criticized, at least they aren't as ridiculously antiquated as wizards.”

“Well I guess that's one thing me and Ginny won't have to worry about,” Harry murmured absentmindedly. When he realized what he had said, he instantly wished he could Avada himself so he could be let out of his misery.

“You mean...still...” she began wondrously.

“Ginny and I decided to wait,” Harry shyly confessed. “Well, uh, she told me we did. She said something about dung and buying space cows. Totally didn't understand it, but I respect her wishes.”

Harry hated to think of what shade his face was.

“Ah yes, the proverbial mooncalf. Honestly! Like there is something so condemnable about a woman with a robust sexual appetite. It's perfectly normal and healthy!” Hermione blurted out.

Scarlet. He decided that his face was probably scarlet, probably getting redder by the minute if such a shade existed. He did not want to go down that road again with Hermione; especially not in here, not on her bed. Oh Merlin, he was on her bed!

“Yes, um, well...” Harry sputtered as he shot off the offending piece of furniture and instead pitched himself against the bed's matching wardrobe closet.

“Sorry,” she said in apology. “As I was saying, so as not to get up to any hanky-panky the couple can not be left alone. It would definitely be a disaster if they were and the bride got pregnant.”

“Why?”

“Because the bonding will not have taken effect. That doesn't happen until the wedding once the ribbon is tied and the mead has been drunk.”

Harry's head swam with all of the confusing details Hermione was giving him.

“I still don't understand any of this.”

“Harry, look at it as if...you were signing a contract. Each ceremony and ritual you perform for the Rites is an article of the agreement. You initial each one as you complete each task. Once you get down to the bottom there is a place for you to sign. Having a baby is effectively you signing that contract. Once that's done, sure as Bob is your uncle, you are bonded for life. There is no getting out of it.”

“None?”

Harry was wracking his brain, trying desperately to remember when Ginny could have told him any of this.

“Nope. None. Wizards don't really believe in divorce. Sure there are some that get the Rites overturned, but that's only when no child has been born of the union. If that's the case, and you can show just cause why the marriage should be dissolved, you can petition the Wizengamot. The problem is that then you have to deal with the social stigma being divorced carries. But back when the Rites were first practiced...there was no divorce. There wasn't even a term for it. No, once you are married under the Rites and have a baby that's it. You and your mate are bound until death parts you.”

“Until one of you die?”

Ok, Ginny definitely did not tell him any of this. Not one bit!

“I'm afraid so. Even if you try to move on or run off the bond between you won't allow it. Both parties become a shell of their former selves. Food has no taste, your mind starts to go, you no longer feel joy; you...you wither away, Harry. Your soul withers away.”

“AND GINNY WANTS TO DO THIS?!” he hollered as the sound of a heavy object crashing to the floor was heard from the next room. Both of them looked towards the door.

“Hmm, sounds like that was the bookcase. Well, no matter,” Hermione said, disregarding it.

She turned to face him again.

“Maybe...” she began uneasily, “maybe Ginny wants to ensure that you stay by her side. Forever.”

Harry's stomach bubbled at the word...FOREVER.

“Maybe she thinks this is the best way to make sure that happens; by giving you no other options, by binding you to her for the rest of your life. Because that is what this would mean, Harry. You and Ginny; together forever.”

There was that word again. Did he really want to be chained to Ginny forever, his jumbled thoughts franticly asked?

“Or perhaps she feels if you love her enough all the rest doesn't matter,” continued Hermione nervously.

For a moment Harry was lost in a world of his own thinking. Every thing Hermione was telling him seemed too much. Blood, and ribbons, and the possibility of not being able to enjoy a good treacle tart when he wanted it; Harry wasn't so sure he was ready for all of this. Was he ready for all of this?

“Does it?”

Harry's attention was drawn back to the bed where Hermione was staring at him skeptically.

“Does it matter?”

Harry suddenly felt like he was being Apparated against his will. That feeling of being pushed at from all sides was upon him again. He felt exposed to Hermione, like he had been caught in just his skivvies. Did she realize that he was this close to marching right back to the Burrow and telling Ginny to forget the whole thing? The whole damned thing!

“Knowing what you now know...do you...I mean, do you still want to marry Ginny?”

Hermione's face was lined with worry and dread.

Of course Hermione would get to the bottom of it. Who knew him better? But that same thought made Harry shrink from telling her the truth. What would Hermione think of him if he admitted that he was now wishing that he had never agreed to this whole crazy scheme? Would she think lowly of him? Would she be disappointed in him? Hermione was one of the few people whose opinion of him truly mattered to Harry. He didn't want to look bad, not to her! What kind of git proposes to a girl he wasn't willing to bleed for and then...*gulp*...drink it? Deny, deny, deny was the refrain that played through his head.

“WELL SURE I DO!” he yelped, his voice sounding too loud in his own ears. “I mean, I asked her to be my wife. Of course I want to marry Ginny!”

“Oh,” she quietly said as she looked down at her shoes. “Ok...I um, I just wanted you to be sure.”

She was standing up now, a huge smile pulling at both ends of her mouth. The kind of smile that looked like it kind of hurt. He was looking at her lips so intently that he almost missed the rest of what she was saying.

“...to know what you were getting yourself into. I mean if anything you can just tell Ginny that you've changed your mind. That you prefer to get married the Muggle way or something less...drastic.”

“No, no...” he said plastering on a smile of his own to match hers. The difference, in his mind, was that he knew his was a fake. “If Ginny wants to do this, why not? What's the harm? It's not like I'm going to wake-up years from now and want to take it all back, right?”

“Of course not!” she exclaimed as she quickly walked over to him. “You love her. It's as simple as that. Meant to be…written in the stars…destined for each other and all that. Ginny gets what she wants and everyone is happy.”

Her voice trembled on the last word and Harry suddenly realized that Hermione might not be as cheerful as she was letting on.

“Hermione, is there...what's going on with you and Ginny?”

“What?” Her eyes bulged at the question and her smile momentarily fell from her face. “Nothing! W-why would you think something was going on?”

“Because of that scene at the Burrow, because of the way that Ginny was talking down to you.”

“Oh that? That was nothing,” Hermione insisted as that almost plastic-like smile appeared again. “Don't even worry about that.”

“But I do worry. I don't like it when Ginny talks to you that way. I've talked to her about it before. I mean, sure I used to think it was brilliant the way she would stand up for me back when I thought you were just being a dull old nag.”

Harry pulled Hermione forward and engulfed her in a warm hug.

“It just took me a while to realize that you were honestly trying to look out for me. Like you always do. Like you did just today telling me about this bonding business.”

“I'm your friend,” she said, pressing the side of her face into his chest. “That's my job.”

“You are more than my friend and you know that,” he said, pulling back to look at her pointedly, before wrapping her closer to him again. He inhaled deeply, feeling as if all was right in the world, when all of a sudden a stunning realization almost toppled him.

Jasmine! Harry had finally figured out what that smell was. Jasmine.

“Sorry about Ginny.”

“It's just that she's not too happy with me right now. A few weeks ago at that dinner, when Ron announced to the whole bloody restaurant that we were back together, she looked less than congratulatory. I think she believes I'm stringing her brother along.”

Although he could see that his best friend was in a blue kind of mood, Harry had to wonder if maybe Ginny possibly had the right of it. Maybe Hermione was just stringing poor Ron along. Maybe she was just putting on a show with Ron when she was really after someone else. What was it she had said to him just weeks ago? Something about not wanting the same things she wanted when she was twelve years old anymore. What did she want now? Who did she want now? Was it Malfoy? Harry's wand hand began to itch at the thought.

He had seen Malfoy just recently with one of his little conquests, the redhead with the bony, horse-like face, at a Quidditch match he was playing. Harry almost flew his broom straight into the stands so he could knock the blond's arrogant sneer off of his face right then and there. How dare he think that Hermione was one of his slags he could have his way with then discard like she was nothing! Little less than a month ago he had caught them at it here in this very flat. Then the next thing he knew he was watching Ron bashfully tell everyone to raise their glasses as he shared with them the “good news”. Was Hermione just using Ron as some sort of smoke screen for whatever she was really up to? Did she fall in love with somebody else? Was she in love with someone that Harry didn't know about?

“Are you?!” he menacingly growled.

Nice one Harry! That definitely came out far harsher than he intended. Hermione obviously thought so too because she violently pushed herself away from him and stormed out of the room. When Harry finally got his wits about him he found her in the kitchen pacing angrily back and forth.

“My God, Harry! MY GOD!”

Every nerve of her body was tensed as she swung around to face the doorway where he was standing.

“Do you really think I would want to do that to Ron? Do you really think that lowly of me? You're the one who convinced me to try again!” she said pointing an accusing finger at him. “’Take him back, Hermione. He's going spare without you Hermione’!”

Harry vaguely understood that she was doing a piss poor impression of him.

“Remember? It was in this very kitchen?”

“Don't remind me,” he groaned, purposefully avoiding casting his eyes on the evil and accursed table.

“Well I did what you wanted!” she yelled as her eyes began to redden. “I did it to make you happy! I'm trying Harry! I am honestly trying, but...but it's hard! You just have no clue how hard it is!”

Taken aback by her frankness, he asked her meekly, “But it shouldn't be that hard, should it?”

Hermione gave him the most withering of looks.

“Sometimes loving someone with all of your heart can be the most difficult thing to do, Harry. Trust me, I know.”

Sometimes Harry wished he could find a Time-Turner, have that conversation with Hermione again, and tell her that he now understood the full meaning of what she had said that day. He could even one up her. If she thought that trying to make a relationship with Ron work was so tough, she should try walking around in his shoes for a bit. He had fallen in love with someone he hadn't laid eyes on in years, while being married to another woman. To make matters worse, he couldn't exactly remember why he had married his wife in the first place. Now that...that was bloody hard!

But it wasn't like Harry was trying to find some way out of his vows to Ginny. He had made a commitment to her he had every intention of seeing through. He wasn't searching for some kind of loophole in their agreement.

He just wasn't in such a hurry to sign on the dotted line.

“I think someone needs to have his nappy changed.”

“For the love of Merlin, Tonks! Even the Hag has some standards of decency!”

Tonks was standing over Wolfgang's pram as she effortlessly placed the baby inside. Harry marveled at how graceful she almost seemed. She expertly swathed the child in his many blankets before giving him a pacifier, and almost instantly the baby's brows puckered as sleep descended upon him. Harry figured that Tonks had placed a Lullaby charm on it.

“He likes his dummy meat flavored. Go figure,” Tonks shared with him as she straightened herself up and took the handles of the contraption. “And it wasn't like I was going to change him right out in the open. What do you take me for?”

Harry wanted to remind her of how she had just flung her fun cushion out in the open, but he thought better of it. Although the former Miss Tonks, now Mrs. Lupin, carried all of the trappings of a staid matron; that did not negate the fact that the woman would not hesitate to give Harry a good arse kicking if he asked for it.

“I have a husband at home who is completely mad about me,” she said loftily. “I'm going to go fool around with him instead of hanging around here with my current surly company.”

Harry's mood had definitely taken a turn for the worse. It was just that every time he looked back on what a mess he had made of his life, Harry couldn't help but become a grouch. He needed something to improve his mood. Maybe the library dream, he pondered. Yes! The library dream, with Pince lurking somewhere nearby and Hermione dressed in her old school robes. Just her school robes! Harry's mood suddenly perked up. Other parts of him did as well.

“Listen, sorry for bringing up baby stuff with Ginny and all that. I know that it's a bit of a touchy subject. Remus and I...well, we just want you to be happy, Harry. You know how happy people are, they just want everyone to be happy right along with them,” Tonks apologized.

Harry felt honestly touched by the concern.

“Hey! This should cheer you up. You know what I was thinking about just the other day? That time in France; me and Hermione in the nuns' habits. Remember that? Wasn't that a scream? 'Course at the time we were all thinking we were going to die at any moment. But looking back those were some wild times weren't they, Harry?”

Harry's face spread in a huge shit eating grin. He did recall their mission to France. How important it was and how scared they all had been. And how damned cute Hermione had looked dressed in the black and white get-up. If there had been nuns that looked like that back at St. Brutus's Harry thought that he probably would have ditched Hogwarts altogether.

And just like that Harry groaned inwardly. He had a pretty good idea that he wasn't going to be dreaming about a certain back table at Hogwarts later that night. Oh no. But it should be interesting.

And sick, sick, sick another part of his brain told him.

Yeah, but probably a helluva lot of fun too!

“Isn't that a gas, Har? I don't know what made me think about that,” Tonks continued, thankfully unaware of Harry's inner thoughts.

“Does that ever happen to you? You get someone inside your head, for some reason or another, and you just can't get them out again?”

Harry snatched up his bottle of butterbeer and instantly became frustrated when he couldn't seem to get anything out of it. Once he realized that there was a pretty good reason for that, seeing as how the bottle was empty, he dismally set it back down on the table.

“Tonks, you have no idea.”

A/N: Next up is Neville's POV. Things to look forward to: a different side to Ginny, a hottie on a train ride, and someone who just may know a little more about the Harry and Hermione situation than he is letting on.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Julian Jameson Potter, Sylvia Witherspell (Potter), James Wynnton Potter, Ellis Elijah Potter, Rordynn George Potter, Clayton Poe, Hecuba Poe, Hecate Poe, Percival Weasley Jr., Bernadette Fournier, and Amalie Fournier are canon.

2) The Auld Alliance was real but has been tweaked for the purposes of this story.

3) JKR decided to reveal her family tree for the Blacks waaaaay after I finished this chapter. Thanks a lot JK! (said lovingly of course) so Sirius' family tree as well as Harry's has been revised for this story.

4) Arcturus is the brightest star in the constellation Boötes, the Hunter (or Herdsman). She used the same name for the Black boys’ grandfather too. Obviously we have a co.nec.tion. :)

5) I take liberties with the Founders and the Horcruxes.

6) I’ve based Godric's Hollow on the small village of Bulcote in Nottinghamshire.

7) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a plimpy is a fish like creature, shaped like a ball, with two long legs and webbed feet. A gytrash is a huge spectral hound that lives in forests.

8) The Olde Rites is my own little baby. In my universe there are several wizarding wedding traditions, but the Rites is the oldest and the hardest to get out of. Make note of the order of events, it will come in handy later on

9) The books Ravenclaw of Gaul, To Seek, or Not to Seek, I've Got a Witch Up My Tree, How About You, Of Warlocks and Wizards, Sons of Albion: A Historical Study of the Magical Families of Olde Britain, A Limey Lycan's Life(My Memoirs), and Rituals and Customs of Olde Briton as well as Pottermates, Hogwarts House Globes, and the SnowGlobe concept are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

9. Chapter 8

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 10,739

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None although it's tinged with some G/N. You have been warned.

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.

Saturday, 05/28/05

*ding*ding*

Neville looked up from the box of snapping snapdragons he had been about to open, and glanced towards the door of the stockroom. He thought he heard the doorbell chime of the shop door, but he was almost positive that he locked up when he turned the “CLOSED” sign around that evening. When no more sound reached his ear, he continued with the box.

*crack*

Neville's head bobbed up again. Now he knew for sure that he heard something or someone in the shop. The sound of glass breaking confirmed it for him. He was pretty certain that Orestes, Holden, and Emmaleth, his shop clerks, weren't back. Though each of them had keys to the store, he had sent them all off to have a pint at the Three Broomsticks on him after close. The three young adults, barely of age, certainly couldn't have finished yet, he believed. He knew for a fact that young Em drank like a fish, so it seemed highly unlikely that she would have just had a quick butterbeer, especially if it was on his tab. That left only one other option, someone had broken into his store.

Neville slowly eased up from his heels, straightened his work robes, and withdrew his cherry wood wand from the back pocket of his slacks underneath them. With his muscles taut and his nerves on fire, he stealthily pushed forward one of the swinging doors of the stockroom and peeked through the opening. What he saw was the outline of what appeared to be a smallish woman crawling on the floor on her hands and knees. She was trying to collect the broken shards of a glass vase that had fallen off the counter of the register. She was using her bare hands. It was seven in the evening and there were no lanterns lit, so Neville couldn't exactly see who the woman was. He pointed his wand unflinchingly at the intruder before him as he silently came further into the room.

“If you have business here,” he said in a cold, threatening manner, “I'd quickly say what it is and be done with it.”

At his words the woman's head popped up in shock.

“Nev?”

“Gin?”

Neville quickly ushered over to his friend's side and helped her up. After straightening her robes and brushing off any dust she might have gotten from the floor, he turned to look his friend in the face.

“Lumos,” he said as he and Ginny were suddenly bathed in a soft yellow glow.

“Ginny, what are you doing here? And how did you get in?” he asked in a wondering tone.

Neville knew that he had all the exit doors in the shop warded in case someone tried to break in and steal from the shop. He had done the spellcasting himself.

Ginny grinned devilishly at him.

“Well I didn't want to rob you, did I?”

Neville felt like a perfect idiot. Of course! If anyone's intention was to cause harm they would automatically be shocked by a warning bolt of electricity as soon as their hands touched the door knob. Or if they tried to “Alohomora” their way in, their wand would smoke and become non-functional for a few hours. But for whatever reason Ginny was at his place at this late hour, grand larceny obviously wasn't it.

“Sorry,” she said. “It's just that I went looking for you down at the inn and didn't see you there. I ran into Emmaleth and she said that you were doing inventory.”

She smirked.

“Actually she said that you were inventing stories, but the poor girl was so bladdered that I had to figure the whole thing out for myself.”

Neville laughed at that.

“Well Em has a way with words when she's in her cups.”

“Sometimes I think the only reason you keep that lush around is because she's so pretty.”

“Gin!” Neville exclaimed in a false scandalized voice. “Emmaleth Loudermilk is a child.”

“Emmaleth Loudermilk is an 18 year old girl who barely made it out of Hogwarts and wouldn't hesitate at the chance to marry the boss,” she clucked. “Don't forget I knew her way back when. She was a Second Year my last year at school. And she was just as simple then as she is now. She was always hanging about the Head's office telling me how much she wanted to grow up to be just like me.”

Neville began to feel slightly uncomfortable at the direction of the conversation and tried his best to change it.

“Yes...um...w-well...” he stammered as he pointed his wand at the glass on the floor and hovered it into a dustbin by the counter. “She's a natural with the more mundane non-magical plants, and she's tons useful around the place.”

As of late Emmaleth had been hinting to Neville that she wouldn't mind staying after hours to help him re-pot his plant. Neville, however, wasn't so unworldly that he didn't know exactly what the former Hufflepuff had in mind for him. He wasn't going to tell Ginny that, though.

“Of course she is,” Ginny tartly agreed with him.

She then raised her hands before her face and frowned.

“Damn! I cut myself.”

“Here, let me see,” he said gently taking one of her pale, smooth hands in his own and examining it. There was a small gash on the palm that would bleed heavily if the skin around it was disturbed. Her other hand had only minor little nicks and scratches.

The soft feel of her skin wasn't lost on him.

“Gin, you could have shredded yourself,” he admonished kindly.

He tenderly placed the tip of his wand on the palm of her hand and whispered, “Integrosectum”.

He then took her other hand and did the same to it. The palms of her hands were perfectly healed.

“There, all better,” he said, looking into her navy eyes. He still was holding her hand.

“Y-yes,” she sighed, eyes locked on his hazel ones, “all better.”

She made no move to remove her hands from his at first, but then all at once, as if coming from under a spell, she slowly pulled them away.

“But then again you always had a way of making things better, didn't you?”

Neville chuckled as if she had made a grand joke. “Who me, the klutz of Hogwarts?”

Ginny's eyes turned stormy as she placed her hands on her hips threateningly.

“Neville Longbottom, I will not have you talking about yourself that way!” she reprimanded.

Neville felt properly chastened.

“Sorry, Gin. I was only joking.”

“Well it's not funny! You are not that same bumbling little boy from years ago. You've grown up. I wish you would realize that.”

“I do, Gin. I do,” Neville said trying to placate her.

Neville's see-sawing sense of self-worth was always a sore subject between them.

“Look, I have a coffee pot full to the brim back in my office. Care for a cuppa?”

The frown lines of Ginny's face smoothed as it brightened into a smile.

“Australian Mountain Top Peaberry?” she asked hopefully.

“Would I drink anything else?” he playfully scoffed.

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

“Mmm...” Ginny moaned as she finished the last drops in her mug. This would mark her fourth cup of coffee. “I haven't had this in ages.”

“I have tons more at the house. If you'd like, I'll send some of it over with Gran's Whimsy.”

They were currently sitting at Neville's small oak wood desk. He was in a large comfortable leather chair that leaned back, while she was seated in one of the hard wooden back chairs that sat in front of the desk. He liked to joke that he kept those chairs in his office to encourage his assistants to be out on the floor working instead of in the back wheedling a day off out of him.

When they first sat down he offered Ginny his seat, but she declined teasing that she liked to see him sitting behind his desk looking the part of the stern employer. They both laughed at the absurdity of that.

“No, that's alright. Harry doesn't care for it. He says that coffee isn't coffee if it isn't black with two spoonfuls of sugar,” she told him. “I swear he acted like the waiters were trying to poison him in Sydney.”

“Well I suspect the taste takes a bit to get used to,” he said looking over the top of his mug at her.

“You did.”

“Well I suppose it came so highly recommended from you that I had to at least give it a try.”

That made Ginny smile.

“So are you eventually going to tell me why you were breaking and entering on my property?” Neville joshed; no hint of reproach in his voice.

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“I was not breaking and entering.”

“Uh huh.”

“I didn't expect you to close up this early, is all.”

Neville set his empty cup on the desk and leaned casually back in his seat.

“I've been closing this early for the last week or so. All the plants and what not for the new store are being shipped here so I've been sorting out all the boxes and containers after close,” he replied. “Smart move I would say since vandals seem to be drawn to me.”

“Ha, ha,” she said, only slightly irritably. “And by the way, I hear that congratulations are in order. I ran into Dean, Seamus and Pad the other day. They told me about the move to London.”

Neville smiled shyly.

“I just figured it was time to expand really. There's no point in letting all of Gran's money waste away in Gringotts, right?”

Although Neville's smile was cheerful, he quickly wiped at a tear that was forming in his right eye. Neville's beloved and greatly intimidating grandmother had been dead all these years since the Light side won the War. Neville always got choked up when he thought of his brave Gran who vehemently opposed Voldemort and all who sided with him. She died one month before the Second War came to an end.

“Augusta Longbottom would be very proud of you,” Ginny sincerely replied as she reached across his desk and took his right hand in hers comfortingly.

“Would she?” he wryly asked. “In her eyes I could never compare to my dad, the great strong Auror. Quite frankly sometimes I think she was ashamed that I was even a member of the family.”

“I will not hear another word of this kind of talk, Neville Francis Longbottom!” Ginny exhorted loudly, jumping up from her chair. “If your grandmother was hard on you it was probably because she saw all the potential in you and wanted it to shine!” she said passionately. “Now look at you; you’re a big business entrepreneur with your own shop in Hogsmeade and about to open another one in London. Of course she would be proud of you! Look at you? How could she not be?”

Neville softly squeezed her hand to show that he believed her. Ginny quickly took her seat again, embarrassed by her impassioned speech.

“I was surprised that that was the first I was hearing about it,” said Ginny. “The store, that is.”

Neville couldn't be sure, but he sensed some chastisement in her voice.

“Well Mrs. Potter, I've been busy.”

She scowled prettily at him.

“But I am sorry. I should have made time to tell you about it.”

Neville owned a store in Hogsmeade called DeVine&Thorny. It was a plant and flower shop that mostly catered to the citizens of Hogsmeade and the school children who attended Hogwarts nearby. The shop had been opened for almost three years and business had been so profitable that Neville was moving to a bigger store in London in the fall. He already had the building purchased and was splitting his time between managing the current location and checking on the progress at the new site.

“You know, I wouldn't even have this store if it wasn't for you,” he said sweetly.

Ginny blushed.

“All I did was name the place. I didn't do anything special.”

“Yes, but as you said back then if I had a place with a name that people would remember I would have no worries.” He smiled. “You were right.”

“Yes, well...”

“And you were one of the few people who encouraged me to open this place. If not for you I would probably be stuck at Hogwarts waiting patiently for Professor Sprout to retire.”

Ginny's cheeks were aflame.

“Yes, well...”

“So how goes wedding preparations?” Neville asked, changing the topic that was so obviously making Ginny uncomfortable.

“Lavender is driving everyone up the wall. She's so set on this wedding being perfect.”

“That's normal for a bride-to-be. I remember back when you were getting married you were very quick to temper with everybody. Why poor Hermione–”

“I was not like that at all, Nev! And if poor,” she emphasized the word nastily, “Hermione would have done things like I asked, I wouldn't have had to get on her case so often.”

Neville looked at her evenly.

“Well Hermione did do the best that she could,” he said simply.

“Of course darling Hermione did.” Ginny snorted. “Then again Nev, you always thought that little Hermione was perfect, didn't you?”

“Not perfect, just my friend. Yours too in case you've forgotten.”

There was an edge in his tone.

“You always did take her side,” she muttered archly.

“Quite honestly Gin, I never knew there was a side to take.”

Neville always thought it was interesting how people naturally assumed that he had fancied Hermione all these years. Some probably even thought that he was in love with her. The only evidence they had to support this harebrained theory was that he had once asked her to the Yule Ball back in their Fourth Year. Funny enough, the only reason he did so was because she was nice and Neville thought she would say yes. Of course she didn't, she already was being escorted by Viktor Krum, the Durmstrang champion. However Neville had no doubt that had he been quicker about it she would have said yes to him. That was the kind of person Hermione was. She didn't look down on bumbling oafs, the Neville Longbottoms of the world, even though she was brilliant and talented and amazing. She was also endearingly kind. She seemed to truly judge people by the person they were in their hearts.

It had actually been Hermione's idea for him to go to Aberdeen. After the War Neville had a difficult time of it deciding what to do with his life. His Uncle Jasper tried to convince him to go work at Gringotts, but Neville turned his nose up at that idea. He didn't see his life behind a desk, pushing papers for a bunch of goblins. Besides, the goblins scared the dickens out of him!

Instead, he decided to do something in Herbology. It was always his best subject at Hogwarts and he had even received an Outstanding in it for his OWLs. He had been contemplating taking an apprenticeship under Professor Sprout so that he could learn more from her and become her Greenhouse assistant, when Hermione offered him a different option.

She and Mr. Weasley had been brainstorming on ways to strengthen wizard and Muggle relations. One idea she came up with was sending of age wizards and witches to universities and colleges throughout the UK and even abroad. Her conjecture was that if magical people inter-mingled with Mugglekind more, there would be a decrease in non-magical intolerance and blood bigotry. Wizarding folks would come to see that there was really no great difference between them and their Muggle neighbors except a propensity to carry around a wooden stick.

Since the older generation was more apt to hold steadfast to their old beliefs and prejudices, Hermione believed that bridging the gap between the two societies would be up to the youth. She began recruiting several of her old school mates to go to schools all across Great Britain. Neville was one of them. She got him the proper paperwork to attend King's College in Scotland and study botany. During his vacations he would go to Hogwarts to assist Professor Sprout and further his studies. In this way he became knowledgeable in Muggle and magical flora and learned the best ways to care for both.

Going to uni was the best decision Neville ever made. Not only because of the expertise with plants that he gained, but also because he blossomed in the sea coast city of Aberdeen. The little boy who seemed to have difficulty walking down a hall without tripping over his own feet grew into a confident young man who strode through life with his head held firmly high. Neville always believed that he had Hermione to thank for this.

But he wasn't in love with her. Not in the least. She was a good friend whom he missed dearly, but he never held any romantic inclinations towards her. Besides from early on Neville had believed that she was mad about Ginny's older brother Ron and visa versa. He figured this out back in his Third Year when his two fellow house mates were continuously at each other's throats over their respective pets. Ron and Hermione reminded him of his Great uncle Algie and his wife Enid, constantly bickering yet comfortably married for years. After the big blow out argument after the Yule Ball that next year Neville figured it was a far gone conclusion that the two teens would eventually get together.

Then in Fifth Year all of Neville's carefully made observations were thrown out the window. He noticed a sort of closeness begin to develop between Hermione and Harry, her and Ron's other best friend. It was in the way that they would be constantly touching each other or seem to read the other's thoughts. Sure Harry fancied Cho Chang, the pretty Ravenclaw Seeker a year above them, and Hermione was still possessively jealous of Ron.

Neville, however, just couldn't shake the idea that there was something else...there, something more palpable than simple friendship bubbling just beneath the surface between the two. When Hermione got struck down by that curse in the Department of Mysteries later that year Neville was almost certain of it. The way that Harry nearly broke down when he thought she was dead...Neville never truly forgot how anguished Harry's voice sounded as he tried to wake her up, and the sheer elation in it when Neville told him that Hermione wasn't dead.

However the next school year, which would end up being their last, did confuse Neville. Hermione and Harry barely talked or hung out much with one another. He was too busy falling under Ginny's spell, and she was wrapped up in waiting for Ron and Lavender's relationship to self-destruct. It was enough to give Neville pause. Maybe he was wrong about what he thought he saw. Maybe Hermione and Harry were simply the best of friends and it was Ron she wanted to be with. Ron definitely wanted to be with her and eventually the two of them started dating.

But through the years Neville couldn't help but observe the way that Harry's face would light up when the girl who was only his best friend walked through a door, or the habit he had of fiddling with her curls if she was sitting next to him. Neville started noticing all of this shortly after the end of the War. Neither did Neville miss the piteously longing look on Hermione's face as she watched Harry walk out of a room, especially in those last few weeks right before she took off for parts unknown. Neville believed he recognized the look. It was nearly the same one that greeted him most mornings as he looked into the mirror.

No, he did not love her. Loving Hermione Granger was akin to purposely flying one's self into a five broom pile-up. Neville had too many of his own issues back then to involve himself in that kind of drama. The fact that Ginny would even intimate such a thing was laughable, though. Of all people, she knew better.

Neville fixed Ginny with a thoughtful look.

“All I was saying was that a woman getting married tends to be an excitable creature. Great Aunt Enid got so barmy right before she got married that she hexed all of her attendants' hair off.”

“You're joking!”

Neville shook his head.

“You mean just the hair on their heads, right?”

“Nope. All of it.”

“Why would she do a thing like that?” Ginny asked, horrified at the very idea.

“Well it would seem that the ladies didn't care for the sulfur colored robes Aunt Enid had picked out for them.”

“Damn!”

“You should see the pictures from the ceremony! They're always good for a laugh. Poor mum,” Neville tittered fondly.

Along with several crumpled gum wrappers, a picture of a smiling, yet disturbingly hairless Alice Longbottom was one of Neville's most precious kept keepsakes of a mother he barely got the chance to know.

“Never put it past a bride to ensure that she looks better than her bridesmaids,” he joked.

“I wouldn't put something like that pass Lavender at all,” Ginny glumly said.

“Has she chosen her attendants then?”

“No, she's waiting for the Tea. But she's hinted around that I'm to be the Matron of Honour. I am married to the Best Man after all, aren't I?” she said with an air of pride.

“Of course.”

“Then there are her two sisters, Maeve and Kelly.”

“I assume that Bill and Fred's wives are in the party.”

Ginny nodded her head.

“And Penelope as well,” she confirmed.

“Ron is putting Percy in the wedding?” Neville asked, barely hiding his shock.

“Mum made him,” Ginny said snickering. Neville laughed along with her. He couldn't help it; the sound of her mirth was infectious.

“By the way, I'm sorry that Lavender didn't use you for the flowers.”

“That's quite alright.”

“No it isn't, Nev! I mean, you're her old house mate for Merlin's sake! You would think she would show some solidarity. But this woman she has planning the wedding for her is a real doozy. She's this Italian witch who says that everything must be chic. That's exactly how she says it too. Chic. Ridiculous!”

“Gin, seriously, I don't mind. I specialize in foreign magical plants. I know that witches prefer daisies that won't honk at them,” he said with a grin.

Ginny let out a frustrated sigh.

“I tried to get her to change her mind but–”

“I DON'T NEED YOUR PITY!” he finally snapped, cutting her off. His eyes burned so intensely for a second that Ginny almost forgot that it was Neville sitting in front of her and not some stranger. Neville never took that tone with her.

“I don't pity you,” she told him. “This isn't pity. I've never felt pity for you.”

At the sight of her teary eyes, Neville felt his fleeting sense of indignation deflate. He knew she didn't pity him, but every now and then Neville still felt the old insecurities of his childhood strongly.

“I'm sorry, Gin,” Neville apologized. “All I can say is that this move has been stressing me lately. I should have never taken it out on you, though.”

Ginny looked at him warily. Her feelings had been hurt, but she knew that Neville would never do anything to intentionally upset her.

“I hope I haven't made you so mad that I'm uninvited from the Burrow tomorrow.”

“Neville Longbottom, you know that you are one of my family's oldest and dearest friends! The twins would probably storm your door, truss you up on a stick, and carry you out to the house in-between them if you don't show. Besides mum still says that you are far too skinny and wants to fatten you up a bit. She even said that she would be baking your favorite.”

The idea of the Weasley twins tying him up while their mother force fed him cake was unbelievably funny to him. Neville had actually lost a few pounds in the last few months running around trying to get things with his new location sorted out, but he was still rather stocky. Sturdy is what they used to call it way back when. He looked like he missed very few meals, but the chunky kid from a few years ago was gone. Thankfully puberty and a growth spurt took care of that a long time ago.

“Well I certainly look forward to Molly's cooking,” he said cheerfully. “In fact I think my guest will enjoy herself too, though Molly will probably think her far too skinny as well. However it's an occupational hazard for her.”

The smile that had been on Ginny's face faltered for only a moment before returning.

“Guest?”

“Is there a problem if I bring a date?”

“No, no of course not. The more the merrier! Besides Lavender wants as many bodies there as will fit,” Ginny answered while tossing her red hair flamboyantly. “So you and Sally-Anne giving it a go again then?” Ginny asked airily.

“Merlin no! I would say that Sally-Anne belongs on the fourth floor of Mungo's except that she can't blame spell damage for making her so nutty. Do you know she actually tried to cook Trevor? Trevor! Almost boiled him up in a stew pot.”

Ginny covered the giggle, which was just itching to burst forth, with her hand. It was well known around town that Sally Perks was a bit...obsessive when it came to the men in her life. She had actually tied Allen Parker to her wrists with magical rope when he broke up with her a few years ago. Ginny tried to warn Neville when he first started dating her, but Neville paid her no heed. He tended to ignore any of the advice that she gave him about the women he dated.

“No more Sally-Anne for me, thanks. Besides my date is worth ten of Sally-Anne,” Neville said dreamily.

The foolish little grin that formed on his face irked Ginny.

“Well, aren't we just chuffed to bits,” she said irritably. “Are you even going to tell me who the witch is? Do I know her?”

“Nope, because she isn't a witch.”

Neville had met Candide only a few months ago when he went into London to meet with the Realtor who was helping him look for his new store location. He was using a Muggle realty agency because he intended to buy a place in a Muggle section of town. He had gotten on the DLR after mistakenly riding the Underground for a bit. He was going to inspect a lot in the East End that the agent had found for him. Neville actually liked Muggle transportation, it was easier on his stomach than Apparating, but he still was a novice at it.

He had been sitting down, a Muggle book on fertilizer covering his face, when he heard a lovely cultured voice addressing him.

“Sir, I don't mean to be a bother, but I think your briefcase is croaking.”

Neville lowered the book and was incapable of stopping his mouth from sagging open. In front of him was a beauty queen of a girl. Her long black hair snaked down her back in a thick French braid. Her almond shaped eyes were so dark that one would almost think they were jet black. They made one forget all else while looking into them. Her facial features were so fine and exquisite that she looked like a well sculpted porcelain doll. Instead of milky white though, her flawless complexion was a lovely shade of alabaster. The body the face was connected to was nothing to sneeze at either. She was all long limbs and lithe form dressed in a pair of black sweats. Somehow she made those work out clothes look like haute couture. She was a knock out. She was stunning. She was still talking to him.

“Did you hear what I said?” she asked. “You briefcase is croaking,” she tried again.

Neville didn't know how his mouth rediscovered the ability to speak, but he heard himself say, “Then I better take it out back and put it out of its misery.”

Neville could have slapped himself. He was never smooth with the ladies, but he had certainly never said any thing that stupid and cheesy before either. Usually he preferred to play the strong silent type with the witches. Of course that led to him spending a lot of lonely nights.

The young woman stared at him in stunned silence for a moment before dissolving into giggles.

“Well as long as you're very humane about it,” she joked.

She then held out her hand.

“I'm Candide by the way.”

Neville took her offered hand in his and shook it.

“Neville,” he responded.

He still held her hand for a millisecond longer than was necessary, before he realized he was being rude. He moved his briefcase from the seat beside him and placed it on his lap.

“Would you like to sit?” he asked, gesturing to the seat. Candide gracefully eased herself down into it.

“So am I ever going to hear the tale of the amazing croaking briefcase?” she asked playfully as she set the gym bag that had been on her shoulder on the floor by her feet. “I'm afraid you have awoken my curiosity. Your shy little school boy smile tells me that there is more to you than I'm seeing, Neville.”

Neville felt his face go hot. Was this woman flirting? Was this woman flirting with him?

“Just my pet toad,” he said nervously. “Trevor.”

Candide's eyebrow raised in interest.

“I don't know which to be more disturbed by,” she mirthfully teased. “That you have a frog in there, or that his name is Trevor.”

“Well Sir Hops-a-Lot was already taken, you see. And by the way Trevor is a toad,” he scolded, laughter in his eyes.

“I'll try and remember that. So you carry your Trevor around with you in your briefcase? Doesn't he ever get a bit cramped?”

“It's better than in my pants,” he let slip before he realized how terrible it sounded. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Neville wanted to just melt through the seat and disappear. But judging by the fit of giggles that remark sent Candide into, he figured that maybe he wasn't doing such a bad job really.

“I guess that would save someone the trouble of asking if that was a toad in your pocket or if you were just happy to see them,” she snickered.

“I guess,” he said innocently. In truth he really didn't get the joke, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

“So where are you off to?” she asked.

“Beckton,” he answered. “I'm supposed to meet Rebecca there to look at a place.”

“Oh,” she said casually, “Rebecca's your girlfriend then?”

Neville was so stumped by the question that he went speechless for a moment. Once he realized what she was asking he blurted out, “No, no! She's my Realtor.”

Candide smiled at this revelation.

“Oh.”

Neville returned the smile.

“Yeah.”

The two young people then sat in silence for a few seconds, big smiles plastered over both of their faces. Though he seemed calm on the outside, the inner workings of Neville's head were in a tumult. Was she interested in him? Would she say yes if he asked her out? Neville didn't even have a phone so he couldn't give her a number to reach him at. Neville had gone out with a few Muggle girls in school, but living in the dorms made socializing much easier back then. And if you wanted to ask a witch out, you simply floo'ed her. Neville had no idea what to do in this situation, though.

“Oh shite!” Candide was looking out the window. “My stop is next.”

Neville felt his heart sink. Well Longbottom, you had a gorgeous girl chatting you up and you let the opportunity slip right through your stubby fingers, he thought gloomily. He resignedly sighed. Maybe it was all for the best. At least this way he wouldn't embarrass himself. Where did he get off thinking this beautiful girl would be interested in him?

“Neville,” Candide said, catching his attention. She reached into her bag, pulled a peach colored card out, and handed it to him. “Mademoiselle Candide's”, the card read. It also gave an address in Gallions Reach.

The train came to a stop.

“Look, I hope you don't think I'm a slag or anything. Generally I'm not this forward, but...my number is on there,” she shyly pointed to the card. “I live over the studio. Give me a call sometime.”

She jumped up and ran for the exit of the car, but winked at him before she squeezed through the sliding door.

Neville had a phone installed in his Gran's old house and at his store in Hogsmeade the very next day.

“You're bringing a Muggle to the Burrow?”

Although Ginny probably didn't mean to sound so shocked and horrified, that was still the way it came off to Neville.

“Do you have a problem with Muggles now, Gin?” he calmly asked.

Ginny looked abashed by his question.

“You know I don't!” she exclaimed. “You know who my father is. Why would you even ask something like that? But a Muggle girl, Neville...” she said as though scandalized by the very idea. “Are you sure about this?”

“Very.”

“But you know that the Rites will be performed. Binding magic, Neville! Blood magic! She's going to witness the whole thing.”

“It's ok; she knows that I'm a wizard.”

Ginny was totally thrown by this admission. It wasn't uncommon for a witch or wizard to date a Muggle, her own brother had married one, but it was impressed upon them to always protect the secret of the magical world. Most times a Muggle partner wasn't told of their boyfriend or girlfriend's true nature until well after they were married. Sometimes not even then; who would want to share such a huge secret with someone you might have to have Obliviated eventually. Now here was Neville telling her that he had a Muggle girlfriend who knew exactly what he was. Was he actually serious about this girl?

“W-when...where did you meet this girl?”

“Four months and on the train,” he answered easily. “Candy–”

“Candy?!” she asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, Candy Lee–”

“Candy Lee?!”

This sent Ginny into hysterics.

“Candy Lee? Oh Nev, you must be joking! Why that's...that's...a stripper's name. Or...or the name of one of those tarted up whores who pose for Ron's girlie maga–”

*whack*

Ginny froze. Neville had very swiftly and very forcefully slammed his hand onto the desk. His usually gentle hazel eyes gleamed furiously at her.

“I'll have you know that Candide Lee is a brilliant dancer! She would be well on her way to becoming a prima ballerina with the Royal Ballet right now if not for a busted knee,” he said tersely. “DON'T YOU EVER REFER TO HER DISRESPECTFULLY IN MY PRESENCE! If you can't greet her like a human being tomorrow, don't speak to her at all. And while you are at it, NEVER SPEAK TO ME AGAIN!”

Neville had never been so angry in his life! Even counting the time he tried to remove Draco Malfoy's head from the rest of him outside the Potions dungeon classroom so many years ago. It wasn't as though he weren't used to Ginny criticizing the women he was interested in. Ginny made it a sort of sport. Susan was too stuffy, Annie was too stupid, Henrietta was too controlling, and Sally-Anne was too insane to hear Ginny tell it. Well Sally-Ann was crazy, but that was beside the point!

This time she had gone too far. He knew that Ginny's smart mouth was known to say hurtful things from time to time. Usually these moments were humorous and everyone laughed and remarked on how clever and wonderful Ginny was. But a lot of times she could be downright mean and hot headed and say something harsh and unfeeling, like now. Neville pushed off the floor with his feet so he could turn his chair to the side. He didn't feel much like looking at Ginny at the moment.

“Gin, it's late,” he said in a drained and tired voice. “Are you ever going to tell me why you came all the way out here? Shouldn't you be home with your husband?”

Because of the way Neville was positioned, he didn't see the slick paths of tears that were trailing down each of Ginny’s pale cheeks. He was still so worked up that he hadn’t heard the choked, sniveling sounds she had been making. He didn't notice her distress until a sob broke free from her.

“Gin,” he said softly, turning his head to look at her.

Ginny folded her arms on the desk, placed her face on them, and began to wail loudly.

“Gin?” he tried again, gently. His kindly tone seemed to make her cry harder.

Neville let out a sigh of resignation. Ginny could be mean spirited and at times callous, but that did not negate the fact that she was his friend; his very best friend in fact. No matter how angry he got at her he couldn't bear to see her in tears.

He left his chair and walked to Ginny's side. He got down on his knees and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. Ginny raised her head from the desk and gazed into Neville's concerned face before throwing herself into his arms.

“There, there,” he soothingly whispered, “tell Neville all about it.”

Ginny choked on her sobs for a moment before she was able to speak.

“He doesn't love me anymore, Neville! He doesn't; I just know it!”

Of course Neville knew who “he” was.

“I'm starting to think he never did.”

“Don't be silly,” he said smoothly as he rubbed comforting circles into her back. “You are Ginevra. How can anyone not love you?”

She sniffed.

“You don't understand. He's...I think he's still having those dreams.”

Neville continued trying to assuage Ginny's fears.

“Gin, Harry's a man. Men tend to have...” he paused uncomfortably, “...those dreams. It's natural.”

Ginny pulled away from him abruptly.

“It's natural not to want to shag your own wife?!” she asked hotly.

Neville was mortified into silence.

“‘Cause he doesn't, you know. He'd rather bang what ever harlots he runs into in lala land while I'm right down the hall.” She swallowed painfully. “Why doesn't he want me?!” cried Ginny miserably.

Neville didn't know what to say. Ginny had come to him a few months prior with this dream nonsense, but back then he didn't think it was that serious. What man hadn't had a wet dream a time or two? He had no idea that things were this dire, though. Obviously Ginny had left a few things out the last time they had chatted.

“I d-don't know Ginny,” Neville said as gently as he could.

Ginny leaned into his chest and began to quietly cry again.

Neville felt like he was being put into a precarious position, smack-dab in the middle of the Potter marriage. It was a dream marriage, or so the papers said. But he knew from little things that Ginny had mentioned to him over the years that her and Harry's union was far from perfect. Sometimes he thought he knew the reason for the problems, but those kinds of thoughts just seemed disloyal somehow. Harry had been his mate since they were kids. Neville had even stood up for him at his wedding along with Ron, Dean, Seamus, and the twins. And Ginny? Ginny was his dearest friend in the world. Ginny was the one person he trusted above all others. Ginny was his heart. He would do anything to help her.

Even if it meant making her very, very angry.

“Gin,” he tentatively started, “did you ever think about asking Harry this question?”

Ginny pushed Neville away from her.

“Merlin and Morrígan, Neville! I can't do that!”

The way she reacted to the suggestion one would have thought he asked her to walk naked through the Ministry.

“Why not, Gin?”

“Because...” she started uneasily. “Because...dammit Nev, I just can't!”

Ginny jumped up from her seat and began to franticly pace the confines of the office. Neville watched her progress for a moment before he tried to get her attention.

“Gin–”

“I'm just being stupid,” Ginny said with a nervous giggle, cutting him off. “Harry's just been under so much stress with the job. His Head of Department relies on him, you know. His right hand, Harry is. And I in turn have just been blowing every little thing out of proportion.”

Her words oozed false bravado and of course Neville saw straight through her pretenses.

“No you haven't, you're voicing a genuine concern.”

“No I'm not!” she countered sorely.

“You're unhappy.”

“NO I'M BLOODY WELL NOT!” Now she was practically seething.

“Gin, let's not make a mockery of our friendship by force feeding me some lies that you have almost made yourself believe.”

“Nev, what do you want me to do?!” she implored. She had stopped pacing and was standing before him.

He eased off his knees and stood up.

“Tell your husband how you feel.”

“I can't!” she yelped while stomping her foot in protest.

“Why?”

“Because if Harry hasn't noticed yet that there's a bleeding problem, I'm sure as hell not going to go rub his nose into it.”

“Maybe you need to. Maybe that will help solve the problem.”

“There is no problem.”

“Oh really? Do you even hear yourself? If everything is just hunky and dory, why are you traipsing around Hogsmeade near dusk, crying into my work robes like a child, instead of being in that mausoleum of yours you call a house?”

Ginny's fists clenched and her face became mutinous. He thought he heard the faint rattle of their cups on the desk.

“If you're trying to be a bastard about this–”

“No, just your friend.”

“THEN BE MY FRIEND!” she bellowed. He would be surprised if they didn't hear her all the way at the Broomsticks. “Be my friend, Nev! Tell me what I'm doing wrong! Help me try to save my marriage!”

“Gin...I...I can't.”

“Can't or won't?!” she demanded, glaring down her nose at him.

Neville didn't know what to make of the question.

“Neville, do you know how long I waited to be Mrs. Harry Potter? Do you know how many nights I sat up in bed and begged whatever deities that were available to make that happen? I can't lose it. I just can't! It's too important to me.”

“Why?”

Ginny frowned as though she didn't understand the question. Neville decided to change tactics. He strolled over to the wall by the door and leaned against it casually. He figured he might need an escape route shortly.

“You know, you remind me of my cousin Pim.”

Ginny did a double take at the non-sequitur.

“Pimenta?” she queried. “Pimenta Longbottom? The one that's a tart?”

“Well the family prefers morally ambiguous, but yeah, that's the one,” Neville said amusedly.

“Isn't she like some groupie slag for the Weird Sisters?”

“Actually she's the drummer's girlfriend,” he replied. “But Thruston treats her a bit like a groupie slag, so you're not that far off. In fact I think he treats the groupie slags better than Pim.”

“Are you insinuating that Harry is cheating on me?”

Ginny was beyond livid.

“Because that is complete and utter rot! You forget Neville that I would know if Harry had broken his vows!”

“I didn't forget. That's not what I was trying to say. Besides, I don't think Harry would ever purposely set out to hurt you,” he said gently.

Neville cleared his throat as he shifted back to his topic.

“But you see...Cousin Pim is this great, cute, charming girl, yet she feels the need to let that lout Thruston put her down. Whenever you ask her about it she acts as though being Orsino Thruston's girlfriend is worth the abuse that she takes. You remind me of Pim in that way,” he said staring fixedly on her.

“Not that Harry is treating you badly,” he quickly asserted. “It's just...well...sometimes, Gin, it’s almost like you feel that any unhappiness that you have comes only a distant second to being Mrs. Harry James Potter. That the title is all that matters to you. That the title comes first; even before your very husband. Tell me I'm wrong?!”

It was almost a demand the way he framed the last bit. For what could have been mere seconds, but what felt like days, the two friends regarded each other in thick silence. Then, as though smashed to bits by the very quiet, Neville's mug exploded.

“I want to leave.”

Ginny gathered her robes about her as though she were some highborn duchess and headed to the door, head held regally high. She stopped in front of it as though awaiting a herald to open it for her. Neville leaned over and perfunctorily turned the knob to let her out.

“I'm telling you these things because you are my friend, Gin. I only want to see you happy,” he said.

Ginny had almost cleared the door. His words made her come to a halt. She turned her head slowly to the side, and as her pretty blue eyes flared at him malevolently, Neville knew in his heart that their friendship would never be quite the same.

“We both know that you wouldn't cry over me and Harry breaking up,” Ginny insolently retorted. “As you've said so yourself; let's not make a mockery of this friendship.”

And with that she flounced out of the storeroom office.

Neville knew that with his wards Ginny wouldn't be able to Apparate out of his shop. She would have to walk all the way outside so that still left time for him to catch up to her, haul her back in, and try to talk some sense into her. But all these years of knowing Ginny Weasley, now Potter, had taught him that when she had a cob-on it was best to leave her to her own devices and wait for her to cool down. She might have grown up from the little girl who would throw a Bat Bogey Hex at you at the slightest provocation (and really those things were quite icky, though Neville would have never told her so himself), but she would still freeze you out or mock you. Or worse, make all the hairs on your man bits disappear for a few hours, to hear Dean tell it.

But truth be told, Neville was a bit peeved at her himself. How dare she insinuate what she alluded to! As if he would purposely try to throw a wrench into Ginny and Harry's domestic bliss. No one was a bigger champion for their union. Neville nearly idol worshiped Harry back in his youth. Such was the case since the incident with his Remembrall back when they first started Hogwarts together. From that very moment Neville always felt a bond, a sort of kinship to Harry that he could never explain.

This connection was further strengthened that Christmas they ran into each other on the Janus Thickey ward at St. Mungo's. Neville and his Gran had been visiting his parents there when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny happened on them. Neville never forgot the way that his house mate looked at him that day. Not with pity, but instead heartbreaking empathy. Alice and Frank Longbottom may not have met the same fate as James and Lily Potter, but Neville mourned their absence from his life just the same. When he, for all intensive purposes, stumbled his way into the plot to rescue Harry's godfather, Neville never hesitated to go. That was what he joined the DA for after all, wasn't it? He had always hoped to be worthy of fighting at Harry's side one day. So what if he could have gotten killed!

If given the chance Neville would have fought his way right up to Voldemort's door alongside the Chosen One. But after Harry, Hermione, and Ron dropped out of sight shortly after Bill's wedding, it didn't take a genius to figure out that the fate of their world was about to be decided. Neville only wished that he could somehow do his part. That was what led him to move to Ottery St. Catchpole. If Harry was going to save the world, Neville was going to protect The Chosen One's girl.

He knew at the time that the two were broken up. Hermione had filled him in on everything as they chatted after the wedding. Harry broke up with Ginny so she would be out of harms way. In Neville's opinion it was a very brave and noble decision he had made. But the way Neville figured, when Harry came home (it was a never a question of if in his mind), he would want to be with the girl he loved. Neville was determined to make sure that happened. If anyone was going to come after Ginny Weasley they would have to come through him first.

He moved in with his Uncle Jasper who lived not too far from Stoatshead Hill. Uncle Jasp lived on a farm with his two adult children; Pim and Wright. Neville came to live there under the pretense that he was helping his Uncle and cousins with the jarvey mill that they ran. Neville's Gran at first protested the idea, but after Neville begged and pleaded she gave in. There was no telling when or even if Hogwarts would open again and the boy needed to do something useful with his time, she reasoned. Plus it would do Neville good to be out in the fresh air instead of stuck inside the Longbottom family home in Lancashire with only an old woman, an even older house-elf, and his aunt and uncle to keep him company.

Problem was Neville barely stayed at the farm. He spent most of his free time over at the Burrow. He would do little odd jobs around the place for Mrs. Weasley like de-gnoming the garden or cleaning out the stone outhouse in the back. He would listen to Mr. Weasley gab on about microwave diners and why wizards needed to look into getting on “the net”. Whenever they stopped by he would allow the twins to use him as a guinea pig to try out whatever their latest invention was. Most importantly he would follow Ginny around like a sentinel, helping her with her chores or simply keeping her company.

At first Ginny seemed extremely annoyed by Neville's constant presence. During those first few visits she would always ask him belligerently why he was stalking her. She even sent a stinging hex at him once. Sure it was because he had followed her out to the pond one hot afternoon while she was taking a dip, but it wasn't as if Neville had purposely set out to see her starkers.

He supposed that her attitude towards him had something to do with the fact that they were not that close at school. The most time they had ever spent with one another was during the Yule Ball. All Neville recalled of the Ball was that he drank a lot of punch and that she glared at Parvati Patil for most of the night. The greater portion of the evening consisted of him nearly murdering her toes. She only really went with him because, as a lowly Third Year, he was her golden ticket in. In later years, despite the fact that they were both in Gryffindor house, they were barely acquaintances. Ginny was pretty and popular and funny. Neville was...well...Neville. They just didn't exist in the same spheres.

Ginny and Neville eventually developed a friendship as time progressed. She begrudgingly began to look forward to his calls. They would sometimes collect Luna and go fishing in the River Otter. Ginny even taught Neville how to ride a broom and not look so gormless doing so. Although he knew that somewhere out in the world the future was at stake, he couldn't help the happiness he felt just being around her. After a while Neville came to think that looking out for Ginny was the best decision he had ever made.

Then at the end of March his Gran died. Neville had been at the Burrow, as was usual, picking flowers with Ginny and Luna. His cousin Wry had come to tell him the news and fetch him. Neville had nearly gone white when his Uncle Algie told him how the old woman died asking to see him. The touchstone of Neville's life was gone and he had never gotten a chance to say goodbye.

In her will Augusta left Neville a sizable amount of galleons to be held in trust until his 21st birthday. She left the house to Algie and Enid, but stipulated that Neville was always to have a home there. She also left her portrait to her beloved Frank's only child. Neville hung it up in the library over the fireplace. He would sit before it daily and not move from that spot for hours. Although he couldn't bear to bring his eye up to meet those of his Gran's in the picture, he just knew what the expression on her face would be, disappointment. Ginny found him much this way one morning.

“Go-hic-away.”

Neville was seated as usual on the ox-blood leather couch in the library, face in his hands. A half-empty bottle of Killerman's Hiccoughing Cognac was on the floor by his feet. Even though Neville didn't have a great liking for the brandy, it did help him feel numb. He preferred that feeling to the aching guilt and loneliness he was trying to fight off. He was nearly bombed out and the brandy was making him a wee snappish, unfortunately.

“I SAID, GO-hic-AWAY!”

The moment Ginny walked into the room he knew it was her. He knew her scent; cinnamon and mint. As she settled down on the sofa with him, it was almost strong enough to overpower the stench of alcohol in the study.

“Nope. Sorry. Can't do that,” she said smartly.

He turned his head to look at her. She was just as beautiful as she was the last time he had seen her, at his Gran's funeral. Even with her long flaming hair trussed up in two ridiculous looking pony tails on either side of her head, she was a vision. She was dressed casually in a jumper and a pair of jeans. He noticed how pink her cheeks were and how her navy eyes sparkled. He almost forgot to feel sorry for himself while looking at her. Almost.

“What are you-hic-doing here?” he asked gravely.

As though ignoring his tone, she breezily answered, “Mum made a Simnel cake. I brought you a big slice; nearly lost a few fingers to Fred trying to save it for you.”

Neville's stomach growled at the sound of that. He loved Molly Weasley's Simnel cake. She would lather and stuff the sweet liberally with enough marzipan to make one weep. But he didn't give any sign of this.

“Whimsy let you in?” Neville asked morosely.

Ginny nodded her head.

“And she's very worried about you, Nev. She told me that you haven't been eating well these past few days.”

“I ought to give her shoes!” he grumped, then hiccupped.

“Member of spew, are we?” she joked.

“That's S-P-E-W. And I'll have you know that I'm a long time, due paying member.”

He lifted the bottle of Killerman's to his lips and was about to tip it back. Ginny snatched it from his hands swiftly and put it on the end table next to her.

“No more of that for you, unless you want to be hiccupping for hours afterwards. The twins once went at it for three days after a bender on this swill. I never understood why one would drink to excess something that will just send you into a fit.”

“Because Killerman never found a cure for that particular side effect,” he answered, trying to reach across her to get at the bottle. “Besides who cares if you hock up a-hic-lung, just as long as you get good-hic-and-hic-pissed. HIC!”

The last one came out as more of a watery belch, but she didn't seem to mind. Instead Ginny gazed at Neville compassionately.

“Why would you want to do that?”

Neville felt his eyes burn with the tears he hadn't shed since his grandmother passed away. He was horrified that he was about to start blubbering in front of Ginny, of all people! He swallowed back the tears and tried to make his voice calm. It ended up sounding dead.

“I've got no mum. I've got no dad. And now I don't have-hic-her,” he said sadly. His eyes fleetingly went up towards the portrait, but quickly dropped away again in shame. “I have no one.”

“Now Neville Longbottom, that just isn't true!” Ginny exclaimed in astonishment. “You have friends; friends that have been worried about you, friends that have missed you. I've missed you! You must know that.”

Neville turned away from her.

“I should have been here,” he said softly.

Ginny sighed. She gently placed her hand on his chin and turned him back to look at her.

“Is that what it is then? Guilt?” When Neville didn't answer her she continued. “Do you really think this is what your grandmother would want, Nev? For you to waste away in this drafty house? She loved you, Neville. She would want you to move on and be happy.”

“The Weasley girl is quite right!”

Both teens turned to the portrait of the venerable Longbottom matriarch in shock. Neville had honestly forgotten that she was in the same room with them. Ginny could have sworn that the frightening woman had been asleep, rocking back and forth in her painted rocking chair, when she first came into the room. As always Neville's grandmother wore her signature vulture stuffed hat, but her bottle green robes and her fox fur scarf looked brand new, as if she bought them solely for the purpose of sitting for the painting. Her hair was steel gray, but still retained streaks of the light brown color it had once been; the same color as Neville's hair.

“Always remember Neville, we Longbottoms endure. Through all trails and tribulations, we endure,” she said with a proud and majestic air.

Ginny took this as her cue to stand up.

“C'mon Nev, you're coming with me.”

She was pulling him up along with her.

Neville looked fretfully between Ginny and his grandmother who was still staring down from her portrait frame at them.

“W-what? W-where?”

She was guiding him to the door.

“First we’re off to the kitchen to have a piece of that cake, then to the Burrow for dinner. Mum cooks enough to feed a set of elephants. And even then the twins leave plenty enough food for more.”

He tried to protest, to stop in his tracks.

“G-Gin...please-hic-wait!”

“Aren't you supposed to be looking after me?”

Neville's eyes became saucers. He began to unconsciously stutter like a mad fool. How did she know? Who told her that, he wondered.

“Who t-told you th-that?” he asked hurriedly, his words tripping on the hiccups colliding in his chest.

“Luna,” Ginny answered.

“I n-never-hic-told Luna-hic-that!”

She shrugged her shoulders.

“Guess she just figured it out on her own then.”

Before Neville could digest this information further, Ginny said something that further shocked him.

“If you're supposed to be my grand protector you're doing a piss poor job of it. Your cousin Wry has been to the house three times this week. Three times! I think someone needs to give him a firm talking to.”

Neville expected Ginny to be angry if she ever found out why he had been hanging around the Burrow so much. But she gave no sign that she was. In fact she seemed to think the whole thing was corking. Neville couldn't help the smile that formed on his face that matched the one on hers.

“I had hoped-hic-to protect you from a cadre of blood thirsty Death Eaters.”

Ginny smirked impishly at him.

“Have you ever smelled Wry's breath? Ack! I'd rather the Death Eaters.”

In those next few weeks after his grandmother's death Neville and Ginny became nearly inseparable. They hilariously dubbed themselves “The Duo”. It was their private joke. They also shared their fears, their joys, as well as their triumphs. When she would cry on his shoulder that she didn't think Harry would be able to defeat He Who Must Not Be Named, Neville reassured her and told her that everything would work itself out in the end. When Neville joked that he was no better than a Squib, she firmly reprimanded him and told him that that just wasn't true.

Neville stood by Ginny's side right until the day that Harry finally came home from the War. He stood by and watched her run into the battered boy's arms like it was New Years day. It was the perfect tableau; the Conquering Hero Returns. Neville had been happy for them. Neville had even smiled.

Neville was sitting at his desk, brooding over the scene he had just had with Ginny. He hated to be at odds with her. It never sat well with him.

“Whimsy?”

*pop*

Faster than you could say You-Know-Poo the little house-elf that had belonged to his grandmother since she was a girl appeared before him on the desk.

“ARG!” Neville started, falling out of his seat. He hated when she did that.

“You wants old Whimsy, Young Longbottoms?” she asked in her tinkly little voice.

As Neville seated himself in his chair again, he smiled kindly at her.

“I need you to do me a favor, Whimsy.”

“Young Longbottoms,” Whimsy said reproachfully, “Whimsy doesn't have to do no favor. Whimsy just does.”

“Of course, of course,” he shyly said. "Listen, Whimsy, you’ve seen all of that imported coffee I have in the cupboard at home, haven’t you?"

Whimsy frowned scornfully. It would seem that she held the same opinion of Australian Mountain Peaberry as Harry Potter.

“Yes, Young Longbottoms. Would you like Whimsy to be throwing it away?” she asked hopefully.

“No, Whimsy,” Neville said, not bothering to hide his amusement. “I want you to take it, all of it, to Mr. and Mrs. Harry Potter's. Can you manage that?”

“Of course, Young Longbottoms!”

Quick as a flash Whimsy was gone.

Neville sat back in his chair. He was bone tired and he knew he should be making his way back home, but he had promised the blokes from the shop he would play a game of Gobstones with them at the pub. However he knew that he wouldn't be able to concentrate much on the game. All he could think on was whether or not Ginny would accept his peace offering. He didn't want to show up tomorrow at the Burrow and feel any discomfort between them.

He figured that Ginny just needed someone to vent her frustrations at. She was going through a difficult patch in her marriage and she was confused as to what to do. As her friend it was his responsibility to help her through it. She had to know that he would. She had to know that, more than anything, he wanted her relationship with Harry to work out. And if Ginny wanted his assistance, Neville would do his best to give her all the help that he could.

After all, that's the sort of thing you did for the woman you were in love with.

A/N: Next up is Ron’s POV. Things to look forward to: a horcrux gets destroyed, a sacrifice gets made, and a relationship comes to an end. And for an added bonus you get introduced to Violet Elvyrrah Pye.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Orestes, Holden, Emmalith Loudermilk, Whimsy the house-elf, Jasper Longbottom, Wright Longbottom, Pimenta Longbottom, Maeve Brown, Kelly (Brown) Greenberg, Allen Parker, Candide Lee, Rebecca the Realtor, Henrietta, Annie, and Killerman are canon.

2) Integrosectum is some diced up Latin. Integro= heal(Latin) & seco= to cut(Latin)

4) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a jarvey resembles a large ferret and can speak(usually bad language).

5) DeVine&Thorny plant store, Madamoiselle Candide's dance studio, and the brandy Killerman's Hiccoughing Cognac are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

10. Chapter 9

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 16,114

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: This chapter has a major helping of flashback Hr/R that is necessary for the story. If even the thought of that makes you nutty you might want to back away. Also there is a side order of present day R/LB. You have been warned.

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.

Sunday, 05/29/05

He couldn't see her face. The woman standing a good few paces in front of him, that is. He had been riding on this thing for hours, and yet not once had she shown any decency by turning around so he could see her face.

He was in a building made entirely of glass. Encased in it, more like. The ceiling was made of it, and glass surrounded him on both sides. He was riding on a moving crystal staircase. The contraption was heading in a downward direction, yet there seemed to be no end to it. He just kept riding.

Down, down, down.

She kept riding.

Down, down, down.

But she wouldn't show him her face. All he could see was glossy hair, not too short, not too long, and the back of her shimmering white cloak. It seemed to sparkle of its own volition, and for the life of him Ron could not tell what would make it do so. He knew of no fabric, not even in the wizarding world, with that kind of luster, that kind of sheen. Her hair seemed to be made of the same shimmering material. He momentarily rubbed at his own eyes to see if they were playing some sort of trick on him. But no, the woman before him still glittered.

“Hey,” he called out trying to get her attention. “Do you know where we are?”

She paid him no heed, just kept riding the glass stairs.

Down, down, down. Down, down, down.

“Hey! I'm talking to you!”

Down, down, down. Down, down, down.

“HEY!”

He had had about enough of this!

“WHY WON’T YOU SAY SOMETHING?”

Down, down, down. Down, down, down.

“JUST LOOK AT ME!”

Yet still she said nothing.

All of a sudden Ron felt his feet moving. He would make her speak! He would see her face!

He galloped down the endless moving staircase, determined to reach his goal. But the closer he should have gotten to the woman, the further away she would seem to be, although she made no move to get away from him. Surely she could hear his panting breath in back of her?

After what felt like a lifetime, Ron finally came upon her. She was luminous! Her back was still turned to him and he was certain he could count every single shining strand on her head. But that was unimportant now. He just wanted to see her face.

He placed his right hand on her left shoulder. She didn't even stir. As he gently tugged to turn her round to face him, Ron became giddy with anticipation. He was going to see her face! Finally! It was going to happen.

Almost there.

Almost.

And then she was facing him.

And then she was purring.

Purring?

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

Ron opened his eyes to see a squashed ginger face with whiskers pressed against his own.

“BLOODY HELL!”

In his excitement at being startled awake, Ron fell off the side of the bed. This action produced a peal of bubbly giggles from the other side of the mattress.

“Do it again, daddy! Do it again!”

Ron sat up on his knees and looked across the bed. Violet was standing on the other side, still dressed in her white cotton night shift, with her strawberry blonde hair mussed about her head. On top of the bed sat the bottlebrush tailed daemon of his despair.

Two days ago, after Ron, Lavender, and Violet left the Ministry, Ron had decided to get his newly made daughter a gift. They had just come from filing the adoption papers and as of that moment he was legally the child's father. To mark the occasion he had decided to buy his daughter whatever her small heart desired. Lavender thought it was a marvelous idea. Ron asked Violet what she wanted most and the little girl told him that she would like a bunny rabbit.

Lavender had made a hair appointment that she was already running late for, so she left them in Diagon Alley to their pursuit of a fluffy, long eared, lifelong pal. He and his daughter then made their way to the Magical Menagerie to pick out her new pet.

The place was cramped and crowded by dozens of cages. The sounds of hissing, chirping, and scratching rang in the air. The air reeked of a dozen different varieties of animals. Ron could see sleek black ravens and furry puffskeins in cages. In the corner near the door he saw a bat hanging upside down from its perch.

The shop was filled with all manners of creatures, but Ron had yet to see the shop's owner. That is until the witch came running from the back of the store chasing after a furry orange creature that was hunkered low to the ground. The animal bounded right up to him and Vi and leapt into the child's arms. The little girl had to brace herself to accommodate the weight of the fat cat. It was only when Ron really looked at it that he realized that he knew the animal. He knew it very well.

“No way!” he exclaimed, eyes wide.

“I'm so sorry,” the clerk said relieving the cat from Vi's arms, before looking up at him and starting back in shock. “Oh my! You’re Ron Weasley, aren't you?”

Ron, who was still staring at the cat in the woman's arms, was so preoccupied that he barely acknowledged her question.

“Um, yeah, I am,” he merely said.

“Gracious me! I adore the Wasps! My husband, our boys...my whole family are some of your biggest fans!”

“Is that right...” he said absentmindedly.

“We've followed you ever since your first match with the Cannons. In fact we got our tickets for the big game as soon as Wimbourne made it into the finals.”

“Great, great. Say, that cat you're holding, is it by any chance,” Ron paused, half hoping that he was wrong in his guess, “part kneazle?”

She looked at him, shocked for a moment, before answering that it was.

“Half-dementor too, I'm almost inclined to believe. He's always upsetting the other animals,” she said as she placed the cat down on the floor. Instead of prowling away he simply sat on the ground in front of him and Vi and stared at them both appraisingly, tail swishing back and forth.

“You see, I sold him some years ago. This little girl actually thought he was cute. Can you believe that?”

She gave Ron a charming smile, but Ron could only manage a grimace in return.

“She must have cast him off though because about two years ago the brute wandered back in here. But enough of that, what can I do for you Mr. Weasley?”

Ron pulled his eyes away from the beast to stare back at the witch.

“Um...well, my daughter here would like to get a pet. A bunny, if you have one.”

“Oh yes I do! Dozens. I even have one that can turn itself into a top hat,” she replied.

Ron was just about to ask to see it when he felt a small tug at his sleeves. He looked down to see Vi staring beseechingly at him. She motioned for him to stoop down, so he got on his knees beside her so she could whisper in his ears. Upon hearing what she had to say, Ron’s eyes bulged at her request.

“No,” he pleaded with her, jumping up.

Her big cornflower blue eyes watered.

“Didn't you say you wanted a rabbit?”

A single, solitary tear rolled down one plump cheek.

“How ‘bout a bird? They have ravens. Or...or a rat; your dad had a pet rat once.” Ron then thought better of the suggestion. “Better yet, scratch the rat. How's a nice newt sound?” he begged.

Vi’s jaw tightened and she stamped her foot stubbornly. She kind of reminded him of Ginny at that age.

“Are you sure?”

She nodded her head up and down.

“Very well then,” he said turning to the store owner. “We'll take the cat.”

He lamely pointed at the creature. At his words the orange fur ball leapt up into Vi's opened arms again.

“Excellent!” the witch cried. “If you'll just follow me we can start the sale.”

Ron did so reluctantly.

“You won't regret your purchase,” she said as she stepped behind the counter. “He will even keep your family safe from anyone trying to harm them.”

Her tune had certainly changed from a moment before when she was ready to hex the creature. Ron supposed she was just so happy to unload the cat on someone else that she didn't want to take the chance that he might change his mind. As if he could. Violet was currently laughing by the door as the cat nuzzled at her neck affectionately.

After Ron paid the witch he, Vi, and her new friend were almost out the door before the woman called him back.

“By the way, his name is Crookshanks,” she told him.

Ron sighed dismally in defeat.

“Yeah, I know.”

Lavender didn’t seem to recognize Crookshanks when she saw him later that night at the flat. Ron prayed that she'd never figure it out. The squashed face cat acted as though Lavender wasn't even good enough to change his kitty litter. Ron figured he knew why. It would seem that whatever grudge his former mistress had against Lav, Crookshanks still carried.

Thankfully Lavender didn't notice or care. She wasn't fond of the mangy beast, but if her child liked the ugly thing, so be it. She only reminded Ron that her mother was allergic to cats and terrified of kneazles. Where were they going to keep him until the wedding? Ron told her that he would look after the cat at his place until they moved into a home of their own. Violet, however, was not happy with this arrangement. Where her Kwooksie (the four year old had a hard time pronouncing certain names and words) stayed she stayed. So that night, and the one after, Violet Weasley slept contently between her two parents.

“Are you gonna do it again, daddy?”

Ron slowly raised himself from the floor, every muscle of his body silently aching. Talbot had been relentless the day before at practice.

“Sorry Pumpkin, only one floor show per day. But be sure you tell your friends,” he jested.

“Kwooksie, daddy is silly,” the little girl conspiratorially told the cat.

Crookshanks meowed in agreement.

Ron stretched his aching sore body, and for a moment wondered where Lavender had gotten to. Then he remembered that she had left at the crack of dawn to go to the Burrow to see how the party set-up was coming along. More like direct the party set-up, Ron thought. Mum was going to be thrilled!

As if reading his thoughts Violet asked, “Where's mummy?”

“Oh she went over to your Grandma Molly's to see about the decorations for today. You didn't forget what today is, did you?”

Ron moved over to sit on the bed in front of her. Crookshanks jumped off of the spread and into her arms. Violet looked up at Ron with curiosity filled eyes.

“Today is a big day,” he told her. “We're having a party!”

“For me?” she asked excitedly.

Anytime they had a big gathering at the Burrow for one of the kiddies, and that was quite often when considering the Weasleys’ ever expanding clan, Violet always thought that they were all gathered there to celebrate her birthday. Just a few weeks ago she had thrown a huge tantrum when Lish Weasley blew out the candles of what Violet assumed was her cake. Violet had even gone so far as to pull on the 5 year old's long dark plait to show her disapproval with the whole affair. When Violet ended up wearing the remains of what had been a very pretty unicorn cake in her hair, Lavender had been cross. It wasn't until Fred and George danced a festive jig on the ceiling to celebrate Felicity's first outburst of accidental magic that Lavender became furious. The commemorative firework display didn't do much to help either. Damned Forge and Gred! Violet, however, didn't seem too fussed over the spectacle. Ron just assumed she thought the exhibition was for her as well.

“No, sweetheart. Not this time,” he solemnly told her, then brightened. “But it is for your mum and me. It's to celebrate that we're getting married. We're going to be husband and wife. Doesn't that sound grand?”

“Does that mean we get to live togedder? Like Wosie's mummy and daddy?”

“Just like Rosie's mummy and daddy,” he answered.

“You hear that, Kwooksie?” she asked the cat. He only licked at his paw in answer.

“Hungry, Pumpkin?”

“No. I made cereal and Kwooksie had milk.”

“Did Uncle George fix it for you?”

She scowled at him cutely.

“I'm a big girl. I did it.”

“’Course you are, sweetheart. Now let's see if you left anything for dear old dad.”

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

Twenty minutes, and a cleaned kitchen later, Ron was settled at his table munching on a plate of toast and jam he was sharing with Violet. They both had orange juice before them, though his was in a large tumbler and hers was in a sippy cup. Crookshanks sat in her lap. Ron was trying to explain to her why the cat couldn't come to the Burrow with them.

“Dad can only Apparate one person along with him Pumpkin, you know that. And your mum says that you are still too young to go up on my broom.”

Ron didn't even mention floo'ing. The child was far too young, and with her speech impediment could end up only Merlin knew where.

“Kwooksie will just have to stay here sweetheart.”

Violet's face grew stormy for a moment and Ron feared that she would go into another one of her tear-fests, but instead she just shook her head, took a sip from her cup, and tried to force a bit of toast into Crookshanks mouth. Violet was used to getting her way, but she knew when she was beat.

“Daddy, guess what?”

“What?” he good-naturedly asked.

“Uncle George knows Kwooksie!”

“Does he now,” Ron said evenly. He wondered what big mouth George could have told Vi about Crookshanks.

“He said he used to know the liddle gwirl who bewonged to him before me.”

Blast George!

“He said you knows her too.”

Double blast him!

Ron took a swig of his juice before answering her.

“Well, besides having an incredibly large mouth, your Uncle George was telling the truth,” he said. “Your mum and I knew that little girl quite well.”

He prayed that Violet would leave it at that.

“Why come she don't come to my bwirfday then?”

He should have known better that Violet wouldn't stop asking questions until she was perfectly satisfied. She was an inquisitive little thing.

“Well Violet...um...that little girl left home a long time ago.”

It was an uncomfortable subject they were on. Ron especially didn't want to say anything that the child might repeat in front of Lavender later.

“Why come?”

“I'm...I'm not so sure, Pumpkin.”

“She didn't like you no more?”

He coughed.

“No Pumpkin, she liked me just fine. She was my best friend. Mines and you're Uncle Harry's, that is.”

Violet furrowed her tiny brow as though she were trying to suss out the troubling puzzle.

“Is she ever coming back?” asked the little girl.

Ron paused, unsure of what to say.

“I-I…I don’t know, Pumpkin.”

“Ok,” she simply replied. “But if she ever comes back she can pway with Kwooksie. I'll let her. Leo won't share, but I do.”

Violet then jumped down from her chair and padded out of the room on her bare little feet. Crookshanks followed after her.

As he watched his child walk out of the room, a hard lump formed in Ron's throat. This was nothing new. Whenever he thought of the fact that he was getting married soon, but Hermione wouldn't be there to cheer him on, Ron could barely stave off the depression that would descend upon him. Now was one of those times. Sure he and Hermione had had their differences, but that didn't mean that they had stopped loving each other. Harry was going to be standing up for him, but somehow it just seemed wrong that Hermione wouldn't be there, right by his side as well. The Trio reunited! Like the good old days. But no one had heard a peep from Hermione in years.

“This is what she does, son,” Arthur Weasley had told him one day inside his Ministry office. Hermione had been missing officially for more than a year by then.

“Do you know how many wizards and witches she helped successfully assimilate into the Muggle world under me? Fifty! She knows just the right documentation to get them, the precise coaching that they need. If anyone knew how to disappear from wizards it would be that young lady.”

Ron gave his father a frustrated glare.

“What about that lead you had a few months ago? Her wand was used somewhere in the States. What was it...Atlantis, I think Percy said?”

“Atlanta.”

“Did you even follow up on that?” Ron asked accusingly.

He could tell that his father was slowly losing his patience with him. For all Ron knew, Harry had probably had this very same conversation with the man as well.

“Of course we did! But the American Ministry was not able to find a trace of her. For all we know her wand could have fallen into someone else's hands.”

Well that didn't help! Arthur, seeing his son's distressed face, decided to switch gears.

“Son, I'm sure that Hermione will come home eventually. But when she does, do you think she will be happy to hear that you stopped living your life because of her. Harry too?”

“What are you on about?”

“Son, you are barely eating. Your mum is worried sick over it. One of these days a Quaffle is going to go straight through you. Then how will the Cannons get to the Championship?” quipped his dad. Ron was not amused, though.

“And Harry–”

“What about Harry?”

“Well, one can't help but notice that his game is...off,” his father said diplomatically. “And he is constantly checking in here to see if there are any updates. I even hear he has been skulking around the Auror Office.”

“Well, yeah! She was his best friend too, if you remember.”

“Of course I do. But Ginny–”

“GINNY?! Figures,” Ron said disgustedly. “She’s been complaining again, eh? Gone to good old dad so she can get her way?”

“And what if she has? She's the man's wife, is she not? They are still newlyweds, for Merlin's sake!” countered Arthur defensively. “But Harry has been so wound up over this Hermione situation that little Ginny is feeling neglected. And who could blame her?”

“And what are we supposed to do, dad?! Forget that Hermione even existed? Cor! I thought you cared about her too!”

Arthur's eyes burned with furious indignation at that remark.

“I DO CARE!” he bellowed. “I LOVED THAT GIRL AS IF SHE WERE ONE OF MY VERY OWN! Every morning I walk into that living room praying that the hand on your mum's clock hasn't moved to...hasn't moved...”

Arthur paused to collect himself.

“But there is nothing that you, or I, or Harry can do about that,” he continued. “Unless Hermione Granger wants to be found she won't be.”

Ron had to fight back the tears that wanted to stream down his face. He knew that his father was telling him this only to help him.

“You know I'm right, Ronnie.”

Ron could only weakly nod his head.

“And if you could, try to convince Harry as well.”

Ron nodded again.

“He and Ginny will be at the house tonight for dinner. And Ginny has invited that charming friend of hers, Linus' daughter. Why don't you stop by as well?”

Ron's train of thought was interrupted when a tiny owl flew through the kitchen window and landed inelegantly in his juice.

“PIG!”

The wee owl jumped out of the tumbler, landed lightly on the table and shook himself dry. Ron spied the parchment tied to his leg and claimed it. The owl then happily flew off to his bird cage after carrying a much too large for him slice of toast along for the ride.

The note was from Lavender.

“Ron,” read Lavender's tight, crimped writing, “DON'T BE LATE! Wash up Violet, dress her in those peach robes that match with mine. DON'T BE LATE! Please hurry! Your mum and my mum are going to kill each other. DON'T BE LATE!”

Ron chuckled at Lavender's tense note. She must be ready to tear her hair out, he thought. Well I'll take care of the midget good and proper, he decided.

He called Violet into the bathroom to take a bath. Violet loved bath time because she got to splash around. She also loved trying to get Ron soaked whenever he washed her up, just as she did now when he got her in the tub of warm, soapy water. He knelt by the wash basin and sponged her off as the chirpy little girl sang some song she had probably made up. It was obvious that she had gotten her singing voice from her mother.

“Daddy, are you happy?” Vi asked as he began to rinse her off.

“Blissfully,” he answered with a beaming smile.

“Is that ‘cause you are getting some?”

Ron dropped the loofah he had been holding into the tub and stared at his daughter in shock.

“WHAT?! HOW...WHO DID YOU HEAR THAT PHRASE FROM?!” he inquired of her, alarmed.

“Mummy.”

“Your mum said that to you?” he asked, clearly stupefied.

“Uh, uh,” she said shaking her little blonde head. “She said it to Miss Ewolise. She came for tea and to show mummy her new baby Apple yesterday. She asked mummy why Auntie Ginny was so cross lately and mummy said it was probabwy ‘cause she wasn't getting some. Some of what, daddy?”

“Fizzing Whizbees,” he lied as he wrapped a towel around Violet and lifted her from the tub. “Your Aunt Ginny loves the things.”

Violet must have been satisfied with the answer, because all she said was, “Ooh, me too!”

As he toweled her dry Ron said, “You know you really shouldn't repeat the things that your mum says.”

“Why come?” asked Violet.

“It's not nice.”

Once again all she said was, “Oh.”

Once Ron got Violet cleaned up, dressed, and brushed her hair, he left her in his bedroom so he could take a shower. As he was washing off, his mind wandered time and time again to what Violet had overheard.

He knew that his best friend and his sister were having some...issues, to put it kindly. He and Lav had discussed it a couple of times. But he didn't think things were too far gone. At least he hoped they weren't. Neither Harry nor Ginny had ever mentioned anything to him about it. For Ginny that was common, she usually kept things close to the vest unless she wanted you to know it. He and Harry were usually very open with one another, though. At least he thought they were. But obviously the situation was more critical than he imagined.

For one thing, Ron knew that the Potters no longer slept in the same bed. Harry had accidentally let that slip one day over lunch. He explained it away by saying that Ginny had finally gotten tired of his snoring and that was the reason for the move. But Ron knew that Harry didn't snore. Seven years of sharing a bedroom, sometimes even sharing a bed, will gift you with that kind of intimate knowledge about someone. Harry might thrash around from time to time, he might even pull the bed curtains down in a fit of restlessness, but he did not snore. Ron didn't point this fact out to his friend then because he figured that when the time was right Harry would open up to him. That was months ago.

Ron pondered if maybe he should take a more proactive approach and just confront Harry about it. Maybe he could help his best friend and sister with their marital problems. Maybe, when he saw him later at the Burrow, Ron could take his dark haired mate aside and offer him some well learned advice. But then Ron wondered if any of their family or friends had spoken bluntly to him or Hermione way back when would that have done any good either. Would it have made a difference? Would they still be together? Would they still want to be together?

Back in the good old days, back when they first got together, the two Gryffindors seemed to fit perfectly. It was so easy to love Hermione. Ron thought she was flawless...minus the nagging, the disinterest in Quidditch, and the appalling lack of any cooking expertise whatsoever. She treated Ron like there was no one else in the world she would rather be with...most times. Then things changed. By time they finally ended things they were both desperate to preserve their friendship.

If he had to identify when things definitely shifted in their relationship, Ron would always think back on the night that the golden Hufflepuff Cup entered all of their lives. They had just moved into Hermione's after leaving Godric's Hollow. Harry had finally come of age and Remus sent word that the Order of the Phoenix was ready to induct three new members. Of course Ron and Hermione could have long since joined up, but Remus somehow sensed that this was a step that the three friends was unwilling to take unless they did so together.

The ceremony, if one could call it that, took place right in the middle of the Granger's foyer. They had no time for ceremonies or speeches; there was too much work to be done. Muggles and wizards alike were being terrorized at an escalating rate. The papers were putting out death notices everyday. Azkaban had been broken into a few days before and all the prisoners had been freed. The human guards had puncture wounds to the neck and were all dead. The Prophet screamed vampire attack. The whole thing had You-Know-Who's rotten fingerprints, if he still had any, all over it. It was common knowledge that a majority of the vampires were in league with Voldemort now. So were the dementors, most of the giants, a number of trolls, a handful of werewolves, and a banshee or two. It was enough to almost make Ron give up food.

Ron and Hermione had had a small (at least in his opinion) tiff over something before leaving the Hollow , so she wasn't speaking to him the first few days at the new hide out. Then one day, while Harry was off working on his non-verbal spell work with Remus, Hermione came to bury the hatchet. Now was not the time to be holding grudges, she told him. Then she kissed him. He might as well have been goo, he melted. That night she even let him sleep in her bed. Only sleep. When Ron woke up, late as was his way, he found the world a changed place and discovered a Malfoy in the shower as he was trying to take his morning piss. The toe-rag didn't even have the decency to turn his head when he saw Ron doing his business. Ron hated to have an audience for those sorts of things!

Apparently Malfoy had willingly brought them Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. Because he had slept most of the morning in, Ron had missed the git's interrogation. The gist, as Hermione explained to him over a bowl of cereal, was that Malfoy had come across the Cup through nefarious circumstances. He was now turning it over to the Order to save his own sorry arse since Malfoy Sr. was deader than a door nail. Before Ron could get any further details the regular Order meeting was called.

In total there were about forty full-fledged members of the Order of the Phoenix. All of Ron’s immediate family, except for Ginny and Percy, had now joined. Shacklebolt had brought in a few more of his fellow Aurors. A couple of their Hogwarts professors had also become members. In addition, Madame Maxime and Viktor Krum, much to Ron's chagrin, were working for them as undercover operatives. However that day's meeting was just a small group of ten. They discussed the conversation that Remus, Charlie, and Kingsley had with Aberforth Dumbledore the night before. It was just sketchy information at best. The Death Eaters were looking to steal something called a boadicea, but apparently were having a devil of a time finding it. No one knew exactly where the hell the thing was.

After the meeting was over, the three best friends retreated up to Hermione's bedroom. Malfoy was tucked away in one of the guest rooms somewhere. As they filed in, Ron threw himself across her pink canopy bed, Harry sat on the floor next to it, and Hermione seated herself at her computer desk which was near the door. Hufflepuff's Cup sat on the desk beside the quietly whirring machine.

“So what do we think this boadicea thing is?” Ron asked, voicing the question that was on the mind of everyone in the room.

Harry ran his hand through his messy black hair.

“Dunno. Maybe it belonged to Ravenclaw? Or perhaps it's tied to Godric?”

“No, I don’t think so. I've read every book I could get my hands on about the Founders. That name was mentioned nowhere in them.”

Hermione, who had been click-ity clacking away on her keyboard, turned around in her swivel chair to face them. Harry looked at Hermione questioningly.

“Name?”

“I think so,” Hermione said. “I know I've seen it...somewhere. I just can't recall.”

“Did you try looking at that enternest thinga-ma-jig?” Ron asked trying to sound helpful.

She and Harry just looked at each other and shared a smile. Ron hated it when they did that. Ha, ha! Let's make fun of the bloke who can't use the fellytone properly.

“The only hits I've gotten were for some ancient warrior queen. Back when Rome still tried to control the British Isles she led a conglomerate of tribes in a revolt against Nero. It's very interesting actually. You see...”

“Hermione,” Harry cut off her babbling, “does any of this have anything to do with Horcruxes?” Harry asked. Hermione had a tendency to go on and on about things she found interesting, even when others didn't.

She blushed a rosy, embarrassed pink.

“Sorry.” She turned back to her computer. “Oh, now this is interesting.”

“What?” asked Ron.

“Well according to legend, her body is buried where King's Cross Station is now, under platform 10. There's a connection to Hogwarts somewhat.”

“Yes, but not to the Founders. Riddle would want something that belonged to one of them,” Harry said pushing his glasses up on his nose from where they slipped down. “If you didn't find that name in any of the books you read that means she isn't linked to them...”

“Which means she isn't linked to him,” she finished.

“Maybe she's a Mudblood.”

The three teens in the room turned in the direction of the doorway where the voice had come from. Malfoy was standing there, looking as smug as ever. He was dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that Ron recognized as Harry's. Ron noted that the blond looked tons better than he did when Ron first saw him that morning, right after he got over the initial shock of seeing the uppity Slytherin in such casual Muggle gear.

“Granger should know her. Don't all you people congregate somewhere or something?”

Hermione just barely looked at the git before turning back to her computer.

“Good afternoon to you too, Malfoy,” she greeted him in an overly courteous tone just barely concealing her contempt. “I wish I could say that I'm surprised to see you up and about so soon, but like a bad knut you always turn up; don't you?”

Malfoy answered her by grabbing his knob. Ron had just been about to murder the tosser when Hermione's voice cut him off.

“Let's just cut this short Malfoy, shall we?” she asked in a bored sounding voice. “Just call me a dirty Muggle so I can call you an inbred idiot and we'll both be done with it.”

“You're nothing but trash on my boot–”

Ron had Malfoy in a choke hold and slammed against the bedroom door before the wanker could even finish the sentence. Harry had gotten to his feet as well.

“Ronnie, no,” Hermione pleaded.

Ron instantly let him go and sat back down on the bed.

Malfoy was winded, but he wasn't down yet.

“My, my, my, I see that the Queen of all Mudbloods and the Weasel King have finally gotten together. Then again you're so poor,” he looked at Ron, “and you're so...shoddy,” he said turning to Hermione, “who else would have you?”

Hermione feigned a yawn.

“Goodness Malfoy, if I didn't know better I would think you were jealous.”

Ron looked quickly at Hermione. Jealous? Why would Malfoy be jealous of her?

“I wonder why that is?”

Ron didn't understand what was going on, but Hermione's little cat with a canary grin and Malfoy's look of controlled fury told him that he was definitely missing something. One look at Harry told him that he was just as bothered by all of this.

“See here you fat scrubber–”

Harry moved so quick that Ron barely saw it happening. Harry grabbed Malfoy by his shirt collar and flung him towards that other side of the room. Malfoy hit the wall with a loud thud before sliding down the wall in a heap.

Hermione quickly pulled out her wand and murmured, "Imperturbatus."

Harry looked down menacingly at Malfoy as he stood over him. His outside demeanor seemed cool and calm, but Ron could tell that Harry was ready to tear the prat to shreds. Obviously Malfoy could too, the way he looked up at the dark haired boy in fear.

“The Cup, Ferret, what do you know?”

Ron crawled over the bed to sit closer to the action.

“I took it from Durmstrang. Igor Karkaroff had it hid in the Headmaster's quarters.”

"Karkaroff had it?" Ron asked in disbelief. "You-Know-Who gave it to him?"

Draco looked at him in disgust.

“And why not? He was once in the inner circle, a loyal follower of the Dark Lord,” Draco paused, “like my father.”

“But Riddle had him killed,” Harry said. “Like your father,” he reminded him harshly.

Malfoy for once did not take the bait.

“Of course he did. It was one thing to pretend to have turned to the Light, quite a few of the Dark Lord's followers had done so. But it was another thing all together to lose the Dark Lord's property. That's why Igor the Idiot had been running scared. The Dark Lord had come to collect and Karkaroff had no clue what he was talking about. But one other person knew about the Cup and knew where it was.”

“Who?” asked Hermione.

Draco paused for a moment before saying,

“M-my f-father. Igor told him years ago about it, you see. Bragged, was more like it. I think there had been Ogden's involved. The git didn't realize that the Dark Lord had also gifted my father with a prized relic,” Malfoy said proudly. “My father later obliviated him so that he not only forgot the conversation, but didn't remember he had the Cup at all either.”

“Smooth bastard,” Ron muttered.

“When did your father tell you all of this?”

Hermione had taken the cup up and was turning it around and around in her hands. She was looking at Malfoy skeptically.

Malfoy gave her a hard glare before answering.

“Over the holiday break when I last visited him at Azkaban. He told me where it was and how to get it. He wanted to ensure a Malfoy's rightful place by the side of the Dark Lord. I was too busy to get it before though because…”

“…you were too busy plotting Dumbledore's murder.”

“But as you and I both know Potter, I did not kill the old fool.”

Malice glinted in Malfoy's eyes as Harry held his gaze equally. Hermione tried to break the tension.

“Last night you implied that you knew how to destroy the Horcrux.”

“Actually tubby, I outright said it,” came the haughty dig.

Ron could tell that Hermione had had about her fill of Malfoy's taunting insults by the way that her eyes started blazing.

“WELL,” she wrathfully spat, “IF YOU KNOW SO MUCH ABOUT IT, WHY DON'T YOU STOP TITTING ABOUT AND GET ON WITH IT THEN?!”

“Nice one Hermione!” exclaimed Harry and Ron proudly in unison. Hermione beamed back at them.

“If you all are quite done wanking each other,” Malfoy snarled malevolently, “you undo a Horcrux in much the same way you create one.”

“You kill someone?!” Ron asked, eyes bulging.

“No, Weasleby. According to all the ancient texts all that is required of you is a sacrifice. You offer up a tributary to show that you are deserving. The Dark Lord just killed people because he enjoyed killing people. That’s how he got his kicks.”

Harry's jaw tensed at that statement.

“How do you know all of this, Malfoy?”

Hermione continued to drill the arse's story over and over again. It was as if she were looking for the holes in it. Malfoy was starting to get annoyed.

“What's with all the questions, Granger? I already answered them for that crazed bastard Moody this morning.”

“Well now you answer her,” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“My father told me what to read on the subject.”

“So you mean to tell us that Lucius Malfoy not only gave you a means to get in Voldemort's good graces, he also told you how to destroy the very thing?” Hermione asked.

Malfoy lifted his chin imperiously and said in a voice dripping with contempt, “We Malfoys through out the ages have had a long history of playing for both teams.”

Hermione held Malfoy's gaze for a moment before she burst into a fit of laughter. She laughed so hard that tears formed in her eyes. For his part, Harry tried to suppress the smile that was threatening to spread across his face. The other two boys helplessly cast confused glances at each other. For perhaps the first time, and more than likely the last, a Malfoy and a Weasley would agree on something. Mental.

“Are you quite done yet, Granger?” Malfoy obnoxiously asked as Hermione continued to giggle. After a bit she finally calmed down.

“Quite done.”

“And have I passed the test?”

Once again Hermione stared deep in his eyes and smiled a tight little smile.

“For now.”

“Well I'm not convinced," said Harry. "I got rid of Riddle's diary without having to sacrifice anything.”

Ron felt a shiver run down his spine at his words. Only four years had passed since that time down in the Chamber of Secrets. He could still taste the fear bubbling in his throat. Fear that he would find his sister dead, fear that he would be next; fear that at any moment he would meet a pair of cold, yellow eyes around the very next corner...

“Blimey, Harry! You killed the basilisk!”

“What?”

“The basilisk, remember? Before you destroyed the diary you killed the basilisk.”

Hermione gasped.

“He's right, Harry! That was your sacrifice. And…and Dumbledore must have given his hand in order to break the Ring. You obviously don't always have to kill something to break the Horcrux.”

“I see the last knut has finally dropped,” Malfoy said snidely, crossing his arms in front of him.

“SHUT UP, MALFOY!”

All three Gryffindors shouted the order at the same time.

Harry looked like he was still digesting the newest information as he asked the git, “How do we get rid of the Cup?”

“You drink from it.”

Hermione looked at him, puzzled.

“Drink from it?”

“Yes. It doesn't matter what. Supposedly you drink from it and the rest...happens.”

“BOLLOCKS!” Ron shouted.

“Do you really think we're a bunch of idiots, Malfoy?” Harry asked.

“Yes, but what's your point?”

“What do you think, Hermione?” Harry asked turning to look back at her. She had been closely examining the Horcrux.

“There's a tiny bit of lettering on this. It says...“imbibo”?”

“Drink in. It's Latin.”

Hermione gave Malfoy a scornful sneer. “I'm quite sure my Latin far surpasses yours any day of the week, Ferret.”

Malfoy grumbled something about know-it all bitches. She rolled her eyes at him before turning her attention to Harry.

“Helga Hufflepuff was a renowned potion mistress. Probably the greatest there ever was. She is credited with creating Polyjuice, Veritaserum, Felix Felicis, the Draught of Peace…the list goes on and on.” She looked back at the Cup. “It sounds...plausible.”

She sounded unsure, though.

Harry looked back to Malfoy.

“Well then, I guess Malfoy is going to be proving his loyalty.”

This remark caused the wanker to laugh mirthlessly.

“Not on your life,” he said.

“If it's so harmless what could it hurt?”

“The harm is that I'm not the hero in this story. I'm not drinking from that thing. Who knows exactly what kind of sacrifice it expects. It might kill me.”

“Ah ha!” Ron exclaimed. “So you admit that you're trying to poison Harry!”

“Just how daft are you?” Malfoy queried. “Do you think that I actually trekked back and forth across Europe, got stalked clear through Teutoburg Forest by a fucking erkling, who obviously didn't think I had enough hair on my balls...BROUGHT THAT FUCKING THING ALL THE WAY HERE TO A HOUSE FULL OF PEOPLE WHO WOULD KILL ME SO MUCH AS LOOK AT ME...ALL SO I COULD TRY TO POISON THE CHOSEN GIT! SORRY, SUICIDE MISSIONS JUST AREN'T MY THING!!”

Malfoy had worked himself into a lather.

“Alright, alright,” Harry said trying to shut him up. “Your need for self-preservation makes it unlikely that you are intentionally trying to kill us. But that still leaves the fact that someone has to drink from it.”

“Why don't you get Gingerlocks to do it?”

“WHY YOU SLIMEY...NO GOOD...”

“Be a man Weasley and grow a pair...”

“...TWITCHY LITTLE...”

“ENOUGH YOU TWO!” Harry shouted trying to separate the two pureblood young men who had both jumped up, each one ready to thrash the other.

All three boys were so preoccupied that not one of them noticed the girl leaving the room.

Harry ran his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“Maybe we should try to arrange another Order meeting to figure this out. We'll get McGonagall out here next time; see if she can get some answers out of Dumbledore's portrait. He might have some advice for us. What do you think, Hermione?”

Harry turned to look at her and was baffled for a moment when he didn't find her still sitting at her desk.

“Hermione?”

Ron and Harry's eyes met and the same question were in them. Hufflepuff's Cup?

“Well,” Malfoy sneered, “I guess one of you was man enough after all.”

Ron made a mental note to beat the living hell out of Malfoy later, but his first instinct was to get to Hermione immediately before she did something dumb. Drastic. Deadly. Harry obviously had the same idea. Both boys tore out of the room so fast that they probably left scorch marks on the carpet. They practically pushed each other out of the way to get down the stairs. Neither of them said anything to the few Order members who were gathered in the living room. They both ran for the kitchen. It was as if both of their minds were working as a single entity. Must get to Hermione! MUST GET TO HERMIONE!

And they both cried out in anguish at the same time when they found their friend's limp body sprawled out on the floor, the cup lying next to her.

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

Hermione wasn't dead. Instead she was trapped in some kind of deep sleep. When Madame Pomfrey later examined her that day, after Tonks and Remus rushed off to get her from Hogwarts, the school nurse was at a loss for what to do. Hermione had a high concentration of several potions in her system; The Draught of Death, Wit Sharpening solution, the Calming Draught, Veritaserum, as well as the traces of some unknown potable. Madame Pomfrey was actually shocked that the girl was still alive and inadvertently said as much in front of her two best friends. Oddly enough the substance that Hermione actually drank out of the cup was ordinary soy milk from out of her refrigerator.

When Hermione's parents came back from their vacation the boys helped spirit her from her home to Hogwarts. The school governors had decided against opening the school for the new term so the Order chose to set up shop there next. Even with Dumbledore gone Hogwarts was still the safest place to be. They put her in the Head Girl's bedroom. It seemed fitting. Ron, Harry, and Malfoy were sleeping in the Head Boy's room. Ron barely left her side, though. Harry either. They would take turns sitting with her, holding her hand, talking to her, begging her to come back to them. Ron was convinced that when she woke up his face should be the first she saw.

Of course that isn't how it played out. One night he and Harry were sitting up with Hermione as usual. They were playing chess, but both boys were so glum that neither could tell who was actually winning the game. The chess pieces were ready to stage a revolt over the ill use they were receiving. Ron, thinking that he would play better on a full stomach, decided to make a run to the kitchens. He asked Harry to join him, but his best mate declined. Ron made his way from the South tower down to the bottom of the castle and returned about fifteen minutes later with a plate of Jaffa cakes slathered in chocolate. As Ron opened the bedroom door, the sight before him left him gaping like a cod fish.

Hermione was sitting up in the bed, the spread clutched in her hands to her chest. Her fly-away hair gave her the appearance of a wild, startled animal. The girl looked like any minute she would go into hysterics. Her eyes were filled with terror and tears. The thing that Ron couldn't make heads or tails of was why those alarm filled eyes were locked on Harry. He was halfway seated, halfway bent over her on the right side of the bed. She looked like she was trying to get as far to the left of the mattress as she could. Harry looked properly stunned by her behavior. Ron was so baffled by the scene before him that he dropped the plate of biscuits.

“RONNIE!”

At the sound of the breaking plate both Harry and Hermione had looked towards the door. As soon as Hermione saw him standing there, she started sobbing loudly and held out her arms calling for him. Ron wasted no time getting to her side. He folded her up into a bear of a hug as she pressed her face into his neck. Over and over she cried his name. He met Harry's eyes over her brown head and saw his own bewilderment in them.

“Shhhh...shhhhh...Hermione. It will be alright,” he said while smoothing down her hair and dropping kisses into it.

“Yeah Hermione,” Harry said taking on the same calming tone as Ron. “You're safe now.” He placed a gentle hand on the back of her shoulder.

At the sound of Harry's voice Hermione's form went stiff in Ron's arms. She subtly shrugged Harry’s hand off her shoulder as she pulled her tear stained face back from Ron. Neither noticed the shattered expression that Harry wore.

“What's going on, Ronnie?” she asked as her head swiveled around the room. “Where am I? Is this Hogwarts? Why are we at Hogwarts? When did we get here?”

“Well we kind of had to make a run for it when your mum and dad came back home, luv,” he tried to explain to her. “But remind me one day to tell you about how me and Harry snuck you out right under their noses. It was brilliant really!”

Hermione's confusion wasn't abated, though.

“But my parents aren't supposed to be home until the end of the month.”

Once again he and Harry shared a look.

“Uh...Hermione,” Ron said haltingly, trying to find the right words, “see...the thing is...today is the 14th.”

“I know that!” she said indignantly.

“No Hermione, it's the 14th of September.”

Hermione's eye tripled in size at the revelation. The horror was evident on her face. Although life and time had marched on, she was still stuck a month behind in August.

“Don't you remember anything?” he asked as he lovingly placed a hand on the side of her face.

Hermione lay back against the head board of the bed. Ron could see the thought process work itself out on her face. First it was twisted in confusion, then implausibility. But her features were soon smoothed by realization.

“The Cup,” she whispered.

Ron nodded his head.

“The Cup,” he answered.

She closed her eyes and exhaled slowly. Her brow then wrinkled in worry as her eyes sprang open. She clutched at Ron again.

“What happened to it?” she demanded. “Did I...is it...”

Ron beamed proudly at her.

“You did it! The Cup is now cracked and the gold is completely tarnished. We're not sure, but we think that's a good sign.”

Hermione closed her eyes and let out an elated cry at his words. Ron neglected to tell her that the wording she saw on it were nowhere to be seen when he and Harry later inspected it.

“I'm wearing night clothes,” she said, lifting her covers slightly and glancing at the long flannel nightgown she had on. “How did I get this on?” she asked suspiciously, looking warily at Ron.

Although her back was turned so she couldn't see it, Harry’s face turned the same shade of red that Ron’s did.

“Tonks changed you,” Ron quickly replied.

Hermione visibly relaxed at the answer.

“Tonks has been great through all this,” he continued. “Changing your clothes, switching your linens, vanishing your...um...bed pan. Her and Madam Pomfrey, that is.”

He then hit himself square on the head.

“Madame Pomfrey, I should go get her,” Ron said as he went to move from the bed.

Hermione grabbed a hold of his shirt and cried out in an agitated, strangled whisper, “NO!”

Ron tried to loosen her claw-like grip.

“Hermione, Madame Pomfrey will want to know that you're awake. Harry can stay with you.”

During the whole time Ron had been in the room Hermione hadn’t so much as glanced at the other boy. She still didn't, even at the mention of his name.

“NO RON, I WANT YOU!” she shouted. “I WANT YOU TO STAY!”

She was working herself into a frenzy. She started to cry again and pulled Ron's arms back around her. Ron was at a loss for what to do.

“I'll go, Ron,” Harry said as he threw a hurt glance Hermione's way. She didn't pay his exit any attention.

After Harry left the chamber Ron decided to climb in the bed with Hermione. At first he was worried that she would put up a fuss, but she seemed to welcome his close presence. He gathered her into his arms and laid her against his chest. He whispered sweet nothings into her hair and rubbed her back. Although her attitude was troubling, Ron couldn't help but indulge in the pleasure of having her in his arms like this. Hermione was never this clingy with him. After a bit, her sobs died down and she pulled away from him again.

“I'm acting like some stupid girl, aren't I?” she embarrassedly asked as she rubbed at her red rimmed eyes.

“No,” Ron chided her. “You've been through a heck of an experience. Madame Pomfrey told us to expect some odd side effects if you ever...” came out of it, Ron started to say.

He didn't want to upset her further.

“...when you came out of it.”

He wiped a tear from her cheek.

“We were scared for you, Hermione. We didn't know when you would wake-up. I had to force Harry to go to bed some nights, he was so upset.”

Hermione swallowed.

“And you? What about you, Ron?”

“Terrified. I thought I was going to lose you.”

She grabbed his face in her hands and looked into his eyes.

“You are never going to lose me,” she said fiercely. “NEVER!”

Even if Ron wanted to, he wouldn't have disagreed with her. She seemed intent on making sure he believed her. She pulled him into her arms and began to softly cry again. She mumbled the words “I'm sorry, I didn't know, I'm so sorry”, over and over. Ron was mystified as to what she would need forgiveness for. Did she think that he was angry at her for trying to destroy the Cup herself? Nothing could have been farther from the truth. He was further befuddled when she asked him the strangest question.

“You know that I would never hurt you, don't you?”

Ron could have cried for the tormented look on her face.

“Hermione, what are you talking about?”

“SAY IT!” she begged him. She was fairly shouting. “SAY THAT YOU BELIEVE ME! I WOULD NEVER HURT YOU! TELL ME THAT YOU KNOW THAT!” a demanding Hermione pleaded.

“Of course I know that!”

“Good,” she said resolvedly. “Good,” she said again, more to herself. “That's all that matters then. That's all that matters!”

She closed her eyes and laid her cheek on his chest. She rested her hand on his stomach.

“Hermione, what's wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. Nothing is ever going to be wrong. I won't let it. Nothing is going to change. I won't let it. I won't let it!”

Her words were thick and drowsy. She sounded delirious. She kept repeating the same thing over and over again.

“Nothing is going to change. I won't let it change. I won't let it! I won't let it! I won't!”

By time Harry and Madame Pomfrey made their way up to the tower Hermione was fast asleep and Ron's heart was filled with dread. Something was wrong. Despite Hermione's steadfast promise that nothing would change, Ron knew that something already had. He just didn't know what yet.

On the outside looking in everything seemed to return to normal. The first morning Hermione was fully awake she didn't speak much, just stayed holed up in the library most of the day. Ron and Harry had to forcibly remove her from there so she would at least eat dinner. The day after that she went down to Hagrid's to see if he was over a summer cold she'd heard had been bothering him. Ron was ready to think that she was back to normal when later that same day she and Malfoy got into a screaming match over house-elves' rights during lunch. She had even begun speaking to Harry normally again. The raven haired young man was terribly relieved at that bit of progress, although he and Ron did discuss the fact that Hermione would not stay in a room if Harry was the only one in it. If everyone else made to leave, she would rush to follow suit. Both he and Harry tried to bring this to her attention, but every time they did she would automatically shut them down on the subject. Eventually things improved further and the Trio was a trio again. Only one thing nagged at the back of Ron's mind. They never knew what Hermione's sacrifice was.

She never told.

Those days seemed almost a dim dream to Ron; hiding away in secret, fearing a dark creature around every corner, fighting against You-Know-Who's unholy reign. But with Hermione by his side, Ron was able to bear it all. Sadly, after the War ended, so did they.

Not all at once, though. No, that would have been too easy. Their relationship instead went through a slow, arduous death.

The first time he proposed was buggered up by bad timing. She had gotten word that her parents had died before she could even give him a yes or a no. That blow sent her into a deep mourning and she broke up with him as a result of it. Ron liked to think he had been sympathetic. That is until she started dating that prat, Roger Davies, a few months later! Of course he was shagging Lavender by that time, but still...

The second time he proposed was at Fred and Glinda's wedding reception. She flat out turned him down that time. He dumped her on the spot and Lav was there to lick his wounds, as well as other things, shortly afterwards. Lavender helped soothe his bruised ego, although Ron thought his heart would surely break when he learned that Hermione had taken up with Wood. It was like she was consorting with the enemy all over again. Fourth Year relived!

The final break-up, however, was amicable and necessary. It had become too exhausting doing the same dance over and over with Hermione. He had Apparated into his and Harry's flat one afternoon and found her on their sofa fast asleep, a book lying open across her chest. Some things never change, he briefly thought to himself, as a smile flitted across his face. It died as soon as he spied the cover of the book. It had a picture of a dark skinned man dressed in sheik's clothing waving a wand at a huge bird that looked like an eagle; a roc. The title was Making Mystic in the Sands: A Chronicle of Enchanted Morocco. Ron scowled as he read it, but smoothed his face as soon as Hermione started to stir.

“Hmm...” she said groggily as she stretched her supine form on the coach and opened her eyes. “Did you just get in?” She was looking at him pensively.

“Yeah, dad wanted to meet up for a pint of ale at the Hag.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“That place is so unsanitary, Ron.”

“Indeed it is. But the bartender doesn't water down the drinks like Tom, and you get a worthy headache for your money.”

He winced as he rubbed at his left temple.

“Like now. Been waiting long?” he asked, advancing to her side.

“Not too long. Harry was here awhile, but then Ginny summoned him on that stupid mirror of hers,” she said rolling her eyes. “I don't know why he just doesn't tell her that he hates carrying around that thing. It should be obvious why really.”

Ron had no idea what Hermione was going on about. What he did know was that Harry didn't care for using his two-way. His best mate seemed constantly (or conveniently, depending on how you looked at it) forgetting to carry it around with him. If Ron had to make a guess he figured that Harry didn't like the fact that his kid sister used the thing like a tracking device to keep tabs on him religiously. Hermione had never been that kind of girlfriend. Truthfully sometimes Ron wished that Hermione would act a little more like that, like Lavender did. Possessive; like he was all she wanted in the world and would fight for him to the death. But more and more Ron had begun to realize that such was not the case.

“I'm surprised you didn't run into him out there. That's where Ginny told him to meet her. According to your sister it would seem that Mr. Potter actually had every intention of wearing last year's dress robes to get married in. The horror!” she said mockingly as she turned the book over on its cover and placed it behind her. None of this was lost on Ron.

“What's that you've got there?” he asked innocently as he sat down next to her.

“A book,” she said evasively. She then began to fix and rearrange the items on the coffee table before her. When Hermione got agitated she usually didn't know what to do with her hands. It was a nervous habit of hers that popped up whenever she didn't want to discuss something.

“Well I can see that. What's it about?” His tone was light and even and fake as could be.

“Morocco.”

“Gee, what's with the sudden interest in that place? Planning on taking a trip?”

“No,” she said as her eyes skirted from him and back to the table. “Just bored. Read everything else.”

“I see.” He stared at her searchingly for a moment.

His attention must have made her nervous because she jumped up from the sofa and went into the flat's kitchen. When she returned five minutes later, she handed Ron a vial of a thick, khaki colored, mucus-y looking substance; Goyle's Get-up and Go Hangover potion. He and Harry kept crates of the stuff in their cabinet. Goyle might have been a disgusting Slytherin but some how the lunkhead had discovered a hangover cure that was worth its weight in galleons. As Ron drank it down, he couldn't help but gag at the aftertaste.

“Gah! That's disgusting. Sometimes I imagine that I'm still swallowing essence of Goyle,” he said as Hermione sat on the table across from him and plucked the vial out of his hand. His mind instantly began to clear.

“Harry became Goyle,” she quietly reminded him.

“Whichever.”

The potion was doing its work on his drunkenness, but it was doing nothing to dispel the bad mood that was forming.

“So how was your day?”

She sighed. “Busy. I've been running from pillar to post trying to plan Ginny's hen night. She keeps floo'ing me at work making suggestions and she is wearing me thin. Add to that the fact that the Weird Sisters are booked up through the summer, and the caterer that I hired for the reception is an avid Tornadoes fan and thinks that serving at Harry Potter's wedding might spoil his team's chances at the title. I'm ready to jump broom!”

Ron leaned into Hermione and placed a hand comfortingly on her knee.

“Ginny has no idea how lucky she is, having you for her Maid of Honour.”

Hermione gave a strained smile at the compliment.

“Well...I guess,” she said warily before quickly changing the subject. “I had to run into Mungo's to do some follow up on a case and I ran into Sue. We had lunch. She told me that she and Tony got engaged.”

“He finally got her to say yes?” Ron asked in wonder. “Blimey! I'd like to know how he managed that.”

Hermione stiffened at the comment and brushed his hand off her knee. Ron silently cursed himself for his thoughtlessness.

“Yes...well...she had to finish up training, didn't she?” Hermione snottily countered.

“Alright, alright. So how long 'til the big day?”

“Some time next year.”

Ron's mouth dropped open in surprise.

“Why so long? They aren't doing the Rites?”

“Anthony's Muggle-born, remember? His family probably won't care for one of these shot-wand marriages,” she answered. “Plus I think Mr. Goldstein is a cantor or some such. Susan said they were planning on something very traditional and faith based. No magical hoopla whatsoever.”

Ron leaned back on the coach and closed his eyes. He'd had an exhausting day himself. First his practice session down in Chudley, and then his meeting with his dad had taken a lot out of him. He was a trifle on edge.

“Well I don't see what's so wrong with a little hoopla,” he said stubbornly. “The Rites were good enough for my grandparents, and for Perce and Penelope. And it’s going to be good enough for that Potter bloke I hear so much about.”

“Well,” Hermione said frowning slightly, “Susan has also decided to take on another year of training to specialize. She wants to be a natal Healer.”

Ron sleepily mumbled something about Susan's head exploding from all of the studying.

“She actually asked me to be in her wedding party,” Hermione went on as Ron's eyes opened in mild interest. “I told her that I was a bit wedding'ed out though, what with Ginny and...”

Hermione began rolling the glass vial between her palms nervously as she paused. She seemed to lose her trail of thought for a moment.

“Besides,” she finally continued, “who knows where we'll all be in a year's time?”

Ron watched her coolly. “Yes...who knows?”

There was a moment of uneasy silence between them. Ron opened his mouth to break the lull, but Hermione interrupted him in an almost shocking manner.

“Saw Lavender today.”

Ron went tense. He didn't like the look on Hermione's face, nor her practiced nonchalant behavior. Hermione made it a point to ever bring up Lavender with him if it could be helped. The fact that she was doing so now made him feel wary for some unknown reason.

“She was having lunch at the restaurant with her husband.”

Ron sneered.

“Olde Pye still on solid foods, eh?”

Hermione shook her head in disapproval before asking with steady ease, “Did you know that Lavender was pregnant?”

Ron's freckled face screwed up in bafflement.

“Everyone knows she's pregnant. The Prophet can't seem to talk about anything else. Bloody rag is–”

“Did you know that she was eight weeks pregnant?” Hermione asked, cutting him off.

Ron in fact did not know this. He had seen Lavender a few days before when they had run into each other at the Diagon Alley WWW and he had thought she looked just a wee bit wider than usual. But then Daphne Greengrass' article came out the next day and his question seemed to be answered. Nowhere in the Prophet was it mentioned just how far along Lavender actually was, though.

“How do you know that?” he asked.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders as if they talked about Lavender Brown...Pye's health regularly.

“Susan let it slip at lunch. Lavender is seeing Sue's trainer, you see.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Don't you find that interesting, Ron?”

“Maybe.”

Silence.

“I mean the woman just got back from her honeymoon and in a few days she'll be showing already,” she innocently remarked.

“So?”

“So I'm sure her head must be spinning.”

Ron's suspicious nature was on alert. He knew damned well that Hermione didn't give a fig about Lavender Brow...Pye. Her fake, syrupy concern was setting his teeth on edge.

“First you break up with her. Then she marries that poor old man right after. Now? Pregnant. Just like that.”

Ron tried to keep his voice calm. “And?”

Hermione turned her head away at his terse question.

“Hermione, is there something you would like to ask?”

She turned her head to face him again, and looking directly into his eyes, asked what she had apparently been stewing on all day.

“Is that your baby, Ron?”

For a moment he actually believed that he hadn't heard the question. But then the blood started flowing towards his ears and face again and he began to splutter.

“Are y-you k-kidding me? No!”

“Ron, she is two months along. Are you actually going to tell me that you didn't get that...that you didn't get her pregnant?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying!”

She scoffed.

“I'm not stupid, Ron.”

“But apparently you think that I am!”

Hermione grumbled in disgust and got up off the coffee table. She stomped off towards the kitchen and Ron followed after her.

“Hermione, if I had gotten Lavender pregnant I would have done right by her. I would have married her. Lav knows this.”

She dropped the vial in the sink as she sneeringly said, “How noble.”

“I'll tell you what; Lavender would have never married Pye!”

She leaned against the double basin sink and folded her arms.

“People do odd things when in love, Ron,” she said cryptically.

“WHAT THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!” he exasperatedly shouted.

When she didn't answer, and instead turned her back to him, he deflated slightly.

“You're tired. You've had a rough day and you're just taking your anger out on me,” Ron said. “Why don't we talk about this in the morning? I need to get out of my practice robes and take a shower. And you need...well...honestly Hermione, I just don't know what the hell you need anymore.”

He turned on his heel, prepared to go to his bedroom and rinse away their silly little spat, when Hermione's voice stopped him cold.

“I think,” Hermione's voice wavered, “I think we should just end this.”

Ron wordlessly reentered the kitchen and stared at Hermione's turned back. Did she just...

“Yes, I think...I think that's what's for the best.”

She briefly looked over her shoulder at Ron's querulous face and quickly turned around again.

“I mean really Ron, who did we think we were kidding?”

She began to fiddle with the now broken vial in the sink.

“Actually acting like we could still have a real relationship...”

She firmly set her shoulders.

“We need to stop deluding ourselves.”

“Deluding ourselves?!” Ron choked out.

He felt like someone had his heart in one of those Muggle blending machines and had hit purée. His anguish was compounded by the fact that Hermione wouldn't even look at him.

“Obviously we aren't right for each other. Add that to the fact that you would actually lie to me and...”

“THAT'S NOT MY KID!”

“...goes to show that you were never really serious about us. That you could be so irresponsible...”

He was upon her in seconds. He wrenched her around to face him.

“Now you're just being purposely unfair! Even if that were my baby that Lavender were carrying, you and I were not together when it was made. You were still with your little Scotsman, remember?!”

Every nerve in his body felt taut and any moment Ron was sure he would explode.

“Let's just pretend that I had been the one to be so stupid as to get sprogged up,” she said as if that were the craziest idea ever. “Would you have taken me back with wide, open arms, Ron?”

He was made speechless by the question. Hermione smirked arrogantly at his dumbfounded expression.

“I thought not,” she said.

She pulled forcefully out of his arms.

“I've got just a few things over here,” she told him. “I'll just pack them up and be off.”

It felt like an eternity that Ron stood in that kitchen alone. It was almost like he was in a trance. End this? Over? Was she serious? He shook himself awake. He walked from the kitchen to his bedroom down the hall. The door was open and he watched Hermione studiously direct objects into a carry bag with her wand; shoes, pictures, various articles of clothing.

Books.

“You meant to pick a fight with me.”

It wasn't a question. It wasn't said in anger. Instead the realization of it all made Ron calmer than he had been in weeks.

“Honestly Ron,” she said dismissively.

Well that didn’t last very long! His calm snapped like a bargain basement wand. He snarled as he marched into the living room, grabbed her book from off the sofa, and reentered the hallway.

“YOU FORGOT SOMETHING!” he yelled, hurling her book across the room.

Hermione's large brown eyes looked like they would pop out of her head as she stared at him. The book had nearly hit her. Ron might curse. Ron might yell. But Ron never got physically violent with her. She was alarmed by this turn of events. But her horror only intensified once Ron began laughing. Hysterically. Uncontrollably. Maliciously.

“I've been such a bloody fool!” he said, advancing in the room. Hermione actually took a step back, the back of her knees hitting his bed.

“You've been looking for a way out of this relationship for weeks! WEEKS! Reconciliation? Ha! What a fucking joke! Why did you even bother, Hermione? Did you feel sorry for me? PITY ME?!”

He was standing in front of her, both of her shoulders gripped in his hands. If he was hurting Hermione her face didn't betray it. Instead she looked just as lost as he felt.

“YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE BOTHERED, HERMIONE! Oh boy, you must have breathed easy after your lunch today. Susan Bones dropped an escape hatch right on your lap, didn't she?”

“Ron, I don't know what you–”

Ron didn't let her finish her sentence.

“I KNOW ABOUT MOROCCO, HERMIONE!”

He shook her by her shoulders.

“I KNOW ABOUT EVERYTHING! The clandestine lunch meetings, the ibises dropping off parchment after parchment; I know about the bloody job offer!”

Hermione's tear filled eyes nearly broke him.

“Are you going to deny it? Well, are you?!”

His penetrating glare pinned her in place. She tried to escape from his hold, but he was having none of that this time. She was going to answer him, even if he had to shake the truth out of her. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Hermione gave in.

“No,” she pitifully whispered.

Ron finally released her and walked to the other side of the room. He didn't even want to look at her anymore.

“H-how...how did you find out?”

He smiled bitterly at her question.

“Dad wanted to meet for drinks to discuss my plans. He wondered just when I was going to tell him and mum that I was planning on moving to Marrakech to be with you. What a joke, huh?” His voice shook.

“Is Arthur terribly disappointed in me?” she asked is a small voice.

“He couldn't be more proud. The youngest Department Head of any ministry? Why shouldn't he be proud? Of course he wished you would have come to him first instead of hearing it from Scrimgeour.”

Ron briefly looked towards Hermione and found her sitting on the bed. He turned right back around. It was still too hard to look at that face.

“The git wanted to know why dad was allowing one of his Ministry pets to go scurrying off.”

Hermione got off the bed and walked up to Ron's turned back. He seized up in anticipation of what she might say or do. Hermione reached out a hand to touch him, then thinking better of it, let it drop to her side.

“I...I wasn't really going to...I just wanted to know my options. I was going to tell y–”

“Spare me!”

“It's true! I just...it never came out right. But this is such a huge opportunity, Ron. Just picture it, me, the Head of International Cooperation!”

“You're leaving me.”

He was hurt and didn't care how pitiable he sounded.

“I...I need to do this, Ron. I need to go away, at least for a little while. I need...”

Her voice choked on a sob.

“This is such a huge opportunity,” she finally managed to say again.

Ron laughed bitterly.

“Of course it is. But then I really shouldn't be shocked should I?”

“What does that mean?”

“Did I ever come first, Hermione?”

“What are you talking about?”

“It's a simple question. Did I ever come first?”

He turned to face her.

“I mean, there was always something that was put ahead of me. This time it's a 'huge opportunity'. When we were younger it used to be school work. Then there was Krum, and Davies, and the Scotsman! Oh and let's not forget Harry,” her breathing hitched, “whatever bloody quest of his you felt was more important than me and my needs!”

“Don't you dare try bringing Harry into this! DON'T YOU DARE!”

“What Herms,” he said, emphasizing the name he knew she loathed, “hate hearing the truth?”

Ron smirked viciously, but his face soon melted into a heartbroken expression.

“I gave you my whole heart, but that wasn't enough, was it? All you had left for me were the table scraps.”

“Bugger that, Ron! I've heard this same old song one too many times for it to be effective any longer. I nearly let your self-esteem issues affect almost every decisions I made. I ignored what I wanted so everyone else could bloody well be happy. BUT NO MORE!” she scathingly said. “Poor Ron Weasley, always second best. Big bad Hermione broke his heart! Except you weren't too heartbroken to keep from fucking Lavender Brown every chance you got, we're you?”

Ron saw red!

“Maybe because it was never a question that Lavender ACTUALLY WANTED TO BE FUCKING ME!”

Both we're taken aback by what he said. Hermione's knees gave out from under her and she crumpled to the floor, scrambling into the Indian position. Ron felt the proper git for what he had said, no matter how true it was. He came and knelt by her, but she wouldn't look at him. Her breathing came in short, fast pants as she pressed her palm to her chest. Ron was terrified that she was having a heart attack, until she finally started breathing regularly again.

As she began to calm down she finally turned to him and said, “I love you Ron, but...I...I can't do this to you anymore. I can't do this to me. I...”

“Shhhh.” He took her in his arms. “I know. I think I've known for a long time.”

“I feel like we’re in some kind of holding pattern, you know? Continuously moving towards each other and moving back, but never getting anywhere. And I'm so tired. Aren't you tired?”

Instead of answering her question he asked, “So is that it then?”

She pressed her face against his chest and nodded her head feebly.

“And here I thought I'd love you the rest of my life.”

She began to sob quietly into his practice robes.

“Was it me? Did I do something wrong? Was I not enough?” He was a glutton for punishment sometimes.

Hermione shook her head.

“No, Ron. Don't ever think that! I'm the one to blame! I'm the one who didn't know what I wanted until it was too late. You're perfect in every way.”

He sighed.

“Just not for you.”

For a long while they just at on the floor like that, her crying in his arms as he tried to comfort her. Then she broke the silence.

“You can hate me if you want to.”

He smiled ruefully at the very idea.

“No I can't.”

She began to play with the sleeves of his robes.

“Someday Ron Weasley, just you wait and see, you are going to find a girl that will make you happier than you've ever been. And when you do I'm going to be there to cheer you on.”

“Funny, I had hoped that girl would be you,” he said while pulling back to look at her tear streaked face as she gazed back at him.

Her voice was tremulous.

“I did too. You'll never know how much. Things would have been so much easier if it was meant to be me.”

He began to smooth her frizzy hair around her face.

“I’m never going to stop loving you, you know. I won't! You are always going to be a part of me, Hermione.”

She smiled prettily at that declaration.

“I better!”

They remained on the floor for a few moments of comforting silence, Ron still stroking Hermione's hair as he rocked her back and forth.

“So are you going to take the job?”

“I don't...I'm not sure.”

“It really is a great opportunity.”

“I know,” she sighed. “But it's such a scary idea, moving so far away. I'm not sure I'm ready for it.”

Ron snickered.

“Hermione Granger is scared of a challenge?”

“Pshaw! I'll have you know that Hermione Granger is scared of a great many things. New witches to befriend, gigantic birds to fend off, scheming jinn hiding inside every bottle…”

She snuggled closer to Ron.

“It's all a bit daunting.”

“You can always take the teaching position in Peru.”

Hermione drew back from Ron's embrace in shock as Ron's smirk told her that he had heard that bit of gossip too. She smiled guiltily.

“You heard about that as well huh? Well, Deoroverde did make me a very generous offer, but I'm not so sure I'm ready to become a junior Minerva already. Plus my Spanish is rather tragic. At least my French would come in handy until I could pick up the Arabic in Morocco.”

“Well, whatever you decide I'm sure your future will be fantastic, even if I'm not in it.”

She shook her head sternly.

“Uh, uh. No way. There is never going to be a future of mines without you and…and Harry in it somehow. Never! No matter where I may go, you hear me?”

He nodded. Ron then asked a question that had been troubling him.

“Does he know?”

Ron dreaded the answer. He hated to think that Harry had known about what Hermione had been planning and had not shared it with him.

“No,” she answered.

Ron felt relieved, yet also a tad confused. The twins would joke with him that he had the perfect relationship with Hermione. He got to do all the fun stuff with her while Harry got saddled with all of her emotional baggage. Harry was the one that she confided in. Ron always assumed that Hermione just naturally felt more comfortable sharing her troubles with her best friend instead of her boyfriend, even if her boyfriend was supposed to be her mate as well. Ron had always tried his best not to be envious of the relationship that Harry had with Hermione. He thought of it as a fair trade off he had to endure in order to be with her. But it was hard knowing that when the girl you were in love with needed a shoulder to lean on, she turned to someone who wasn’t you. Harry was the one person that knew everything about Hermione. But Ron figured he must have gotten that wrong too.

“Are you going to tell him?”

“Of course.”

He neglected to note the pause she took before she said it.

“Ugh! I just thought of how Harry's going to take this news about us,” Ron bemoaned as his brow furrowed in apprehension. “He's going to be so disappointed.”

“That's why we are not going to tell him,” she stated simply.

Ron was aghast.

“Hermione, he's our best friend.”

“And that is exactly why we are not going to tell him.”

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione kept talking.

“Harry's happy. He's about to...he's marrying the woman that he loves. He's on cloud nine. And he doesn't need the mess we've made of things to muck that up.”

“But he'll want to know.”

“Exactly. And he'll want to fix it. Because that's who Harry Potter is; Savior of the Wizarding World and Dysfunctional Relationships,” she mused. “Harry loves you and I so much that he would take the focus off his own happiness to try and help us, when we both know that there is nothing left to help.”

“So what are you suggesting?”

“That we do nothing.”

She bit her bottom lip in deep thought.

“We say nothing. We just go on as though nothing has changed. In a few weeks we'll stand up for our best friend...and Ginny. And when that's all done we can tell everyone the truth. Besides my mind reels to think of the spin the Prophet will put on this. Probably paint me as the heartless tramp as usual. No, we will wait until after the wedding.”

“But that would be a lie!”

“I prefer to think of it as a non-admission of truth,” she said snottily.

“Hermione, you don't lie. Not without good cause.”

“AND THIS ISN'T GOOD CAUSE?!” she screeched.

Ron's mouth sank open at the lightning quick change in her temper. But just as fast as it came, her brief flare of rage subsided. Her shoulders sagged and her dark brown eyes misted over slightly.

“Harry has had so little in his life to rejoice over, Ron. I'm not going to take this away from him,” she said as her chin slightly quivered. “I won't take it away from him.”

The rest of their conversation was ceased by the arrival of the man of the hour. They both heard the unmistakable sound of his Apparition, a loud musket shot, out in the living room. As Ron and Hermione entered the room they discovered Harry draped across the coach lying on his stomach. He looked wrung out. Half of his face was smooched into the sofa and his glasses were hanging partially off his face.

“I'm never getting married again,” he mumbled groggily into the cushion. One tired green eye looked at them both.

Ron came to sit on the arm of the sofa.

“Sort of is the point mate,” he joked, smiling jovially at his best friend. In truth he was putting on a better act than how he actually felt.

Hermione came and sat on the coffee table once again.

“Ginny put you through your paces?”

“I never want to see the inside of Malkin's again as long as I live.”

“That bad?” asked Hermione sympathetically.

“Worse! I've never been so pricked and prodded in my life. I Apparated out of the place in protest after her assistant measured my inseam.”

This earned an honest to goodness belly laugh from Ron. Hermione, however, was a little slower on the uptake.

“Why would she need to do that if you were only buying robes...ohhhhhh.”

This caused Ron to laugh even harder and earned him a peeved huff from her.

“Ginny is going to have my head.”

Harry turned over on his back and looked between the two of them.

“So what were you guys up to before I got here? You're all rumpled and...you know, don't answer that question.”

Ron chortled. Harry always got uncomfortable at the thought of him and Hermione shagging. He turned to Hermione to share a conspiratorial wink, but instead he caught a mournful expression on her face before it changed into its usual studiousness.

“If you want Harry, I can pick up some robes for you tomorrow after work. I already know your size and what you prefer. I mean, if that's alright with you?”

She rose up off the table, but before she could move an inch Harry extended a long arm and grabbed one of her hands to hold her there. He squeezed it.

“You’re a God-send Hermione, you know that? What would I ever do without you?”

Hermione looked genuinely caught off guard at the heartfelt sentiment.

“Yes...w-well...er,” she stammered. “W-we won't ever have to worry about that, n-now will we? I…um…th-thirsty!”

Hermione made a mad dash for the kitchen.

Both boys watched her retreating form and were flummoxed by her screwy conduct.

“What's the matter with her?” Harry asked.

Ron figured that maybe Hermione was just now realizing that maybe it wouldn't be that easy to lie (‘cause that's what it bloody well was, a lie) to Harry after all. For her sake though, Ron decided to play along with her little ruse. What was the harm?

“Just mental, I guess.”

Looking back, Ron always knew that he and Hermione ended things at the right time, while they still loved each other, while they were still friends. Ron loved Hermione back then with all of his heart, but eventually he came to realize that they grew apart because they grew up and became different people from who they were when they first started. Was it the War that changed things? Or was it that after the War there was no grand cause to distract them from their problems any longer?

He wasn't sure. He just knew that for whatever reasons, Hermione closed off a part of herself from him early on in the relationship, and the rest of their years together always felt like he was just sitting outside of the gates, begging to be allowed in again. After a few years apart, Ron realized that he no longer wanted back in.

He sometimes wondered what would have happened if they had kept trying to force something that just wasn't there. If they kept hurting each other in the name of this “GREAT LOVE” that was supposed to be theirs. Would they be married now? Ron shuddered at that thought. Would they be trapped in some stale marriage, barely speaking? Was this what was going on with his sister and Harry now? Or was he just projecting?

Ron had fully accepted that, as far as he and Hermione were concerned, the idea that they were “meant to be” was a crock of shite. Was that the case for Harry and Ginny too? Had they fallen victim to the same damnable lie and were now paying the cost?

Then again they could just be going through a rough patch right now. If any couple was supposed to endure it was supposed to be the Potters. They belonged together, everyone said as much. Ron never quite got why that was, but he did accept it like any other known fact. The sky is blue. Malfoy is a rat faced bastard. Harry and Ginny forever! If they couldn't make a go of their marriage Ron seriously had to wonder if anything in life was ever truly destined. Or could it be that they were all just bodies of matter, hurtling through this life until they collided with another entity that managed to get stuck to them? Was life really that random, Ron wondered?

Once Ron and Violet were all spiffed up and ready to go, he and the little girl headed towards the door. He was holding on to her hand when all of a sudden he felt the energy level of the room shoot up. Someone was Apparating through. In a blink of an eye and the pop of a bottle of champers, Lav stood before their eyes. She looked very fetching in her newly bought robes and her hair was pinned up in numerous swirls and loops that gave her the look of a Grecian goddess. However if the look on her face was any indicator, she was feeling less than grand at the moment. Ron barely had time to open his mouth to greet her before she suddenly threw herself into his arms.

“THEY ARE HORRIBLE!” she wailed, wrapping her arms about him tightly.

As Ron let go of Violet's fingers and took his fiancée into his embrace fully, his little girl scampered off into the direction of his bedroom. He briefly hoped that she wouldn't make a mess of herself before they could get going again. He then turned his full attention to his bride-to-be.

“Shhh...shhh...tell Won-Won all about it,” he crooned as he deftly smoothed Lavender’s blonde hair, careful not to disturb the careful workmanship of it.

Lavender sniffed loudly as she pulled back from him and wiped at her blue eyes that were rimmed in red.

“Your mum and my mum are going to kill each other!” she cried. “Mother decided that it would be a grand surprise if she had the Elysian cater the party. She didn't even bother to tell me.”

“Oh no.”

“OH YES! Of course your mum was ready to take her wand to mines. It's the groom's mum who is supposed to host the bloody Commencement! But of course mother acts as though that fact is to be ignored; said that the guests would prefer to eat a more “cultured” fare. She said it to Molly's face! And of course Molly didn't take that well. She said that the Weasleys had no time for people who put on snooty airs. And she looked at me when she said it too, like I had something to do with this whole thing! Your mum hates me now!”

“Shhh…mum doesn't hate you. Mum can just be a bit proud at times, is all. It's a genetic trait I'm afraid.”

“Well everyone is just going on and on about what they want, but no one cares what I want,” she wailed.

“I care what you want.”

Lavender pulled back from him and looked into his eyes.

“You do, don't you? And I care about what you want. Oh I love you so much, Ron!”

She then squeezed him tightly.

“Tell me something I don't know,” he said lightly. “Listen, you always look after me, so it's my time to return the favor. We're going straight to the Burrow and make a certain Mrs. Brown and a certain Mrs. Weasley behave. I'll even send them to the corner with threats of no dessert if I have to.”

He then drew back to look at her.

“C'mon, let's go.”

“Mummy, mummy you're here. That means Kwooksie can come now!” said Violet ecstatically as she ran back in the room with the cat in her arms. She was holding him much like one would hold a large bag of flour. Crookshanks was not amused.

Lavender huffed as she looked down at her little girl and then back to Ron.

“Do we have to take the cat?”

“You know if we don't she'll raise holy Hell. I don't know about you, but I don't feel like being splinched because Vi threw a hissy on the way out,” he reasoned.

“Alright, alright, but you take the monster. I don't think he likes me.”

“Really?” asked Ron innocently. “What would make you say that?”

Lavender advanced to where Violet was standing. Crookshanks bristled and hissed at her. Lavender looked pointedly at Ron.

“So I'll be taking the cat then,” Ron quickly said as he reached down to snap up the orange sack of cat out of his daughter's arms. Violet then began to jump up and down clapping her little hands with joy.

Ron figured that since he would have to take the cat with them he might as well fly over to his old childhood home. He hoped that maybe Harry and the twins would have their brooms with them as well. After the ceremony they might be able to round up a few of their friends and play a pick-up game of Quidditch. It would feel just like old times.

“So Mr. Weasley,” Lavender said as she interrupted his thoughts, “are you ready to begin the Rites? Are you sure that I am all you will ever want?”

She was grinning at him cheekily.

As he watched Lavender grab onto Violet's hand, Ron realized that the answer was an emphatic yes. The good old days were nice, but he had a hunch that all that the future could hold might be even better.

“As long as you don't start leaving the toilet seat up,” he joked in a sarcastic yet loving tone. “I just hate it when birds do that.”

Lavender walked over to Ron, Vi in tow, and kissed him on the lips adoringly.

“Well since I'll have years and years to work on it, I'll try to keep that in mind,” she whispered softly as she leaned back.

Maybe he was wrong. Maybe some things were really meant to be. Obviously not Hermione and himself, but maybe the universe, in all its infinite wisdom, only waited until the perfect time to make sure that the right two people ended up with one another like it did finally with him and Lavender. If that was the case, Ron figured that maybe it was best if he stayed out of Ginny and Harry's business altogether. He didn't need to interfere. They didn't need his help. If the universe was right about the Potters then there was nothing or no one person in this world that could ever part them.

A/N: Next up is Draco’s POV. Things to look forward to: the most unlikely couple has a little rendezvous, Draco and Harry go at it with great big swords, and another piece of the Hermione puzzle gets filled in.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Madam Malkin's assistant are canon.

2) The info that Hermione gives on the historical Boadicea (or Boudica) is accurate.

3) You’ll learn more about Hermione’s sacrifice and the mystery potion in a later chapter.

4) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them an erkling is an evil, elf-like creature that eats children.

5) A roc is a gigantic bird of prey found in Middle Eastern mythology.

6) Goyle's Get-up and Go Hangover potion, the Peruvian magic school Deoverde, The Elysian Fields restaurant, and the book Making Mystic in the Sands: A Chronicle of Enchanted Morocco are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

11. Chapter 10

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 13,378

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: This chap has a LOT of Draco, a LOT of Luna, and a LOT of one-sided D/Hr. You have been warned.

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.

Sunday, 05/29/05

“Mmm. Keep that up and we're liable to miss the party.”

“Sod the party,” Draco said as he left love nibbles down the side of her neck. “I rather stay right here with you and move what we were doing on to your desk.”

He snaked his arms around her body and began moving her zipper down expertly. Her back was pressed up against his shirtless chest. Luna giggled.

“Oh you're just saying that because you wouldn't get to see me naked at the Burrow.”

“Loony Love, you’re spoiling the mood.”

He kissed the shoulder he had just made bare.

“Good,” Luna said as she slid off the settee, disentangling her body from Draco's.

She stood up and pulled her silver robes back on her shoulders, trying to straighten them out before she pulled the little black zipper of the garment up. This would make for the third time this day she had gone through this routine. Draco didn't know why she bothered; he was only going to get them off her again as soon as he got a chance.

They were currently the only two people left inside the Quibbler's London office. Luna had come in to check on an article she was hoping would make it to the front page of the Monday morning edition. She had uncovered a secret alliance between the Ministry and the Flying Broom lobbyists that was responsible for the British flying carpet ban. It would seem that a certain Minister for Magic, Agnes Granitebiter, did not outlaw the enchanting of carpets to protect Muggles as she originally claimed. The argument for banning the devices was that the rugs could accidentally wind up in a Muggle home, or that it was becoming increasingly hard to disguise them from non-magical persons when the carpets were flying in the sky.

Of course the same case could be raised over brooms, but that little issue was glossed over. Through an anonymous source inside the Ministry, Luna found out that Ms. Agnes was getting a truckload of galleons under the cauldron from the broom companies. Universal, Flyte and Barker, Comet and Cleensweep; all the big companies were in on it. Even Nimbus was involved, back when it was still Pye in the Sky Ltd. Apparently the Ministry was still profiting from this deal.

Luna was very excited about her story, she was sure it would finally elevate the paper's respectability, but her father had qualms about running it. Even though her father was the editor and owner of the paper he didn't play favorites with his reporters, a fact that Luna was usually in agreement with. Linus Lovegood's first concern was that he might lose advertising revenue from those very same broom companies. However the main reason behind his hesitancy was that he thought that the piece his star reporter, Patricia Stimpson, turned in on the tragic love affair brewing behind the walls of Hogwarts made for better copy. The gist of the daring exposé was that Minerva McGonagall, current Head Mistress of the hallowed institution, was having a bit of how's your father with one of her employees, a Professor Binns. Sure the fellow was deader than a doorknob, but the angst and the abuse of power that the story entailed made it still sexy and saucy.

Luna had been furious with her father when he floo'ed from the office to let her know he was going with Stimpson's article. She had just finished her shower and was in the middle of fixing a late breakfast for Draco and herself. Draco was still in bed asleep at the time. Luna quickly scribbled a note for her boyfriend before she transfigured her dressing gown into the fancy robes she had planned to wear that day to Ron and Lavender's party, then Apparated to the Quibbler. She had a feeling that she wouldn't have time to make it back home to change after she chewed her father out.

When Draco finally came downstairs in search of Luna he found her message next to a bowl of cold semolina porridge. He hated semolina! He also hated waking up without his lovely girlfriend beside him. He was used to having a nice late lie-in with his Loony on the weekends. Usually their weekday mornings were both hectic so they felt that on the weekend they deserved to not make it out of bed before noon. Sadly their tradition seemed to have been forgotten this day.

Draco was not a happy wizard. His sour mood did not improve when he read the note. Luna told him where she went to and why. She also informed him that she would meet him later at the Burrow, and that it was his responsibility to bring the present she had picked up for the couple, a crystal sculpture of a life sized diricawl, with him.

Draco had scowled at the note. He didn't even know why he and Luna were going to the damned party. He and Weasley were no more friends now than they had been before the War. And he couldn't for the life of him understand why Luna wanted to be even within three miles of the couple who had caused her so much hurt and humiliation not that long ago. Draco knew his Loony Love marched to the beat of her own drum, he just wished sometimes that she wasn't the only person who could hear its particular rhythm. He just didn't get her reasoning. Draco knew that he despised the redheaded lout for what he had done to her, but Luna herself seemed un-fazed by the whole affair.

Whatever her reasons, Draco knew that Luna had every intention of showing up to the Commencement ceremony, and by extension he was pressed to accompany her. That still didn't stop him from trying to worm his way out of it all the way up to the big day. Of course Luna saw straight through every ruse.

First he tried telling her that he needed to bone up on some research on a few of his backed up cases, but she shot that argument down by pointing out that Harry was going to be at the Burrow. If Harry could take a break from work, so could he, she informed him.

Next he tried to play sick. He claimed to be so ill that he didn't even think he had the strength to get out of bed and attend the party the next day. He couldn't even lift his head off his pillow; he was so weak and helpless. Luna called his bluff by sitting in a chair all the way on the other side of their bedroom facing him, hiking up her skirt, and diddling herself to the classical strains of Musidora Barkwith's “Wizarding Suite” off the wireless. Draco practically pounced on her!

After a few more lame attempts at escape; he had nothing to wear, he couldn't do a thing with his hair, he'd AK himself if need be, he finally broke down and accepted his fate. He would suffer through a Weasley family gathering for his Loony Love. But he was damned if he was going to show up to one alone. He might actually have to be there for five full minutes without her by his side. Who the hell would he talk to? The matching set of Weasleys weren't so bad, and Draco secretly admired the father, but he would rather talk to the ghoul that reportedly lived inside their attic than have a civil discussion with the future groom, his shrew of a fiancée, or that little bitch that Potter had married.

These were the thoughts that were in Draco's head as he Apparated over to the dilapidated tenement building that was the false face for the newspaper. He walked into the lobby of the building and curtly nodded at the security watchman before he stepped into a waiting lift carriage. When he reached the floor that Luna's office was on, he heard her faint voice speaking nearby. He followed the sound a short distance down the hall and ended up in front of small door with a simple brass nameplate. The name “Lu Lovegood” was written on it in a curling scrawl. Draco knocked on the door, he wasn't sure who she was talking to and he didn't just want to walk in and interrupt her. After he heard her low-set voice give permission to enter, he pushed open the door and entered.

As usual, when first laying eyes on his woman each day, he took a moment to thank the havens that he was lucky enough to snag her. Luna was sitting perched on her desk as a Quick Quotes Quill stood at stand still, waiting for her to continue speaking. Her hair was pulled up in a ponytail that sat high on her head and she was wearing the diamond earrings he bought her for her last birthday. Her face wore very little make-up, as was normal. He liked the young, fresh faced look it gave her. But he couldn't help feeling slightly like a lecher who was cradle snatching at these times, even if she was only a year younger than him. As he continued to study her, he noted that the brand new robes she had bought just last week at Gladrags already had a smudge of ink near the neck line. Draco thought she was the cutest thing he had ever seen.

“I figured that I would see you here,” she said as he fully entered the room.

He smiled charmingly at her.

“You knew I couldn't stay away from you?” he asked in what he intended to be a suave and sophisticated tone.

“That too...” she said as she hopped off the desk and set the quill at ease. She sauntered over to him and threw her arms around his neck.

She stood up on the tips of her toes.

“…and the fact that you were too cowardly to go to the Burrow on your own.”

She then dropped a quick kiss on the corner of his mouth.

“I am not cowardly!” Draco proclaimed. “I just don't like poor people,” he said grumpily.

“Draco,” she said with disappointment as she turned her gray eyes on him.

Whenever she called him by his name instead of her usual deep voiced “Lover”, he knew he was fucked.

“Alright, so they aren't poor any more,” he admitted. “But I do hate redheaded people.”

By this time his arms were wound around her slim waist and he was holding her close.

“Draco, does the name Pristine ring a bell?” Luna asked him skeptically.

“And yet again I say–”

“Draco!” she admonished as she gave him a swat to the head.

Draco removed one arm from around her as he placed the hand on the spot where she struck him.

“Hey,” he exclaimed, “you’re going to ruin my hairdo!”

This made her laugh as he rubbed his hand over his short crop of blond hair.

“And now you've gone and hurt my feelings,” he said in a false hurt voice. He even puffed his bottom lip out for good measure.

“Did I?”

“Yes,” he said puffing his lip out even further. “And you called me a coward. You've wounded me.”

“Would you like me to kiss it and make it better?” she asked in a throaty, enticing manner.

Draco felt his little Draco perk up at the offer. He wondered just what else she would kiss if he asked.

“You read my mind.”

“Just a little,” she said teasingly as her hand cupped his bum.

“Where's Linus?” he asked, voice slightly strained.

She began placing small kisses all over his face.

“He went to eat at the Dragon's Egg; said that arguing with me gave him too much of an appetite.” Each word was punctuated with a kiss.

Draco was delighted at the news. He began to slowly walk her backwards to her desk. They had never done it on the desk.

“And who else is here?”

Luna kicked her shoes off.

“Just Kirby, he’s downstairs. And he should be going home soon. I'm locking up.”

Draco began to pull the dainty zipper of her robe down.

“I love responsibility in a woman,” he said as he finally received his first real kiss of the day.

It was a tender, languid kiss. The kiss shyly promised lovely things. But before he could deepen it, Luna pulled back from him. He looked down at her dumbly, his mind made hazy by lust and need.

“Not the desk,” she said breathlessly.

“But we never get to do it on the desk,” he whinged.

“Yes, but the wall will be quicker,” said Luna as she helped remove Draco's robes and dropped them to the floor. “And we don't have that much time. They are probably going to start the ceremony at the Burrow soon.”

“I can be quick about it on the desk.”

Luna licked his chin as she worked on his belt. Draco meanwhile had gotten her robe off and was pleasantly pleased, yet disturbed at the same time to see that she only had on a matching scanties set underneath. They were black. He didn't spend too much thought on them before he was trying to get them off of her too.

“I'm sure you can be quick on the desk. But can you be good?” she asked. “You're simply brilliant on the wall.”

Draco's chest tightened with pride at the compliment. He was rather good, he had to admit. That is if he was going by the sated smile she always wore every other time he had stopped in for a quickie during lunch.

“The wall it is,” he said as he lifted her up. She wrapped her spidery legs around his waist and he maneuvered them around to the wall by her door.

He was brilliant on the wall of course. He was also brilliant on the floor. He ended up being brilliant on the tiny settee by her window as well. Before he could find out if just maybe he could be just as brilliant on her desk, Luna was putting on her clothes again.

“Gracious! Look at the time,” she said, staring in wonder at the large clock behind her chair. It was flashing “You're Late”, in large red letters. “Did you remember to bring the gift?” she asked as she stepped into her low pumps. Her back was turned so she missed Draco's puzzled look.

“Umm...gift?”

“Oh Lover,” she sighed.

She sounded disappointed, but she called him by his pet name. Knowing that he fucked up, Draco figured that he must have been exceptionally brilliant that day. He gave himself a pat on the back...in his head.

“We can always go back to the house and pick it up,” he said innocently as she walked back over to where he was sitting and handed him his black Oxford shirt. He had already found his trousers and had put them back on.

“As if we would actually leave the house once we got there.”

A sexy little smile crossed Luna's face and once again Draco wondered if her desk was sturdy. Once he had thrown the shirt on, she began to button it for him...while sitting on her knees between his thighs. Merlin, he hated when she teased like that.

“It's a shame. I had that statue specially commissioned for them,” she said wistfully.

As was his usual reaction, Draco felt dark fury bubble in his belly at the mere mention of Ron Weasley. He just couldn't fathom why Luna didn't hate the wanker.

“I don't know why you bother. That slag girlfriend of his probably will hate it.”

“I'm sure she will.”

Draco looked at the little pleased expression on Luna's face as she finished with the buttons, and he grinned down at her. People tended to think she was spacey and harmless, but after dating her all these years, Draco knew better. To say there was a method to his Loony Love's madness was an understatement.

He stood up as Luna helped him into his robes. After she zipped it up, he slunk back down onto the settee. She then sat back on her heels to look at her handiwork, beaming up at him.

“You look nice, although you do look like a vicar. Must all of your fancy robes look like that?”

“And here I thought I looked sexy and mysterious,” he said silkily as he pulled her closer to him.

“No,” she said, voice lilting, “just a vicar.”

It was very difficult at times to tell when Luna was joking or being dead serious.

“What about chartreuse? I think chartreuse would look splendid on you.”

Now was one of those times.

“I have an idea,” he said as began to fiddle with her zipper.

Luna smacked his hand away.

“No Lover, we are already late.”

“Sod it!”

“Draco!”

“Why do we even have to go to this bash anyway?” Draco asked, fully annoyed.

Luna got off the floor and placed herself on Draco's lap. He was so annoyed that he couldn't even appreciate the gesture.

“We have to go because Ronald invited us.”

Draco snorted.

“Well, Ronald invited me, but it's just about the same thing,” she tactfully said.

“You should hate those people,” he grumbled.

She smiled complaisantly at him.

“And yet I don't. Why should I when you do it so well for me?”

“I can't understand why you would even want to be in the same room with that Brown-Pye hag.”

“Well yes, she is a bit of a cow,” Luna agreed, “but other than that she's perfectly lovely.”

“Loony Love, the woman walked in on your wedding ceremony, threw a wobbly, and told the groom that he couldn't marry you because he knew that he was still in love with her. Now you are about to go to the engagement party of this very same tart, at the very same place your own wedding had been held, and give her your well wishes? I know you're not mad...but are you mad?!”

Luna sighed dismally as she removed herself from Draco's lap and instead sat beside him. She took his hands in hers and forced him to look at her. Luna's usually dreamy expression was replaced by an unfamiliar vulnerable one.

“I don't hate Lavender,” she said. “I don't think she is the nicest of people, but I don't hate her. If anything, I should thank her.”

Draco gaped at her as if he had proof that she had lost it now.

“I mean it. Ronald and I should have never been together in the first place. Of course I fancied him from afar for years. He was quite cute.”

“Hey!”

“Well he was. And I seemed to amuse him.”

She turned her head as if trying to concentrate on a thought.

“Or he was amused by me.”

Draco didn't see the difference. She turned back to him.

“But that was about all. Really the only reason we were getting married was because Harry and Ginny were already married, and I suppose I reminded him a bit of...”

Luna paused and looked at Draco uncertainly.

“You reminded him of Hermione,” he finished for her.

She nodded her head.

“Well that just goes to show what an idiot he is. You're nothing like Hermione!”

For a very brief moment hurt resided in Luna's eyes, but it went away so fast that Draco missed it entirely. She moved closer to him as she shrugged her shoulders.

“I don't think that she and I were that far off. She told me once that the Sorting Hat had almost put her in Ravenclaw, for instance.”

Draco was actually surprised at this piece of information. Hermione had never shared that with him.

“Both of us are very loyal to our friends. And most interestingly enough of all, we both seem to attract the same men,” she finished as she stared pointedly at him.

Although Draco had never told Luna about Hermione, and what he'd felt for her, somehow Luna had figured it out on her own. She had a strange knack for just knowing things. It irritated him beyond words. He almost told her that that was another trait that she and Hermione shared, but he wanted to clear her off the subject as fast as he could.

“If you're trying to tell me that you once had a hot and heavy fling with that blighter Davies, I'll walk right out this office!”

Luna must have found that comment especially funny, she was doing that braying thing that he found so adorable now.

“No, can't say that I have. But Viktor Krum once made eyes at me.”

Draco looked at her skeptically.

“He did! Or he just was suffering from a touch of gas. Hmm...Either or.”

“Well I just don't see how you and Hermione are similar,” he said priggishly.

“Hmm, I agree that I might not have her endowments–”

“I like your breasts!” Draco exclaimed.

He did. They were very nice tits. They were small, Luna had almost a boyishly slim figure, but they fit perfectly in his hand. Sometimes Draco thought they had been made specifically for him. He told her this once and got an extra special snog for his trouble.

“I was talking about her power.”

A sheepish expression crossed his face, but Luna just giggled at the sight of it.

“Hermione was scary powerful. During those last few months, whenever she would walk into a room, you could almost feel the energy level surge. Her emotions were all over the place that you could feel the sheer force of them. Sometimes I got the impression that she didn't even realize how strong she was. She reminded me of my mum in that respect.”

Draco quickly sent up a prayer that she hadn't gone and gotten herself blown up like Luna's mum too.

“But I like to think that I have something now that she doesn't have.”

“And what's that?” Draco asked curiously.

“You,” she answered demurely as she placed her head adoringly on his shoulder and turned her silver-ish eyes up at him.

Well that did it! She couldn't just say something like that and not expect to get snogged within an inch of her life. Draco pushed her down on the settee and laid his body halfway on top of her as he kissed her passionately. But before the kisses could get even more heated, she reluctantly pushed him off of her. Draco let out a frustrated growl. Luna reminded him that they were already late and that they had to leave.

“Aww, Loony Love, I'm not going to have anyone to talk to,” Draco complained.

Luna looked at him as though he had gone spare.

“Harry's going to be there. You can talk to Harry. Poor Harry...”

Draco grunted at this suggestion.

“Oh stop pretending that you hate Harry still. You two are friends.”

“We're partners. We’re damned good ones too. That, however, does not make us friends,” he countered.

“You saved his life.”

“A fact that the prat still hasn't thanked me for!”

Luna shook her head.

“I just don't get you two. You respect each other. You work well together. But the two of you always act as though you're both in a pissing contest with one another. Don't you find that odd?”

He really didn't. This was just the way he and Potter operated for the last few years. It had been like that in the Order as well. That was the reason the two of them had been paired in the Department. Malfoy and Potter just made for one hell of a team. They were no Golden Trio (bah, who came up with that codswallop anyway), but the two did share some kind of deep, mystic connection. Chemistry, perhaps? People often said that watching them together during raids or maneuvers was like watching a well choreographed ballet. They supported each other. They anticipated each other's next move. They watched each other's asses. They just accomplished all of this while disliking each other intensely.

Draco always assumed that the reason why he and Potter worked together so well was because each was always trying to be better than the other at whatever it was they were endeavoring, be it department paperwork or taking down a dark wizard. In the end they each ended up making the other look good. It was one helluva weird synergy. Draco first noticed it when Hermione asked him to sword train with Potter.

It was January of '98. Voldemort's reign of terror was reaching its zenith. The Order had lost several members in just the first week of the New Year. Those who witnessed the ambush in Hogsmeade that day, and were still alive to tell the tale, said that little Flitwick fought valiantly against the four Death Eaters it took to take him down.

He, the Werewolf, King Weasel, and the rest of their group had gone into town because the Charms teacher believed that there was a store there that had a book that might aid Potter when it came time for the final confrontation with the Dark Lord. The book dealt with blood magic. Potter had been doubtful that he could ever use anything like that. It sounded too much like dark magic. Ninny! Hermione, however, got him to change his stance on the whole thing. Her reasoning was that in the end, to battle dark magic, they might have to use something equally as powerful themselves. Fight fire with fire. Draco agreed with this assessment, but it wasn’t like he said it out loud during the meeting or anything.

Soon after the unanimous vote, a battalion was put together. The Werewolf was designated leader. The small troop went off just a few hours later to find Veneficium, the store where Flitwick remembered seeing the book. Hermione, the resident bookworm, seemed to be affronted that there was a book store nearby that she had no knowledge of. Flitwick explained that the shop itself was enchanted. You didn't find it, it found you. That is if your need for the knowledge from one of the books on its many shelves were great enough.

Years ago a teen aged Filius was standing outside of the Shrieking Shack depressed because he was too tiny to play Quidditch. He wanted to hate the bit of goblin blood that made him so small, but to do so he would have to hate his dear half-goblin papa. This was something that Filius could not do. So instead he wished fervently for a way to make his body larger. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of what looked like a book store. Only Filius was sure that the store hadn't been there the last time he had come to Hogsmeade in October.

He felt compelled to enter Veneficium. The shop was tiny and cramped with shelves and shelves of worn looking books. Filius didn't even notice that there didn't seem to be a shopkeeper at first. Instead He was immediately drawn to a shelf in the back of the store. He pulled out a book that was eye level with him. The book was tattered, but he could read the title still, Sanguen Albion. He opened the book, hesitantly, and the very first charm he saw was one that would make the caster as big as he was in his dreams.

Filius should have been excited. But he immediately saw that in order for the spell to work, the caster had to offer a very specific tributary. The one for this spell called for the blood of the person the caster was most envious of. Every drop of it. Although little Filius wished he had Sidimund Bonneville's girth and skill on the pitch, the large fellow made for a rather formidable Beater, he was not about to kill his house mate to get these things.

Flitwick dropped the book and ran out of the store. He knew dark magic when he saw it; he was a near genius after all (future Ravenclaw prefect and Head Boy to be exact). After doing some research Filius discovered that he had avoided a very powerful temptation. Because his need was great, Veneficium offered him a way to fulfill it. Luckily for Sidimund, Filius found the price too high. Unfortunately for Flitwick, he would remember the shop and the book years later during an Order brainstorming session. They were trying to come up with a way on how to make sure the Prat Who Lived...lived.

It was a massacre. Proudfoot, Diggle, van Louhten, Jones, Givens, and Flitwick all were killed. At least ten innocent bystanders, including a student who had been meeting a date at Puddifoot's, died as well. Weasley and the Werewolf were taken hostage. Potter locked himself in the Room of Requirement for days. Hermione didn't show up for meals any longer, just combed through tome after dusty, decaying tome looking for some kind of solution. The Order was in shambles.

Eventually they were contacted, by Aunt Bella no less, that the Dark Lord was willing to trade Weasley for the last Horcrux they had found. Nothing was said of the Werewolf; Draco figured he was already dead. The deal was made and soon Weasley was lying in a bed in the infirmary, comatose. The Dark Lord never said he wouldn't have any fun with the blood-traitor before he turned him over.

To Draco, everything was moving at the speed of light. On the 19^th the Prophet failed to make it to the stand for the first time in its 316 year run. Voldemort preferred that the country be blanketed in a shroud of uncertainty.

Having grown up at the knees of dark wizards Draco recognized the signs of what was happening well; endgame. The Dark Lord would be striking soon. This knowledge, coupled with the fear that he might have very well chosen the wrong side, drove Draco to the potions dungeon. He wanted to be some place that had provided him with some form of happiness. He wanted to relish in all of the memories of grand times spent there when he had humiliated either Potty or King Weasel (he was sorry, but he wasn't going to be heartbroken if the wanker snuffed it) in this very classroom. Draco didn't dwell too long on why Hermione wasn't included in his youthful reminiscing.

Draco sat on top of Snape's desk. He had gotten so tall that even pushed back on the desk, his feet nearly reached the floor. As Draco stared dejectedly at his trainers, he missed the soft shuffle of thinly soled feet as someone entered the room. By time he drew his wand out realizing that some one was upon him, the person had already expertly disarmed him with a non-verbal Expeliarmus.

“You have to be quicker, Malfoy. If I wanted to, I could have killed you.”

Draco scowled into the impassive face of Hermione Granger.

“And here I thought you always did want me dead.”

Hermione walked over, handed him back his wand, and scooted herself next to Draco on the desk. The closeness of her body was, in a word, alarming. He turned his face down so as not to look at her, and instead focused on her scuffed brown loafers. And her nice legs; nice legs that were encased in the ugliest pair of argyle socks ever. They were brown and beige to go with the brown woolen skirt and matching cardie set she had on. The whole ensemble made her look like a big brown bird. A cute brown bird, but a bird nonetheless. Regrettably, her wild and bushy hair was tamed into a plait that hung over her shoulder.

“I never wanted to kill you. That would be Ron, perhaps Harry. I've only wanted to hex your nose off. At the least, make your nostril hairs reach your knees.”

At first Draco thought she was serious, but then he saw the corner of her mouth lift. He, however, was not in a solicitous mood. Plus his ego was still sore from how easily she had spelled his beech wood from him. He glowered as he watched her drop her own wand down her jumper. He had to reign in the urge to lean over and steal a peek.

“Well I didn't figure on having to protect myself inside this bloody prison. Isn't this place supposed to be safeguarded from attack or something?” he said snottily.

“You and I both know that Hogwarts can be breached,” she frankly replied.

Ah yes, that again.

“What do you want, Granger?” Draco asked as he wrenched his gaze away from Hermione's socks and looked towards the nearest point of exit.

“Why would you assume I want something?” she coyly asked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Because the only time you search me out is when you want something from me.”

His voice registered as bored, but secretly the insides of his stomach was swirling as it usually did in the girl's presence.

Hermione looked genuinely hurt to hear Draco say such a thing.

“That's not true,” she said in a tight, pained voice. “You know that's not true. I don't only talk to you when I want something.”

She was right of course. Whenever he was bored and up for a game of Wizard's Chess she would always play with him. She was even worse than he was. They practiced spells and incantations together. Back when they had all returned from their big rescue mission in France, and he had taken that bad spell to his arms, she had sat by his bedside; spoon fed him, and told him all about some bloke named Monty Python. Draco hadn't really cared who the fellow was, but it had been nice to have her look after him almost as well as she would have taken care of either of her two boys. So yes, Draco was definitely being unfair.

“MERLIN!” he shouted. “Stop looking at me like I stepped on the tail of that pitiful creature you call a cat.”

“You leave Crooks out of this!” she fired back, hackles up.

“BLAST THE CAT!”

“I'LL BLAST YOU FIRST!”

“FINE! You don't always want something from me. Are you happy?!”

He jumped off the desk and began pacing the floor. He shoved his wand in his pocket.

“But would you mind telling me why you are here? You see it's rather chilly down here and I would like to leave before my knob gets frostbit and falls off!”

Hermione made a disgusted noise as she folded her arms in front of her.

“WHY ARE YOU HERE?!” he asked again, finally stopping his agitated back and forth in front of her.

Hermione started gnawing on her bottom lip. Draco turned away from her.

“I...um...I,” she stammered nervously. “I sort of need to ask a favor of you.”

“Of course you do,” he said dryly.

“Now you listen here you great honking prat,” she retorted, “I need you to stop thinking of yourself for a change and do something for the benefit of the greater good.”

“Didn't I already do that when I saved your precious Potty's life?”

“Oh my yes, you saved Harry's life. How could I forget? Oh, that's right, I can't forget since you WON'T SHUT YOUR GOB ABOUT IT! Tell me Draco, would you like a biscuit?!”

Her voice was acid, her eyes were fire. She launched herself from the desk and got so close to him that Draco felt she was invading his personal space.

“Yes,” he answered back snootily. “Yes, I would. I would like a biscuit.”

“YOU'RE IMPOSSIBLE!” she shouted. Her face was a livid red. She never looked more snoggable.

“Just tell me what the bleeding favor is so we can be done with it, Granger!”

Hermione, still seething, fought for control of her temper. She walked back over to the desk and leaned against it.

“I need you to practice dueling with Harry,” she said.

Draco stared at Hermione in disbelief for a moment, before nearly collapsing upon himself in humorless laughter. Hermione slowly became irritated as Draco laughed uncontrollably for a good two minutes. At one point she stood up from the desk to stamp her foot in indignation. Draco laughed for a whole other minute over that alone. Once he had gained control of his laughter and wiped a tear away, he looked her dead in the eyes.

“No,” he said.

“Malfoy,” protested Hermione.

“NO!”

“Now see here–”

“NO, YOU SEE HERE! One of the last times that ticking time bomb of a twat pointed a wand at me I ended up in the infirmary cut up from head to foot. OR DID YOU FORGET?!”

Draco was simply furious that she would even suggest such a thing.

“Malfoy, listen–”

“THAT FUCKED UP SPELL OF SEVERUS' NEARLY DID ME IN!”

“MALFOY–”

“I'M NOT GOING TO JUST ROLL OVER AND LET CHOSEN WANKER FINISH THE JOB!”

“MALFOY, NO WANDS!” she yelled in exasperation.

“NO WAY AM I...wait, what?” a confused Draco asked.

“NO WANDS! I'm not talking about a wizard's duel.”

Draco was beyond frustrated at this point.

“THEN WHAT THE BLEEDING BOLLOCKS ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!”

Hermione took a deep breath as though she knew that Draco was bound to be even more difficult once she fully explained herself.

“Remember when you told me about your nanny Zelda? How she used to give you fencing lessons?”

Draco stared at her, mouth agape. She couldn't possibly mean what he thought she might mean.

“You're having me on!”

“No,” she said despairingly. “I'm afraid I'm not. I need you to teach Harry how to wield a sword. I'm talking a real sword. I'm talking Godric Gryffindor's sword.”

“WHY?!” Draco asked, aghast.

Hermione let out a long dramatic sigh before she spoke.

“I need you to teach Harry how to fight with Gryffindor's sword so he can use it to kill Riddle. There, are you happy now?”

Draco blinked. Then he blinked again. Then he started a renewed round of frantic pacing.

“HAVE YOU PEOPLE LOST THE BLOODY PLOT?!”

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Draco cut her off.

“NO, SERIOUSLY, HAVE YOU?! You’re telling me that you want to try and destroy Voldemort... greatest dark wizard of all time...THE PSYCHOPATH THAT MAKES GRINDELWALD LOOK LIKE A BLOODY SCHOOL TEACHER...WITH AN OVER LARGE TABLE KNIFE?”

“I'll have you know that Harry used that overly large table knife to kill Slytherin's pet basilisk,” she said tartly.

“He did what?!”

“He did. Back when he was only a Second Year.”

“Well there you go then, he already knows what he's doing,” Draco said.

“But he doesn't,” she countered. “That was blind, dumb luck that saved the day back then. Eventually that kind of luck runs out. If Harry is going to take on Riddle with the sword he is going to have to learn how to handle it like a pro.”

She shuffled over to the desk again and hopped on. She patted the spot next to her. Draco got the clear invitation yet hesitated.

“Well I won't bite.”

He still was unsure.

“Hard.”

She said it with such a stoically straight face, that against his wishes, Draco felt the left corner of his mouth tug upward. He walked over to her and leaned back against the desk near her side.

“What I'm about to tell you very few people know, but I have to make you understand how dire this all is,” explained Hermione.

She had Draco's rapt attention.

“Harry and Voldemort's wands share a common core,” she straightforwardly told him. “They both were made with a feather from the same phoenix.”

“They’re both phoenix feather? That's supposed to make for a very powerful wand.”

“It does. But they don’t work when two brothers are pitted against each other.”

Draco looked at her, shock covering his face.

“Great Grendelwald's Ghost! Do you mean to tell me that Quibbler article was...was real? That really happened?!”

“Yes,” she answered. “Harry was very lucky to escape with his life. Because the two wands are brothers they cancel each other out. Harry is as good as a sitting duck if he uses his again.”

“Well let him get another. Let him use yours.”

“Did you learn nothing when you got your wand First Year? Wands are very specific enchanted utensils. They choose their owner for life. Sure Harry would be able to use my wand, but not that well. And that's the last thing we need.”

“Can't he buy a new one?”

“Where would we find one, Malfoy?” Hermione queried. “Mr. Ollivander is probably dead somewhere in a ditch. And we can't take the chance to pop off to Bulgaria or somewhere and hope that Harry is able to find another wand that is to his liking. No. The sword might be the only chance we have.”

Draco dropped his head to his palms. He felt weak and lightheaded.

“That's a pretty big chance,” he said as he lifted his eyes back to hers.

“What else do we have?” she asked.

He couldn't give an answer.

“The way I figure it, Harry and Dumbledore already destroyed two Horcruxes. I took care of one and...” she paused, biting down on her lip at the painful memory of just how the next Horcrux got destroyed. “That leaves two more,” she finally continued when she could go on. “The Locket and the G-Gryffindor Horcrux.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. For weeks Draco had come to suspect that Potter and Hermione knew exactly what and where the Gryffindor relic was. They always would stop talking when he walked into the room. They would also steal glances at each other when he was in their company. Yet they hadn't made a single move to claim it and get rid of it. This hesitancy greatly disturbed him. However every time he asked her about it, Hermione would tearfully avoid Draco's question. Draco hated being out of the loop! But he would rather eat dung than beg Potter for answers.

“Then all that's left is the last bit that's still stuck in Riddle himself. Right now he should be feeling pretty vulnerable. Harry might be able to take him on. But in order to do so, you need to teach him how to use that so-called table knife the right way!”

“And you trust me to go at your precious Potty with a sharp instrument?” Draco asked half-jokingly.

Hermione obviously didn't get the joke because she looked at him as if he were babbling.

“Of course I trust you. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't trust you.”

Draco, unwillingly, was touched by the assertion. He tried to brush the emotion off by making a joke.

“I'm probably the only idiot you can get to do the job.”

“Well, there is that too.” She winked at him for good measure.

Draco let out a hearty laugh at that. It felt good to laugh. He had done so little of it these past few months.

“So what does precious Potty have to say about this plan?” he asked.

“I haven't told him yet. I wanted to wait to see what you said first. Are you in?”

He curtly nodded and she delightedly clapped her hand.

“Good!”

“Yeah, but Potty is going to be none too pleased,” he said. “Of that you can be certain.” Just the thought of how shirty Saint Potter was sure to be actually made Draco smile a little.

“Oh Malfoy, don't be silly. There's nothing certain but death and Ministry warnings. Don't you worry about Harry. I'll handle Harry.”

“Kinky.”

“Perv. Listen, there are times that I leave Harry to do what he thinks is best. And then, there are the times, where I get him to do what I know is best. Malfoy, this is one of those times.”

She hopped off the desk and made for the door.

“I better go see about Ron.”

Draco felt a scowl fast approaching.

“Yes, I wondered just when you were going to continue your bedside vigil with the vegetable,” he said snarkily.

She turned back round to face him, frowning at the dig to the Weasel.

“I left Harry with him. I told him I would be gone for only a moment. Harry will probably come looking for me any minute. I need to let him know about this new development.”

She was at the door frame when Draco called for her to stop.

“What is it now, Malfoy?” she asked; a trace of irritation in her voice.

“Well Granger, if you’re going to ask me to risk getting my bits and pieces hacked off so that near sighted bastard you call a best friend can get in target practice, you could at least call me by my forename.”

Hermione looked at him searchingly for a moment before she nodded.

“Duly noted,” she said before shooting him a toothy grin. “Draco.”

And like that she was out the door.

Of course Potter wasn't as easily convinced as Hermione thought he would be. The two of them had a simply fabulous row right inside the Infirmary. Right next to Weasel's bed no less! Draco could hear clear across the castle shouts of “blond git” this and “ferret faced bastard” that. Pomfrey had to throw them out, they were so loud.

Hermione ended up dragging Potter up to the Room of Requirement to finish their “discussion”. Draco never found out was said, but whatever it was found him being collected from the dungeons, and escorted up to the seventh floor room twenty minutes later by Hermione.

When Draco walked through the door he did a double take at what the room looked like. The floors were cushioned with a blue mat, while on the far back wall stood a rack that displayed several dozen different swords. Along the right wall was a small brown bench, he assumed for Hermione to sit on. Draco took all this in, then turned his eyes towards Potter. The Gryffindor teen was not happy. At all! Draco could see the lightning bolt scar, the scar that started this whole mess, on his head through his fringe and it seemed to be pulsating. In fact Scarhead seemed to be just this side of towering rage as the Slytherin walked in. Draco swallowed. The fact that the git was also carrying in his right hand a very large sword, Gryffindor's he wagered, did not help ease Draco's apprehension. But Draco was bound and determined not let Potter know how intimidated he was.

“Potter,” Draco sneered as he gave a mocking little bow to him.

Potter threw a furious glance at Hermione who ignored the look, and instead walked to the wall and chose a sword for Draco. She handed the silver hilted blade to him. With that done she walked over to the bench and plopped down, looking at both boys expectantly.

“Well,” she said motioning her hand at them, “have at it.”

He and Potter turned to face the girl, both bearing perplexed frowns.

“No need to worry about dicing each other up. I put dulling charms on all the swords in the room. Harry's too.”

Potter stifled a startled cry. She must have not told him that last part.

“And here I thought you trusted me,” drawled Draco arrogantly.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I do trust you.”

She then turned her head and stared at Potter directly.

“I'm just not too keen on him presently,” she said reproachfully.

Potter grunted at the remark

“Listen Ferret, I'm not pleased about this little idea of Hermione's here,” Potter said focusing his gaze on Draco. “But since she is pretty brilliant, I'm going to go along with it for now. I'm only doing this for her.”

“My, my, someone should alert Witch Weekly. The great and powerful Potter is being told what to do by a girl,” said Draco acidly. “And here I thought it was only the little She-Weasel who could lead you around by the willie.”

Like a shot, Hermione was out of her seat and placing herself between the two young men. Potter had already raised his sword and was advancing on Draco, eyes snapping dangerously. Hermione's body was facing Potter as she tried to push him away from the other boy, but she had her head turned towards the Slytherin. Judging by the look on her face, she was not pleased with his childish taunt.

“DRACO!”

He could hear the rebuke and the embarrassment in her voice. But he hardly was paying attention to that. Instead he was enjoying the reaction that Potter was having to Hermione calling him by his first name. Interesting, Draco thought to himself. I'll file that away for further study and analysis. Hermione was so engrossed in trying to push Potter back and conveying to Draco by just a look how displeased she was at him, that she missed the whole thing.

“IF YOU TWO DON'T STOP RIPPING INTO EACH OTHER, I'M GOING TO HEX YOU BOTH INTO PYGMY PUFFS!”

“YOU WOULDN'T DARE!” Potter retorted.

“I DON'T KNOW, TRY ME!” she challenged back.

The two of them were staring at each other heatedly. The atmosphere in the room felt charged. Draco felt even more of the outsider than usual. There was something between these two, Draco detected. Some type of inexplicable force of nature flowed from one to the other. It was almost as if...

Draco shook his head. He didn't have time for this.

“See here, wee willie Potty, I'm not going to sit here all day while you have some stupid tantrum.”

This only succeeded in making Potter's green eyes blaze brighter as he gripped tightly to his weapon, but Draco ignored that as he continued.

“We need to get this over with. You say you’re only willing to do this for her,” Draco said as he looked point-blankly at Hermione, oddly enough making her blush. “Well I'm doing this for me. Some sick twist of fate made you the person responsible for saving our world, our lives. Well I rather like my life, thank you very much. So if making sure my arse stays out of the bloody fire means that I have to let you swing that thing,” he pointed at the ruby encrusted sword in Potter's hand, “at my head ‘til you get it right, so be it! By the might of Salazar, once I'm done with you Potter, even the Muggle ponce who took the sword out of that stone will have nothing on you!”

Draco had gone almost rigid due to his impassioned speech. He didn't know what came over him to say such things, but the way that Hermione was looking at him in unabashed admiration made him not regret a word of it.

“So are we agreed?” he asked offering his hand, not for the first time, to his black haired foil.

For a moment Potter stared disdainfully at the hand as though it were covered in bobutuber puss. Draco briefly wondered if he had gone mad to make the offer, but at the time it had felt right.

“Agreed.”

Potter took his hand in his own and gave a short, yet bruising squeeze.

“Good,” said Hermione, eyes welling with relief, looking at both of them with a very satisfied and almost smug smile on her face. “Let's get to work then.”

Draco and Potter trained for nearly three months. Usually they would meet up in the Room of Requirement, but sometimes they would go to the Astronomy Tower or outside near Hagrid's hut for a change of scenery. Hermione always accompanied them. At first Draco thought it was to ensure that they didn’t kill each other. The blades on the swords might have been blunt, but they were still heavy enough to give a nice bonk to the head.

Draco soon realized that like most things in life, Hermione saw this as a challenge to learn something new. Her eyes would follow every move of his and Potter’s closely. She even took notes a few times. He asked her once; one day after Potter went off to check on the Weasel, if she wanted him to teach her too. She just smiled at him shyly, yet appreciatively.

“Harry is what's important. I want you to concentrate all your time and energy on him.”

This earned her an eye roll and he got his very first smack to the head.

She needn't have worried. Potter turned out to be a natural when it came to sword play. Draco found himself both admiring and being highly annoyed at the git’s burgeoning skill. Ruddy prat turns everything to gold, he was known to mutter. In fact, by March Potter was taking down Draco far more times than he would have liked. This forced Draco to up his game. The two of them wound up going at it for hours, wet with sweat, dressed in little more than their skivvies. Their knockabouts were monstrous. Hermione had to call a draw most times just to get them to stop. And even then they would beg for ten more minutes.

Each boy drove the competitive nature in the other, and as a result two highly skilled swordsmen emerged. Which was lucky since Potter lost his marbles soon after and practically delivered himself to the Dark Lord's door. Draco wouldn't have been so bothered if Hermione hadn't gone chasing after. Thankfully everything worked itself out in the end.

“Where'd you go to just now?”

Draco felt shaken out of his reverie by the calm cool hand that Luna laid on his neck.

“Nowhere Loony Love, just thinking some things through in my head.”

He smiled reassuringly at her.

“Well as long as you don't hurt yourself,” she said sweetly as she patted his cheek and removed herself from the settee.

She walked back over to her desk, sat behind it, and took up the parchment she had been dictating when he walked in.

“So did you and Linus come to an agreement?”

“Yes, fortunately. I explained to him how ridiculous we would look if we ran with that Stimpson nonsense. We'd be no better than the Prophet.”

Draco tittered.

“There are some who think that the Prophet is the epitome of serious journalism.”

“Maybe once upon a time, but now it's no more than a tabloid."

“Still sore about that Malfoy/Lovegood ticker?” he asked teasingly as he got up from where he was seated and placed himself sideways on her desk.

When the two first got together, the Prophet ran stories daily speculating on just how long he and Luna would remain an item. There was actually a counter that ticked off the days as they went. Luna, who was usually quiet and laid back about most things, would get steely eyed at the mere mention of the Prophet. Like now.

“I'm not sore.”

“Of course you're not,” he said dully. “But look at the bigger picture. They stopped that nonsense after our second anniversary.”

She smirked.

“They stopped after we got caught celebrating our second anniversary in the cloakroom of Presto's.”

“Ah yes. Now I remember. If I didn't know any better, I would think that you meant for Daph Greengrass to walk in on us,” he said smiling enticingly at her.

“I don't know what you mean,” said Luna innocently.

Draco believed other wise.

“But I tell you what; if I didn't know better, I would think Greengrass had a thing for you.”

Before Draco could ponder the oddness of the statement and ask her what she meant, he glanced down and saw that all this time she had been diligently writing.

“I thought you finished your article?”

“I did,” she said. “This is just a fluff piece I'm doing for Ginny. She asked me to sneak in a little mention of the party if I could. She said that Lavender would fall to pieces if her engagement isn't the talk of the town tomorrow. Daddy won't mind.”

“WHAT?!”

Luna was so engrossed in the little write-up that she mistakenly thought Draco was merely being curious.

“I know it seems a bit dishonest to write about how utterly wonderful a party is sure to be before you even get there, but really once you've been to one Commencement you've been to them all. All you have to mention is that the future bride glowed, the mother of the groom cried, and how they all ate treacle tart afterward. See, if I write it now, I won't have to rush back here to file the story. Aren't I clever?”

As Luna finished her article, she looked up at Draco. But her smile vanished as she noticed the outrage that was beginning to cloud his face.

“THE NERVE!” he shouted jumping up from the desk. “HOW DARE THE SHE-WEASEL ASK THAT OF YOU?!”

Luna was clearly confused to as to what had Draco in such a state. She did know that Ginny was not one of his favorite people. Luna always figured that her boyfriend had come on to the striking redhead once in their younger days and got shot down for his troubles, but she never asked either of them for confirmation of this theory. Luna just took it as a matter of course that two people that she dearly loved could not stand each other.

“I'm starting to think that you don't like any of my friends,” said Luna glumly as she sat back in her chair and rested the palms of her hands flat against the desk.

“That's because all of your friends are enormous prats!”

“Draco, it's really not that big a deal. I'm a journalist. This is what I do.”

“Listen Loony Love, Ginny Weasley–”

“Potter.”

“Whatever! She's uppity–”

“She's nice.”

“She has a right nice narsty sense of humor, always putting others down.”

“Hullo, Mr. Pot!”

“And she treats you like rubbish. This is just another example!”

“Ginny is one of my dearest friends.”

“That’s bollocks! That bird goes through friends faster than most women change their knickers.”

“That's not very nice.”

“No, but it's true. She's probably priming that Brown-Pye hag right now to take your spot.”

Draco and Luna often argued over Ginny Potter's presence in their lives. Draco couldn't stand her! Sure she was drop dead gorgeous with a nice little fit body, but in his opinion all of that didn't matter. She had all the subtle charm of a lethifold; harmless looking, but would swallow you whole and leave no remains if given the chance.

Draco knew her type well; brought up with very little, feeling they have to over-compensate to prove something, and never above putting others down if it would puff up their own over inflated sense of self-worth. Draco thought that Ginny was a real piece of work, especially after she became Mrs. Potter. She was all fur coat and no knickers. The word superficial didn't even begin to cover it. She was smart lipped too. Draco couldn't count the number of times he'd drawn his wand on her after she had come over to the house and criticized Luna for any number of things. The little bitch acted as though the very fact that she had snowed Potter into marrying her somehow made her special.

Draco also didn't like the woman because of some unknown crime she had committed against Hermione some years ago. As far as he knew the two girls had been the closest of friends before the War. But after the final victory, the two began to drift slowly apart. Not so much to cause fanfare, but just enough for Draco to notice.

He suspected it was because the two of them no longer had much in common. Hermione was just one of those girls who didn't seem to take to other women that well. If anything else supported this conjecture it was the fact that her two best mates were men. She also had a very strong relationship with Draco, himself.

It wasn’t that Hermione didn't have any female friends, though. She seemed to enjoy spending a lot of time with that last flat mate of hers, the Indian bird that ended up marrying one of the Weasley twins. She told Draco that it was such a nice change of pace to get to just be a Muggle sometimes with someone who didn't know what the flying fuck a Voldemort was. Hermione and Luna also became close after the younger girl graduated from Hogwarts and took her first real job as a secretary in the MMBA Office. In fact, according to Luna, Hermione encouraged her to go after Weasleby numerous times.

But her relationship with Ginny Weasley just never seemed that cozy to Draco, not like in their schooldays. That's why he was shocked when he found out that Hermione was going to act as Ginny's Maid of Honour. Draco knew that in some wizarding traditions a Maid of Honour had more importance than its Muggle counterpart. The Maid of Honour actually planned the wedding for the bride. Of course it could stand to reason that Hermione was an obvious choice; Ginny's brother's longtime, off and on girlfriend, as well as her fiancé's best friend. Then there were the organizational skills that had to be taken into account. You could not ignore the organizational skills.

But Draco still didn't think it a good fit. If judging by her woebegone expression when she mentioned the news to him, Hermione didn't think so either. But like any task set before her the woman tackled it diligently and with relish. By all accounts Ginny couldn't have made a better choice for her Maid of Honour.

Then one night Hermione showed up at the door of his Highgate flat a teary mess. It was around seven on a Tuesday evening in March. Draco had made plans to meet Pristy at his mother's for a late supper. When he opened the door to see who was ringing the bell relentlessly, he was astounded to find Hermione standing before him. Her massive head of hair had been coaxed into an Oriental hairstyle that gave her an exotic, unfamiliar look. She was wearing a blush hued ballerina styled cocktail dress that came mid calf. It was a fairy tale dream of a dress and seemed to flair out as if supported by yards and yards of crinoline. The delicate little puffed sleeves of the gown were merely there for show as they hung low on her shoulders exposing all of Hermione's lovely skin from her neck down to her cleavage. She was a vision.

Only Draco didn't feel any of his usual lustful feeling arise because the vision before him was weeping as though she'd sprung a leak. Oddly enough her make-up was immaculate; her face looked like a flawless painted doll's. Must be a charm, Draco figured. How else to explain that despite the waterfall of tears running down her face there wasn't even a smudge? Draco didn't like it. The Hermione he knew wore make-up very sparingly. This Hermione looked somehow fake, unreal; a carbon copy.

He chewed on all these thoughts as he ushered her into the flat, ironically enough the flat she had helped find for him. She was the one who convinced him it was time to move out of the Manor. Now she was curled up in his arms, bawling like a baby, as they sat on the very expensive toffee colored couch (she picked it out, though he bought it), in the similarly colored lounge she had helped decorate.

He knew that the Potter Ending Party should still be going on, that's why she was all dolled up. But for some reason the Maid of Honour had skived off the reception that she had planned herself. Draco tried to ask her gently what the matter was, but all he got from her were jumbled ramblings of "Ginny" and "fight" and "can't stop". Draco didn't have a clue what it all meant, but he deduced that somehow Ginny Weasley, the future Mrs. Harry Potter, had caused Hermione to be in the state that she was in. Draco wondered what the two women could have fought over. Did Hermione order pink carnations for the hall instead of white? He wondered all this as he felt Hermione's body slacken in his arms and her head nod on to his shoulder.

After he judged that she was fully asleep, he gently lifted her up in his arms and carried her groom-like into his bedroom. He walked over to his black satin covered bed and placed her down on it as though she were made of fine china. He then removed a flimsy stiletto from each foot. They looked very scuffed and worn. She had walked a great distance in them if the condition of her heels were to be judged. He briefly wondered why she didn't just Apparate in, she was his FailSafe, but brushed the thought aside as he attended to the rest of her needs.

Once she looked comfortable, he crawled on the floor by her side and rested his chin on the bed. She looked so tiny just lying there. His bed was a large ornate curiosity that he had bought from an antique shop. The owner of the shop bragged that he had found the brass monstrosity in a whore house in Dublin that was used only for visits from members of the peerage. Draco thought it was perfect for him! Hermione called it tacky and claimed it was fit for a giant. Draco suspected that she didn't like it because it was the only piece of furniture she had no say in.

As he watched the steady rise and fall of her chest, Draco wondered if she would be disgusted to wake-up and find she had actually slept in “the whore bed”, as she had oh so cleverly dubbed it. If he had been in a more jovial mood he probably would have joked that this would be the one and only chance he had gotten Hermione Granger in his bed. But he wasn't in that kind of mood. He was worried about his friend. Ever since the horrors of the War Hermione wasn't the kind of girl who gave into tears easily; at least not when she was around him. She didn't cry when her precious ginger cat went missing. She didn't cry over the end of any of her relationships. Draco couldn't even recall her shedding a single tear at her parents' funeral. But whatever had worked her up this time had her crying in her sleep. As he watched a lethargic tear roll down her cheek, an overwhelming, all consuming sense of hatred towards the Weasel-bitch blossomed within him.

“What did she do, Pet?” he asked as his thumb lightly dabbed the droplet away. “What did she say?”

Getting no answers from the sleeping woman, he moved himself to the lounge and quickly floo'ed the Manor to tell his mum that he wouldn't be able to make it for supper. He did promise to come by later for cocktails. He quickly cut off the floo connection before his mum could lecture him or Pristy could chew him out. He then went to his comfy couch and laid himself out on it.

As Draco folded his arms behind his head, his mind began to race as he pondered the night's events. Hermione was hurt and upset over something...and she came to me, he gleefully thought to himself. Not Potter. Not the Weasel. But me! He almost clicked his heels at the thought of it. That only had to mean one thing, right? That she finally was falling for him. Subconsciously she knew that he was the only person she could turn to. There could be no other explanation, he told himself. She wants me!

Like I've wanted her all of this time.

Draco knew it had to be true. One day while he wasn't looking he had fallen hard for this girl, this woman asleep in the next room. Feelings he'd written off as only lust and desire, even though he knew they were too strong to be that simple, were suddenly made understandable. He was jealous of the few men who had been in her bed not because he wanted to be there in their stead, though he really wasn't knocking it, but because he wanted to be the only man in her life. He had retained the hope that one day she would look at him the way he had been looking at her these last couple of years. Now it looked like he would finally get his wish. He could barely contain his smirk.

A Malfoy does always get what a Malfoy wants!

For the first time in Draco's life he loved someone who was completely autonomous of himself. He wanted to laugh. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He almost wanted to shout at the top of his lungs, “I THINK I'M IN LOVE WITH A BLOODY GRYFFINDOR”, but somehow managed to restrain himself. Hermione was still sleeping and he didn't want to disturb her.

“We'll talk in the morning,” he sleepily murmured contently to himself as he drifted off to sleep. “I'll tell her in the morning.”

But Draco never got his chance. She was gone by time he woke up the next day. If it wasn't for the jasmine scent that still lingered in the air, Draco would have thought the whole thing had been a dream.

At first Draco was worried over the fact that Hermione had gone off without so much as a by your leave. But then he looked at the calendar on the nightstand by his bed and remembered what the date was, Potter's wedding day. Of course, he chided himself; she had to go be in the wedding. She was the Maid of Honour after all. Even if Hermione and Ginny had a falling out, Hermione would never shirk her duties.

As Draco slinked his way into the shower he wondered how long the wedding would be, and just what time Hermione would come to him afterwards.

Draco spent the day at his mum's soothing her hurt feelings over his no-show from the night before. He told her that he'd decided to stay in because he was still suffering slightly from a stinging hex he had gotten earlier in the day. She immediately began to coddle and baby him and pleaded with him to leave the Department so he could come back home and manage the Malfoy estate. Not bloody likely, he thought to himself. Narcissa mentioned that Pristine was also disappointed that he couldn't come. The poor girl waited for him for hours, she told him. I bet she did, a little voice said in his head. His mother couldn't understand why he didn't have the common courtesy to floo again and tell them that he wasn't going to be able to make it at all? He didn't dare tell her it was because he had been too busy taking care of Hermione (The Mudblood, as his mother called her unsparingly).

After he had done his familial duty, he Apparated back over to his place to wait for Hermione to floo or drop in. By a quarter to eleven he hadn't heard from her. Draco began to worry. He was about to floo her flat when he realized that she was probably still tied up with wedding business. Of course, that was it. Even though the happy newlyweds were probably already off on their way, there would still be tons of loose ends for the Maid of Honour to tie up. She'll probably come by tomorrow, he assured himself.

But she didn't. By seven o'clock that next evening Draco was starting to get really worried. He had even had a repairman come over to make sure his fireplace was still connected to the Floo Network properly. After he was assured that it was working perfectly, he Apparated over to the Brixton neighborhood where Hermione lived. After buying some wildflowers from a vendor, he was at her flat in a matter of minutes. As he prepared to knock, the door swung open and out came a gorgeous, very tall, dark skinned woman. Her silky ink black hair was pulled into a bun on the top of her head. She would have been quite svelte if not for the large Quaffle she seemed to be smuggling under her dress. Those damned Weasleys breed like doxies, he thought snidely to himself.

“My, you're blond,” said the woman as she nearly ran into him.

Draco tried to keep the eye rolling to a minimum. He tended to get that comment a lot.

“I'm sorry...Glynnis is it?” Draco asked as he tried to get a peek around her shoulder.

“It’s Glinda, actually. Glinda Weasley. You're Drake aren't you?”

She stuck her hand out to be shaken and he politely did so.

“It’s Draco, actually.”

“Oh sorry,” she mused. “It's just that you hardly ever came by when I lived here.”

“That's quite alright. Listen, I was hoping to speak with Hermione–”

“Oh good, I was hoping to do the same thing,” she said pertly.

Draco wasn't sure he liked this bird's cheek.

“Excuse me?”

“Hermione's cleared off. We realized so this morning when we took a look at mum's clock. With Harry gone, I was the only person who could get in the flat.”

She held up a set of keys and jangled them in front of him.

“She had the place warded so tightly, you know.”

For all Draco understood her, the woman could have been speaking Gobbledygook.

“You mean she stepped out for a moment?”

“No, I mean she stepped out for good. At least that's the thinking. All her clothes are gone as well as her trunk. She even took her computer.”

“Maybe she just went on holiday,” Draco said, willing the cold wave of fear that was sweeping through him to cease.

Glinda took a moment to ponder this idea before she shot it down.

“That could be true. But why would she take all the photographs off the wall, and her books, if she were only going away for a spell?”

“She took all the books?” he asked in disbelief.

Glinda looked just as heartbroken as he was feeling.

“She took every single last one, even the Quidditch manual. Ron, Arthur, mum… everyone at the Burrow is in a state over this. The last time anyone saw her was right after the wedding. That was yesterday morning.”

She glanced down at the flowers in his hands as if noticing them for the first time.

“Wildflowers, Hermione's favorite...” she said thoughtfully. She was still looking at the bouquet. “When was the last time you saw Hermione?” she queried in a slightly leery tone as her eyes rose to meet his.

“Ages ago,” said Draco before Apparating right before the Muggle woman's eyes.

“I just wish that my boyfriend and my best friend could be in the same room with each other long enough to not hex each other out of existence,” Luna said despairingly as she pulled her chair closer to the desk and dropped the parchment about the party into her print basket. Instantly the parchment was vanished.

“Fat chance of that,” Draco said meanly. “Ginny Weasley–”

“Potter, Draco. It's Ginny Potter now. The two of them have been married for quite some time.”

“Oh trust me, I know. The woman walks around with a little self-satisfied smirk on her face all the live long day because of it. ‘I'm Ginevra Potter’,” he said in a mocking tone. “Bah! I tell you what; I don't envy Potter that harpy. Not one bit! She would dress him up in a little jacket and trot him around on a golden chain if she could.”

“Why don't you like Ginny?” Luna asked with unease.

“She annoys me,” he said snottily.

She tried again.

“Why don't you like Ginny?”

“'CAUSE I THINK SHE'S A RIGHT SLAG!”

“Why don't you like Ginny?” she asked again, folding her arms, staring him down.

Because she made Hermione go away.

Draco spun his back to her. He didn't want Luna to see the hurt, anguish, and most importantly, the rage that still engulfed him whenever he thought of the subject. The Weasel Bitch did something, or said something to Hermione that sent the normally stable young woman running over five years ago. At least that was Draco's understanding of the whole sordid state of affairs. Whatever happened, it was so traumatic that Hermione had to leave the only home she had ever known and the only family she still had left.

Sometimes Draco wished that he could take back that night and force Hermione to tell him what had upset her so. Whatever it was, he would have made Ginny Potter pay! Then Hermione would still be here. He laid all the blame at the Weasel Bitch's door taking none of it himself. He couldn't. The thought that Hermione did not return his feelings for her and left to get away from him was an idea, however extreme, he would rather not consider.

“I just don't like her, Luna. Can’t that be enough please?” he begged of her.

Luna didn't move her eyes from her boyfriend's back. She could tell that he was upset, even though he liked to pretend that he was tough and uneasily affected by most things. Luna didn't get Draco's dislike of Ginny. She couldn't quite comprehend his wishy-washy feelings towards Harry. Although she perfectly understood his hatred of all things Ronald, she usually brushed that aside. Like in instances when she asked him to accompany her to gatherings where he disliked more than half the people in the room, like she was asking him to do now. And although Draco would complain, and carry on, and kick up a fuss, he always went with her because it made her happy. He was a good boyfriend. Luna felt like this was one of those times when she should be a good girlfriend.

She climbed up on the desk and got on her hands and knees. She then crawled close enough to the edge that she could throw her arms around Draco from behind. He was startled for a second, before sinking back into the embrace appreciatively. As she trailed kisses down the side of his neck, he laughed huskily in the back of his throat.

“Mmm. Keep that up and we're liable to miss the party,” he mockingly chided in a dreamy tone.

“Sod the party,” Luna said in her best impression of a pureblood, spoiled prat. This only caused Draco to laugh harder.

He turned to face her and pulled her body flush against his own.

“You're my favorite girl, you know. I love you.”

She gave him a tender, dreamy smile.

“I know.”

He kissed her forehead.

“Good. Now about this desk, how long have you had it?”

“Daddy bought it for me when I won that award. Said it's the best that galleons can buy. It's supposed to be indestructible.”

Draco gave her a cocky grin.

“I don't know about you, but that sounds like a challenge.”

“Ok but we have to be quick–oh sweet Circe...”

Draco had snaked his tongue in her ear.

“...about it.”

“Quick, but brilliant?” he asked as he began to kick off his shoes.

“Is there any other way?” she answered as she tried to get his clothes off him. “But we have to be quick so we can go back to the house and get the present.”

By the devilish look in Luna's eyes he figured that she wasn't talking about the statue.

“Now you're reading my mind.”

Her eyes melted into his.

“I know.”

A/N: Next up is Harry’s POV. Things to look forward to: Harry finally gets the sense knocked into him, the gang learns info on the Ravenclaw Horcrux, and a surprise guest drops in at the end of Ron and Lavender’s Commencement ceremony.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Kirby, Sidimund Bonneville, van Louhten, and Givens are canon.

2) Albion(a word I've used before in this fic) is an archaic term for Great Britain, but usually refers to England. It's often used poetically.

3) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a diricawl is a magical bird that Muggles call the dodo and think is extinct. A lethifold is a dangerous beast that resembles a half-inch thick black cloak that moves along the ground at night and attacks sleeping humans by smothering them, then digesting them whole.

4) The Dragon's Egg diner, the Veneficium bookstore, and the book Sanguen Albion are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

12. Chapter 11

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 25,297

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None really. I do however lightly touch on religion. You have been warned.

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.

Sunday, 5/29/05

As he pushed open the sliding glass doors of the patio, his eyes fell upon the brown, bushy head of the person whom he had been longing to see all this time.

“Am I dreaming?” asked Harry hesitantly as he stepped out into the warm night air. He turned slightly to close the door back behind him, and crossed straight over to the left side of the patio where the woman who could control him with just a simple look sat rocking back and forth. She was dressed in a periwinkle blue cotton voile dress. Running along the front panel of the summery dress were embroidered cabbage roses surrounded by a field of daisies. The dress stopped just below her knees revealing a pair of nicely shaped, well formed legs that ran down to the cutest pair of bare feet Harry was sure he had ever seen.

His gaze was brought back up to her lovely face as she answered cheekily, “Does this look like a dream?”

No, thought Harry with just a touch of bemusement, because otherwise we'd both be naked right now.

Although Harry was confidant he hadn't spoken the words aloud, he still couldn't fight the awareness of pixies having kneazles that erupted in his stomach at the sight of the saucy smile she was sporting.

“Come, Harry,” she said, patting the spot next to her on the porch glider. “Sit by me.”

Harry almost felt stapled to the spot. This wasn't a dream? That was the question that seemed to reverberate over and over in his skull. This isn't a dream? She's real? She's come home?!

“Y-you're...” he stammered, “you're really here?” he asked, almost scared to hear the answer. Hermione? Had she finally come back to him?

Once again she gave him a smile that nearly took his breath away. She said sweetly, “You and I have got to talk.”

“WHAT?!!”

For a moment Harry was so caught up in his jubilant elation that he swore he must have misheard her. Talk? After all these years of being separated from her, all these past few weeks spent longing to see her face...she wanted to talk? He almost gave into mad, hysterical laughter at the prospect. How like her to want to talk at a time like this. It was almost sweet. Almost. But if he was going to have his way, there would be no talking done. At least not 'til afterwards.

He slowly advanced towards the glider looking to see if she would make any sudden movements, but all she did was continuously rock the glider back and forth as she watched him steadily, almost tauntingly. That grin will be the death of me, he mused to himself as he finally came to a stop in front of her. It was this thought that spurred Harry to haul her up by her shoulders from the iron bench, pull her towards his chest forcefully, and crash his lips down upon hers.

...lips he had dreamed of over countless nights...lips he had tasted in many a fantasy...

Harry was almost sure he had died, died and gone to heaven, as he deepened the already demanding kiss and moaned into her mouth. As his tongue licked at her bottom lip, Harry had to fight off the woozy sensation that seemed to explode inside his head. If Harry’s mouth wasn't already so busy he would have laughed over the fact that he felt near swoon. But as her mouth yielded to his desire and opened ever so slightly all other thought, other than the need to make her his, left him.

Harry’s arms circled around her back to pull her even closer, trapping her arms between them. If he could have melded their two bodies together Harry would have done so willingly. As his tongue became entangled with hers, he couldn't help the small tear that silently made its way down his cheek. I would gladly die right now, was all he could think as her tongue madly swirled around his own, her teeth daringly scraped against his lips. It was this sensation alone that made his cock tent in his trousers.

He couldn't bother with feeling shamed at the involuntary action. Harry was certain she felt his arousal pushing at her stomach, but to his mind that was all trivial now. He was standing outside his parents' old home, drinking in the floral smell of the night air that clung to her, and kissing a woman who was not his wife, but whom he loved desperately. That was all that mattered to Harry right now, being here at the Hollow with Hermione. He would have gladly sacrificed anything to make time stand still for this moment. His Gringotts vault, his expensive mansion, all of his worldly possessions, none of these things mattered to him. Not like she mattered to him.

When he could finally bear to draw his mouth away from hers, Harry began peppering her face with feverish kisses. Her forehead, her eyelids, the tiny indention just above her upper lip; not one area of her face went un-worshiped. Even if it took all night he would have kissed every freckle that stood on her nose. But after a while, his lips sought the top of her head where they rested a bit and sighed at the feel of her wiry curls against them. Her hair smelled of the imported shampoo she always wore, a jasmine scented concoction that she had discovered years ago on holiday in Bangkok with her parents. Harry had accidentally stumbled onto her love of the stuff back when she lived with him and Ron. He had gone into her bathroom looking for shampoo and had been astounded by the price on one of the bottles. Hermione would order it from the luxury hotel that made it and have it shipped to her every month, one of her few vanities. Although the scent was too girlie for his tastes, he always subconsciously loved the smell on her. Hermione's name seemed to be only a hairsbreadth away from his lips whenever he smelled the scent of jasmine.

Harry was almost lost to his reverie when he heard her softly call his name against his neck. Every pore on his body erupted at the simple, innocuous move. Harry knew right then and there that he had to have her. Right then, right there! He had to make her his forever. He would make love to her right on top of the carpet of green grass that blanketed his backyard if he had to. He would explore every inch of her body with only the shade of the behemoth tree to give them cover. He had to let her know what she did to him; how she made him feel. No other thoughts were allowed to interfere with what he wanted. Harry knew in his heart that it was right. Being with her was right. How could it be wrong? When you love someone how could anything ever be wrong?

He slowly began to leave butterfly kisses that made a trail from her head, to her ears, and all the way to her neck. Harry took a moment to suckle at where he imagined her pulse point would be, then made his way to the front of the periwinkle blue dress. He licked at the bare area just above its boat neck collar as a frenzied wish that she had worn something more sensible, like a buttoned blouse, flitted through his head. It would have made it so much easier to just rip the garment from her shoulders that way. Then he would have full access to the swell of breast that one of his hands was busy palming firmly. She gave no protest to his ministrations which only emboldened Harry to seek out the zipper of her dress with the hand that was still clenched around the back of her. As he stooped down slightly to press a kiss into first one, then the other covered mound, Harry rested his head against her chest and indulged in the wave of contentment that washed over him. That is until he noticed one small detail. One very odd, small detail. Actually when you got right down to it, it was a pretty monumental detail really.

He felt no heartbeat.

Harry pushed her away from him in terror, his hand reaching into his dark robes, groping for the wand that should have been in its holster. It wasn't. His motions were so erratic that his glasses went askew and almost fell from his nose. As she reached out to right them, he stepped back further doing the deed for himself. His mind was a jumbled mess. As he looked out from startled green orbs at the doe eyed creature that resembled his best friend in just about every way, he felt a loss for words. It was a good thing then that she decided to provide them for him.

“It's funny actually; you had just about everything else down to a science. The way she smelled. The way she felt in your arms. Even the freckles were in their correct pattern. Only problem is that you can't give an abstract a circulatory system.”

Although the voice sounded like Hermione's, some deep down part of Harry knew rationally that this was not his best friend standing before him. As his tongue un-wedged itself from the roof of his mouth, he gave these thoughts voice.

“You're not Hermione,” he plainly said.

“I'm not Hermione,” she replied in answer.

Harry ran his hands through the back of his longish hair in a quick, frustrated gesture that screamed out his agitation. He just couldn't make heads or tails of what was going on.

“Who are you?” he asked haltingly until a far more horrifying thought entered into his head. “What are you?”

At the last question his companion's eyes seemed to come alive and sparkle. The smile that had never left her lips spread even wider.

“What am I? Yes, I think you about have the right of it,” she replied.

Such an innocent answer awoke a fierce anger inside of his chest. How dare she…it…whatever this thing was, mock him! Harry barely took one long stride before his hands latched onto her wrists and shook her savagely. Despite his rough treatment of her, the constant expression of amusement never wavered from the Hermione look-a-like's face.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!” he demanded tersely. “I THOUGHT YOU SAID THIS WASN'T A DREAM!” He had to work hard to keep out the bitter disillusionment from his voice.

Obviously this...person was not moved by his display of hostility, because she grinned as she jested impishly, “Well I am standing upright. And I still appear to have knickers on.”

She then roguishly winked at him.

“I'd wager a galleon or two that you aren't dreaming.”

As Harry's face warmed instantly, he let her go, staggered back, and bonelessly plopped himself onto the wrought iron glider right behind him. He couldn't offer one word of protest, although he was astounded that whoever this being was, she would have such a perfect grasp of things. But how?

“Don't look so surprised,” she said as she moved closer to stand over him. “It's not like you weren't just thinking that.”

Harry was utterly stupefied.

“H-how...H-how d-did you know th-that?”

She took a seat on the glider next to him, but everything in Harry told him to get himself as far away from her as he could. Instead he scooted over as far on the bench as allowed, even pressing his back uncomfortably into the iron armrest of the contraption. She seemed to revel in his reaction to her.

“How do I know what you are thinking in your head, you ask? Well Potter, I should know what's going on inside of there seeing as how that's where I came from.”

Harry really had no good reason to believe what she was telling him. For all he knew he could very well be having a pleasant little chat with a succubus. It wasn't like he hadn't encountered one before. In his very first year as a full-fledged Auror he had to contend with one named Lilith who had somehow formed an unhealthy obsession with him. She was never able to get into his house, thank Merlin, due to all of the heavy wards he had surrounding the place, but she did pursue him relentlessly whenever he went out into the field after hours on assignment. Poor love sick Lilith disrupted so many night time raids in her pursuit of claiming Harry Potter as her own personal sex slave that Hanes became fed up with the novice Auror and threatened to demote him on more than one occasion. Of course Hanes wouldn't have followed through with the threat, the Minister would have never allowed it, but he needed his displeasure to be known just the same. The Being Division of the Creature Regulation department had to eventually step in. Lilith was served with a magical restraining order, and was forced through a number of restrictive charms to stay at least two towns away from Harry at all times. The only person who would be able to lift the enchantment would be Harry himself.

He knew this wasn't Lilith he now had on his hands. He very much doubted that it was a succubus at all. Succubi were notorious for being vain little she demons. One wouldn't purposely transform itself into the image of Hermione, even if it knew that was the best way to get a reaction out of him. All Harry could do was take the Hermione look-a-like at her word. Somehow he knew she wasn't lying.

“You're my conscience, aren't you?” he questioned her, nonplussed. He slowly turned his body to face forward, his eyes roaming over the beautiful scenery of the yard as his mind whirred with one crazy thought after another. “I mean...I always knew my conscience sounded like her. I just never figured it would look like Hermione too.”

She giggled madly over his admission as she shook her head making her curls bounce back and forth. The simple movement did such things to him down below that he had to remind himself over and over again that this was not Hermione.

“I am not your conscience.”

She brought her feet up and tucked them under her. She looked like she was preparing to have a nice long chat with him.

“I am that voice,” she continued, “that voice at the back of your head. That voice that you have tried to banish and bludgeon, block out and beat down. I am that voice that has been trying to tell you what you want. What you really want. What you have wanted all the while. I'm sure there is some technical term for it. Some therapeutic mumbo jumbo like Id, or inner voice...”

She paused to smile devilishly.

“...schizophrenia...”

At this last word Harry, who had been only half-listening to her speech, frowned. It was obviously the reaction she hoped to get from him because she smirked as she spoke on.

“Essentially, you see, I am a part of you, Harry. In fact,” she paused as she looked deeply into his eyes, “I am you.”

Once again Harry had no earthly reason to give any credit to the gibberish she was spouting, but somehow he saw the truth in her words. But instead of marveling at just how such a thing like this could happen, another more pressing concern weighed heavily on his mind.

He had tried to have it off with himself.

“Well is there really any big difference then when you have a few early morning yanks in the shower?” she mirthfully queried as one of her eyebrows arched up.

“I've lost my bloody mind.”

She laughed so hard that she actually wrapped her arms around her middle to control it. It was very Hermione of her.

“You haven't lost your mind, Harry.” She reached over and softly tapped his head. “Trust me, it's still in there. Everything is completely intact. That Bludger didn't do too much damage.”

Before he could ask her what that meant, she kept chirping away.

“You see, Harry, I've been waiting for you to hear me. I mean really hear what I had to say. But for some reason Mr. Dim Bulb,” she said, waving her hands wildly before him as Harry huffed indignantly, “you tuned me out. You wrote me off as just confusion, just some delusional wandering of a fevered mind. You know, one time you even convinced yourself that I was the after effects of a winter cold. And so I sat back and waited, and watched you make one dumb move after another. I patiently waited for the day when you would be ready for it. I even almost got through to you one night. You were so close, but then...”

She let out a frustrated sigh as she nervously smoothed down the skirt of her dress. Whatever she had been about to say obviously caused her great distress.

“Anyhow, here we are.” she said as she opened her arms wide. “For some reason you are completely receptive to it finally. I figured it was time to go for it, full throttle. Balls to the walls, as they say. I reckoned that a face to face meeting, so to speak, was the only thing that would do.”

She nibbled on her lip as she reconsidered her choice of words.

“Or rather you reckoned. Whatever, whichever.”

Harry, who was having a devil of a time following all that she was saying, latched on to the only question that seemed important at the moment.

“Why do you look like Hermione?”

She grinned comically at the question. “And who should I have looked like? Ron?”

Her smile seemed to reflect how idiotic she found the question. Then he remembered that he was supposedly talking to himself, so in essence he found his own question stupid. This line of reasoning was beginning to lead to one irate Harry.

“You could have never had this discussion with Ron. The two of you probably would have been playing Exploding Snap as we speak. Of course you could have made me look like yourself, but then that would have just been weird.”

That did it! It was obvious that she...it...whatever this thing was, was just toying with him now. Or rather he was toying with himself. Either way, he became increasingly incensed and took it out on her.

“AND THIS ISN'T BLOODY WEIRD?!” he snapped harshly.

His outburst, however, did little to sway her from finding him the most amusing thing in the world.

“Temper, temper, Potter,” she jokingly admonished. “You chose Hermione because she was one of the few people who you would actually listen to. You listened even when you hated what she had to say. Her opinion was important to you. So it seems fitting, doesn't it?”

Rather then answer her question head on, Harry decided to go back over the dollops of information she had given him instead.

“Let me see if I have this right,” he said as he stared her down hard. It was the cool, almost viridian look he used to break down many a suspect during his years with the Department. It usually worked like a charm. Usually.

“You are a part of my brain that handles my needs, wants, and desires.”

“Sounds close enough.”

“And for years, for some reason or another, I've been shutting you out.”

“A-yup.”

“So now you're supposed to tell me what I want,” he said with a snicker.

“Actually,” she said haltingly as she tried to gauge his reaction to her words, “you've always known what you wanted. I'm just here to give you the kick in the arse you need to finally admit it to yourself. Completely. No hedging.”

“And what do I want?”

He honestly didn't know why he even bothered to ask the question. Harry was sitting across from the image of the one thing, the one person who he hadn't been able to get out of his head for months; his heart for years. There was no question that he wanted her, needed her even. Forget the necessity to eat, to drink. Forget the need for air even. It was a wonder how he had even managed to go on breathing without Hermione near him. Like oxygen, he had taken her for granted as well. So Harry very well knew the answer to his own damned question. But to voice it aloud, even to him (so to speak), would finally put to an end any doubt of the realizations that had slowly been worming their way through Harry's soul these last few weeks. But as the Hermione look-a-like gave him a strong, exasperated look of irritation, he finally acknowledged that maybe now was the time to call it, to lay out all of his cards on the table.

“Hermione,” Harry wistfully sighed. “I want Hermione.”

For the first time since he had found her sitting on the patio she treated him to a heartfelt, yet endearingly sad smile.

“For a long time,” she said.

Although Harry should have felt relieved that it was all coming out at last, he couldn't fight back his annoyance at what her remark implied.

“You're a bit late, aren't you?!” he rebuked meanly. “I kind of already figured this out.”

“No,” she said speaking in the light tones one would use to cajole a stubborn child. “You are under the impression that you have just fallen in love with Hermione. You know that's not true.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but then she began babbling some nonsense that made no sense to him whatsoever.

“'Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation'.”

“What?!”

“An old wizard's proverb you picked up from someone...somewhere...a long, long time ago. Never mind that now, Harry, keep up with me!” she scolded him in a very Hermione-like manner.

If he didn't know any better, he would have had a hard time believing that it wasn't really her.

“We both know that even before Hermione took off you were in love with her.”

That caught his attention instantly. He was so hacked off that he launched himself from the iron glider as if imps had been poking him in the arse with rusted spears.

“NOW THAT'S...” he began resentfully, “THAT'S J-JUST RUBBISH! GINNY...”

“Was a habit,” she replied simply as her eyes never left his face. The truth behind her words almost made Harry feel sick to his stomach. “You had become used to the idea of you and Ginny. Resigned even, and why not? Everyone else assumed that you were made for each other. The problem is that you bought into that simple minded fallacy as well. You forced yourself not to consider anything else...anyone else.”

She leaned back as she folded her arms across her chest and gave him a deep and penetrating stare.

“You, my friend, took the easy way out.”

He didn't want to believe what he was hearing. Yet he couldn't fight off the disturbing ring of truth they seemed to hold. The thought that he could do that to Ginny, it was almost too much to bear! What had Ginny ever done to him but love him? Harry knew that as of late his marriage had begun to take on the feel of a farce. Truthfully he loathed himself for what he was doing to his wife. But he had accepted that this was his fate. He had foolishly trapped himself in a marriage that he had no way out of. Instead of dealing with his personal Hell alone, he had brought poor Ginny along for the ride. He would have gladly freed her for her own good so she could have a chance for some happiness, even if there was none for him. After all it wasn't her fault that he was in love with a woman who wasn't her. But the idea that he had gone into the Rites, unwittingly feeling the same way he did now, thus ensuring no joy for either of them? That was too huge of a concept to accept. Everything in him fought against it.

“You're acting as if I never fancied Ginny!”

“You fancied her. You're male, aren't you? Who wouldn't fancy her?”

Harry growled at her in answer.

“However you took Ginny as your wife because you thought it was expected of you.”

“When I married Ginny I had every intention of being a good husband,” he insisted emphatically. “I did love her!”

The Hermione look-a-like's big brown eyes softened with compassion at his shaky declaration.

“Of course you did. As you have been told time and time again your capacity to love knows no bounds, Harry. But this is me you are talking to, be honest with yourself. Were you in love with Ginny when you married her?”

He wanted to say yes. Even if he knew it was a lie, Harry wanted to say yes. To say yes wouldn't make the last five years of his life all a sham. To say yes wouldn't make him feel like a mountain of troll bogeys. To say yes would mean that he hadn't purposely wrecked his own life and lost any chance to have the one thing that could have made him feel whole. But he couldn't lie to himself any longer. That was the saddest part of all of this.

“I...I...” he tried to choke out as he felt a hopeless sense of despair descend upon him. He turned his back on her as his gaze settled on the fruit tree instead. “I thought it would come. Eventually,” he finally managed to say. “You know; that feeling of being unable to bear being away from her side. I thought that after a while I would feel that need to have her face be the first thing I saw in the morning, the last thing I saw at night. I thought that...I mean, if Ginny and I were supposed to be together, wasn't that supposed to happen?”

“Actually,” she moved her legs from under her and crossed them, “that should have happened before the ‘I do's’. But…bygones.”

Even though it hadn't been her intention, her words sounded callous in his ears.

“I don't want to talk about this anymore,” he crankily insisted as he stepped off the patio and onto the grass, trying to remove himself far from her presence.

“Back to this again?” He could hear the reproach in her voice.

“So I take it we aren't really at the Hollow?” Harry questioned as he tried to divert her attention to something else.

She sighed. Of course she knew what he was trying to do. She was a part of his brain, but for whatever reason she decided to answer him instead of pushing the issue for now.

“It's a reasonable facsimile, don't you think?”

“Why are we here?”

“You should know. You're the one who conjured it up.”

Harry began to pace slowly back and forth in front of the patio, wondering at how well manicured the lawn was and noting that all of the flowers surrounding him were in full bloom. Of course he really shouldn't have been surprised. He knew that the actual house in Godric's Hollow would look much the same. It had a SnowGlobe over it still. He had put the charm up himself a few years ago. When he and Ginny came back from their honeymoon he'd had every intention of moving his new bride and himself into his parents' old place. The thought seemed perfect, it would almost be like Lily and James had come back to fill the house with warmth and happiness again.

Ginny had balked at the idea. She gave many and sundry reasons why she didn't want to live in the cottage. For starters she felt that it would be inviting misfortune to stay there. It's not like the place had been too lucky for the last set of Potters that had lived in it. Although Ginny hadn't meant the statement as heartlessly as it came out, even apologizing profusely mere seconds after the words left her lips; it had hurt Harry just the same. She quickly tried to rectify the situation by explaining that the cottage was too small to raise a family in. At her words Harry had broken into a cold sweat, but she assured him that she had no intention of getting started any time soon. Once the relief settled in Harry tried to argue that they could just do what Molly and Arthur did with the Burrow, add on a new addition to the house as they added on a new addition to the household. Ginny turned up her nose at the proposal. She'd had enough of living in the cramped and crowded Burrow, thank you very much. She wasn't about to start her married life in just another version of it, she informed him.

It turned out that Ginny had picked out a colossus of a house for them to live in instead. The Palace was a grand mansion that had once belonged to the Avery family. All of the Averys had perished during the Second War in service to Tom Riddle, save for one. The last surviving member of the family, Meleficent, had finally given up trying to restore the family's honor and trying to save its former riches. For whatever reasons, Ginny was determined to have this house! She begged, pleaded, and sweet-talked Harry almost into a stupor over it. She felt that it was a house worthy of the Great Harry Potter, Seeker extraordinaire. It was also the kind of place she felt she had earned. After very little back and forth, since Ginny seemed determined to have her way, he gave into her demands. Even though the move made him effectively a neighbor to the Malfoys, even though the place felt cold and joyless; since his wife wanted it so badly he could live in the big house in Wiltshire. But he never felt that it was his home.

But the cottage, he always thought, the cottage could have been a real home. The day Harry put up the enchantment he had hoped that eventually he would find a good use for the house. He hoped that someone, someday, would live there who would love it as much as he did.

“This was the last place that I had a real family. This was where I last had a mum and a dad,” he offered thoughtfully as he came to a halt. Whether he was still talking to her or to himself, he wouldn't have been able to say. “You know, I can't remember what my first words were or how old I was when I took my first steps. But the moment I laid eyes on this place I knew I was loved here. That someone loved me here.”

“Some deep down part of your soul always knows when you are loved.”

What she said made Harry turn and look at her. There was no mockery in her eyes, no critical tone to her words. For an instant his heart skipped a beat in his chest, though he had no clue as to why. He knew that this wasn't Hermione. He knew that the wild tendrils of chocolate and chestnut that ran from the top of her head and almost halfway down her back were just figments of his imagination. He knew that the pouty little lips he had indulged in earlier weren't really there. He knew that if he placed his hand above her left breast there would be no pounding small beat that told that life coursed throughout her body. Harry knew all of this. It still didn't quell his wish that it all wasn't true.

“I still don't see what being here has to do with Hermione.”

“You spent a lot of time here with Hermione one summer, didn't you? Remember your birthday?”

Even if he tried, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread on his face.

“It was the happiest day of my life. I always thought that the day I finally finished off that bastard would be it,” he confessed wryly, “but it didn't even come close.”

As he said this, the Hermione look-a-like began to bounce the leg that was crossed over her knee up and down. The movement of her deliciously naked calf almost made Harry forget that she wasn't who he wanted her to be. He began to feel perturbed at the thought that he was teasing himself essentially. He was even more confused that it was working. This belief only succeeded in making him feel very cross.

“You can't just use Hermione as an excuse for my happiness,” he arrogantly sniped at her. “Ron was here with me too.”

“Wanted to snog Ron, did you?” she naughtily quipped. When he didn't answer her right away due to the outrageousness of the suggestion, her voice took on a more disturbed undertone. “Did you?”

“NO!” he yelped clumsily.

Once again he realized too late that she had been having him on.

“Just having a bit of fun with you,” she said. “Quite frankly we could have ended up in any number of places. Take the entranceway to the Great Hall, for example.”

Harry gave her a baffled, perplexed look that made her dramatically sigh once again at his dimness.

“Yule Ball…Hermione looking like a princess in a set of floaty robes? Now what color were those robes again?” she teased smugly as she began to purposely tug on the hem of her periwinkle dress. “I can't seem to recall just what color they had been.”

Of course Harry knew exactly what she was insinuating.

“NOW THAT'S JUST A BLOODY LIE!” he snapped belligerently. “That was still a few years yet before I actually fell in love with her!”

“Ah ha!”

In defeat he fell back on the grass.

“Oh bugger me.”

“And even though you weren't in love with her yet, that was when you first started to think she was pretty. Even afterwards, without all the Sleekeasy's, you still thought she was very pretty. You never quite looked at her the same, did you?”

“I thought she wasn't ugly,” he sniffed indignantly. When he saw that she wasn't buying it he harshly answered, “Alright, alright…I thought she was very pretty.”

Before she could offer up some smug “I told you so”, he cut her off.

“However sometime during the night I looked over at Ron. You remember him don't you, the redheaded bloke, other best mate? And I saw that he thought she was very pretty too. So that's when I decided it was best for everyone involved if I not have thoughts like that at all.”

She wasn't surprised at all by the revelation.

“And that's where it all began. That is when you started to repress any feelings you had for Hermione that weren't strictly platonic in nature.”

He looked at her incredulously.

“Well...what else could I have done? Ron was mad for her, and Hermione obviously felt the same. I mean...she attacked him with birds for fuck's sake! BIRDS!”

“Yes, Hermione did have a nasty little habit of sending projectiles at men she felt strongly for,” she remarked drolly.

“What?!”

“Nothing,” she innocently answered. She lifted herself up from the glider and came to the edge of the patio where she ended up standing right in front of him. “Personally if I'd had my pick, we would have ended up in that charming little place in Diagon.”

“The old flat?” he asked as his brow furrowed.

“You almost kissed her there once.”

“I did no such thin–” he began to argue until she brusquely cut him off.

“Picture it, London. The year is 1998. The date, All Hallow's Eve. You'd just played your first big game with Puddlemere and somehow Gudgeon, of all people, managed to beat you to the Snitch.”

“Damn,” was all Harry could say.

Although his team had been so far ahead of the Cannons in points that they easily won the match, the game had still been a grotty potion for Harry to gulp down. It was the very first time since he had taken up the great sport of Quidditch that he hadn't by some form of luck or brilliance managed to catch the Snitch. And for it to happen at his very first professional game; Harry wanted to find some tomb in which to enshrine himself alive.

Later Ron, who had been too stunned over Harry's blunder to even celebrate his team's first foray from the bottom of the league, asked him what had happened. He told Ron that the sun had gotten in his eye. Harry could barely think straight enough to tell him the real cause of his distress.

Since Ron was the Reserve Keeper for Chudley he had been sitting with the rest of his team mates. Where he was positioned he hadn't been able to see Roger Davies chatting up their mutual best friend. But Harry, from his position high over the pitch, saw it all. He had heard through the grapevine that Davies was a constant visitor to the MMBA Office. Hermione had even shyly admitted to him that she had met Davies for lunch once or twice. But this? This was a near felony! What the hell did Davies think he was playing at? Didn't he realize that Hermione was his good luck charm? It was no wonder Harry never even saw the Snitch whiz by him. His own good luck charm was too busy flirting to be bothered with him.

“You were in Hermione's room,” the look-a-like said, interrupting his thoughts. “If I'm remembering correctly, I believe you were trying to get her clothes off her.”

“NOW THAT IS AN OUTRIGHT LIE!” Harry thundered as he jumped up from the ground.

He marched right up to her so closely that he purposely invaded her personal space. Then Harry remembered that she wasn't real, thus had no personal space.

“Ok, I admit it; I did want to kiss her that night. I was feeling sorry for myself over the game. And as you know, it was the night my parents...” he trailed off, losing steam somewhat. “Well...you know. Hermione had been so understanding. She listened to me talk. She even nuked a pumpkin pie for me.”

Harry smiled fondly at the memory. As the smile began to slowly fade he continued.

“I thought I was just responding to that. That somehow I was trying to use her to fill Ginny's place and mend my battered ego. Nothing more.” He then took on a harsher tone that sounded almost guilty. “But I was not trying to get up her skirt! We were going to a Ministry party later that evening. She was trying on clothes, trying to decide what to wear. I was helping her.”

“Sure you were,” she mocked. “And why didn't you kiss her again?”

Harry turned away from her. It really was no fun trying to have an argument with one’s self.

“Ginny called on the two-way.”

“The girlfriend,” she mused comically, “the ultimate cock-block.”

If he needed any further proof that he wasn't conversing with his best friend that would have been it.

“Yes, well it's a good thing too,” he protested in answer to her joke as he turned back around. “Hermione would have killed me if I had tried something on her.”

A tiny smile appeared on his face for a moment.

“You should have seen her with a wand back then. She was fearsome,” he said proudly.

Then the smile dropped to be replaced by a look of confusion.

“Then again I guess you did see.” Harry exasperatedly grumbled as he strode past her and up to the sliding glass door. “ARGH! This is utterly maddening!”

She turned around to face him.

“You should have kissed her. All these years you've secretly wished you had. You should have gone for it. She and Ron had been broken up for a good little while by then, hadn't they?”

“That night was her first official date with that git Davies,” he said absently.

“You should have gone for it! What would have been the harm?”

He darkly snickered. “What would have been the harm? Since you claim to be me you should know better. There was one small thing standing in the way, which was really a big thing, which was actually the reason I never acknowledged what I felt for her in the first place.”

As he turned around, he saw that he had her full and undivided attention.

“Hermione didn't feel anything for me.”

“Harry!”

“Not like that,” he said, trying to halt her protestations. “I mean, I know she loved me...just not in that way. Hermione mothered me, sometimes smothered me. She looked out for me; protected me. She was my councilor. She was my sounding board. She was my best friend and I was hers.”

He paused as the emotion rose up inside of him, remembering all that Hermione had meant to him.

“And that's all she ever saw me as,” he gloomily conceded.

“She once said you were fanciable.”

“Yes,” he replied as he smiled ruefully. “She said that in relation to how other girls saw me. She never saw me that way. Why else would she push me at Cho? At Ginny?” he asked, trying to make her understand his point of view. “Hermione didn't see me as anything but a friend,” he said, words steeped heavily in regret. “So that’s all I ever tried to see her as.”

“How's that been working out for you?” she asked as she folded her arms across her chest and raised an eyebrow sardonically.

Who would have ever thought my inner voice would be so goddamned smug, he wondered to himself in awe.

“You know, it's not like I didn't want her to be happy. I loved Hermione enough that I wanted her to have whatever she wanted, even if it wasn't me.”

“Yes, but with Ron. That almost doesn't count.”

“Now what the hell does that mean?!”

“Well did you even really want her with Ron? If we are being honest with each other, it was more like you didn't mind her with Ron.”

He was starting to suspect that if he ever got out of this marathon discussion with his own goddamned self the rest of his mind would be pea soup. Because truthfully that is how it felt now, muddled and murky and thick.

“You see, with Hermione squared away with Ron you could still be a major player in her life. You would still hold a position of importance. But if she was with anyone else you feared that such would not be the case.” She cocked her head to the side as she considered him for a moment. “One of your rare selfish moments really.”

Harry would have liked to argue the point, but he was at a loss. She had him dead to right. He turned his back to her in shame.

“And it's not like you didn't have your jealous moments with Ron over her either.”

Now that he would argue.

“JEALOUS?!” he challenged as he gave her a cross look over his shoulder.

She rolled her eyes havenward. “Alright, envious; that better?”

He nodded his head in approval, despite the thin line between the two, and turned his head back around.

“The thing is any time you would have any thoughts like that towards Ron you would instantly be filled with so much self-loathing and guilt that you tried to ignore those feelings too. You could dislike Davies. You could be annoyed by Oliver. You could even want to rip out Malfoy's ribcage and wear it as a hat.”

Harry snorted.

“You could do all this and use the excuse that you were just looking out for your friend. But you couldn't bring yourself to be disloyal to Ron. Ron was the first real friend you ever made. You loved Ron.”

“And I loved the girl that Ron loved,” he weakly finished for her. It needed to be said, no matter how painful, it needed to be said.

“That you did.”

He leaned his forehead against the glass of the sliding door. It felt cool against his fevered face.

“Hermione promised...” he began so quietly that it seemed as though he were only mouthing words to the air. “She said that everything would be simple, that after the War it would all go back to the way it was.”

He looked over his shoulder at her with a near heart breaking intensity.

“It never did, did it?”

Instead of answering his question the Hermione look-a-like walked back over to the glider and sat herself down elegantly.

“Let's review, shall we,” she said as he turned to face her fully. “Some time during the summer of your seventeenth year, maybe even at this very spot, you began to fall in love with one Hermione Granger. Except you decided to ignore this fact out of some honorable, noble, yet foolishly misguided loyalty to your best mate Ron. For years you chose to halfheartedly date his sister, while in your heart you harbored feelings for your other best friend. Instead of confronting these feelings for Hermione, which would have been difficult and messy and hard, you instead chose to place her on some impossibly high pedestal so that you could convince yourself that she was up too far to reach. Then you married Ginny Weasley as your second choice. How's that sound?”

He moved closer to her as he shook his head disbelievingly.

“Well when you say it like that it makes me sound like the stupidest git in the world.”

She looked at him straightforwardly as the realization of everything she had just said began to slowly sink in. Harry dismally sank down onto the glider.

“I am the stupidest git in the world.”

“No you're not, Harry," she said kindly. “You had a lot of emotions and insecurities to contend with at one time. It was a veritable balancing act on a high wire...WEARING STILTS! As Ron would say, it was a wonder you didn't explode.”

He wanted to smile at her joke, but he only managed to eke out a painful grimace.

“Are you happy, Harry?”

Harry finally managed to smile, but it was a sorrowful one mixed with a side order of regret. From the outside looking in it would have been hard to find a person who didn't think that Harry Potter had the perfect life. In truth, it was a nice life. But that's all it was.

“There are moments when I think...but those are just moments.”

For all of his incomplete ramblings, she seemed to understand him perfectly.

“You settled for the one you could live with,” she said as she stared at him knowingly, “instead of waiting for the one you couldn't live with out.”

Harry wouldn't be surprised if that gaze traveled to the very bottom of his soul.

“Now you tell me,” he grumbled glumly. “And where did I hear that one from?”

“Dunno. Picked it up somewhere too, I guess.”

Once again her harmless words produced in him a sense of impotent rage that made him want to tear at his own hair, beat at his chest.

“ARG! WHAT'S BEEN THE BLOODY POINT OF ALL OF THIS?! WHY SHOULD I FIGURE ALL OF THIS OUT NOW?! I'M MARRIED!” he shouted at her. “Hermione is nowhere to be found! Why would I wait to have this great big FUCKING epiphany now?!”

For the first time since they had begun this conversation she looked rattled. He had finally stumped her.

“I...I don't know,” she stammered.

“Figures.”

He desolately slumped back against the glider as his head lolled back and he closed his eyes. After the revelations he had just been handed he should have been feeling angry or bitter, mournful even. But all he felt was defeated. Harry had no idea how he could move on from this point. What could he possibly do?

As his weary mind tried to seek a solution, he felt a small weight settle on his lap.

“You're not Hermione,” he said as he straightened his head back up and looked to see a set of large, soulful eyes looking into his.

“I know,” she said as she slung an arm over his shoulder. “But you looked like you could use a hug.”

This produced a bona fide belly laugh from him. She joined him by giggling along. Harry wrapped her in an embrace and held her firmly on his lap as her head came to rest on his shoulder. He leaned his cheek lightly on the top of her head. Harry felt a brief moment of peace before he jokingly thought to himself that she would find some way to call this masturbatory. As if hearing his thoughts, she giggled even harder.

He was almost willing to lose himself to her mirth, when an odd thought niggled at the very edges of his mind. She had mentioned right at the beginning that he had almost drawn these same conclusions long before this. What did she mean by that? He had started to ask her this question when her head suddenly popped up and she turned her face to look directly into his eyes.

“Oh no,” she despaired. “Ron is about to Ennervate you.”

His eyes widened. “Ron's about to do what?”

Without answering his question, she climbed out of his lap and stood before him as she clasped his hands in her own.

“Listen Harry, you now know all you need to know.”

She paused to reconsider her words.

“Well, almost all of it. But don't worry; I'm sure that in the end all will be revealed. I mean, that's usually how these things work out.”

“But I don't understand,” he told her.

“But you soon will. Alright, Harry?”

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

“I said alright, Harry?”

He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again due to the last few rays of late day sunlight that stung them.

“He'll live,” he heard someone, more than likely Fred, snarkily shout.

As Harry opened his eyes again he found himself hazily looking into the concerned blue eyes of his best friend, Ron.

“Blimey, Harry! For a second there we thought that Bludger had done you in,” Ron said with a mixture of fear and wonder.

As Harry sat up from the bed of cool, crisp grass he had been lying down on, he looked about him. Everything was warped and he began to fear for a moment that he was going blind. Then he removed his glasses from his face. Both lenses were cracked. He sighed grimly as he vaguely remembered handing his wand to Ginny. He wouldn't be able to fix the specs until later.

He slid the glasses into the pocket of his robes and looked around again. He was almost shocked to discover he was in the Burrow's back paddock. Just a moment before it had been night time and he had been on his parents' patio at the Hollow.

And he had been with Hermione.

No, his thoughts reminded him, not Hermione. Instead he had been having some metaphysical conference with his inner voice. His inner voice had only chosen to look like Hermione. Or rather he made it look like Hermione. Whichever. The point was that somehow he had gotten from point A to point B and Harry had no bleeding clue how it had all come about.

“B-b-bludger?” Harry asked groggily as he felt at the back of his head and fingered the huge knot that had formed there. He looked down to find his trusted Firebolt lying next to him.

“Gee Harry, who would have ever figured that your head was that hard,” quipped George as he ambled over to Ron's side, broom in hand, and bent down to have a look at the frustrated and confused man.

As Harry squinted up at first George, then Ron, he slowly began to put two and two together. Both red haired, freckled faced men were dressed in what looked like expensive party attire. He noticed that he too had on a set of finely tailored dress robes. His were in a dark navy color. As he surveyed the scene around him, he noticed that everyone from the adults to the children playing nearby was dressed just as spiffily. That's when it hit Harry. It was Sunday! He was at Ron's Commencement ceremony.

“Scram, you!” Ron nastily said to his brother as he pushed him from Harry's blurred sight line. “You and your shadow have caused enough damage, don't you think?”

George chose to find the reprimand humorous.

“Hmph! I certainly know when I'm not wanted,” he joked putting on overly exaggerated, indignant airs. As he trooped off towards the crowd of wizards and witches, some who were holding brooms in their hands, Harry heard George call out, “Cor, Fred! You should see the size of the lump. Good job!”

Ron fell back on to the grass next to Harry, laid his brand new Nimbus next to him, and gave his friend a sympathetic look.

“Those prats are almost thirty. Maybe they should think of growing up and giving up the game. You would think they would know better,” he turned to face the throng by the lake and shouted, “THAN TO UNSEAT YOUR OWN BLOODY TEAM MATE!”

Fred smirked in their direction.

“No harm, Harry. Sun got in my eyes.”

Despite the pain, Harry tittered softly. He had heard that one before.

It all slowly started to come back to him. The Commencement ceremony had been over hours ago. The candles had been lit and were currently burning away in the Weasley kitchen. The mountains of food that Molly, Penelope, and Fleur had cooked had already been devoured. They had even had to put out on the tables the catered entrées, food Molly seemed to regard disdainfully, just to accommodate the large turn out of people who had come to wish the happy couple good luck.

Just about everyone had been there.

Mostly all of Ron and Lavender's immediate and extended family members were present. Ron's parents, siblings, their spouses, and their assorted children were accounted for. Lavender's widowed mother, her older sister Kelly, Kelly's husband Theodehad Greenberg, and the youngest Brown sister Maeve had all huddled themselves together from the rest of the partygoers. Some of Molly's distant Prewett cousins, Nigel the accountant being among them, had also managed to make it out.

Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's baby sister, wasn't technically a Weasley (though she had a long standing crush on Charlie and had high hopes), but she was treated as thus by everyone. Every other weekend the 19 year old would come down from Beauxbatons, where she taught Charms, to visit with her adopted family. Naturally she was at the Commencement.

Of course Remus and Tonks had come as well. Harry had given his dear friend Remus a long, manly hug when he first saw him walk through the door. Both professed that they didn't get to see nearly enough of each other. Little Wolfie Lupin was made much of as he was passed from one set of arms to another. The child didn't cry once.

Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood's fiancée, had shown up alone. There was still some enmity between her future husband and Ron, so they both decided that he should stay home. Alicia, however, wanted to give her congratulations to both of her former house mates.

A couple of Harry and Ron's old professors had also made the trip from Hogwarts to be there; Poppy Pomfrey, Selene Sinistra, even the now retired Rolonda Hooch. Horace Slughorn made a big display of gifting the couple with mead that he proudly declared had not been poisoned. A few people even laughed at the joke. Minerva McGonagall had even managed to tear herself away from the running of the school to make an appearance. She brought with her the well wishes of those staff members who couldn't come, as well as those from The Fat Lady, Nearly Headless Nick, and Dumbledore's portrait.

Hagrid, his wife Olympé, and their three children had made the journey all the way from Belgium to be there. Hagrid bred wild and dangerous (at least to other people) animals for a living. Only four years before Olympé Hagrid, née Maxime, had retired as the Headmistress of Beauxbatons. She and Hagrid had been married for a few months when both of them were shocked, yet ecstatic to discover that they were going to have a baby. Half-giants tended to be sterile. But by whatever grace of fate or luck, Olympé had managed to conceive. The only thing they worried over was what a child of theirs would be. Would it be a half-breed as well? Or would it grow to be a full grown giant?

Neither of them could abide the idea that their child would have to deal with the same bigotry and prejudices they had endured through the years. That is when they heard of the little town of Ath. Ath was a village where the Muggles were so fond of giants that they even had a festival to celebrate them, the Vêpres Gouyasse. The place was perfect for the expecting family. They even brought Grawp along. They lived in a cottage in the forest just outside of the town. When Guy Hagrid was born his parents were relieved that he was healthy, it had been a rough pregnancy for Olympé. Everyone else marveled at the fact that Guy was normal sized. Regardless of that fact, the family was happy.

So happy in fact that Hagrid and his wife soon realized that they had so much love in their home that they wanted to share it. With the English and French ministries help they ended up adopting two more children; a now 8 year old orphaned girl from Japan named Aiko, and a South African toddler named Hadiya whose mother was dying from a terrible disease and wanted a better life for her daughter. Aiko was of magical birth, Hadiya was not. No one knew yet if Guy would ever show any powers. But that was all irrelevant. The home of Rubeus Hagrid was one filled with laughter and love.

Grawp, regrettably, couldn't make the festivities. He was too busy tending to the animals. He was also being courted by a local young lass from the village. The teenager had literally stumbled over Grawp one day while walking through the forest and had fallen in love upon first sight. Grawp seemed to find the frizzy haired girl fascinating as well.

Murielle Vandersteen later confided in Olympé that from the time she was 6 years old it had been foretold to her that she would marry the tallest man in the valley. She had just always assumed that she would be Rance Dupont's future wife. Barely 12 yet, the fellow was a near six feet. But as soon as young Murielle laid eyes on Grawp, she knew she had been wrong. Luckily for her by this point Olympé had taught her brother-in-law the finer points of personal hygiene. He was still fearsome, but infinitely cleaner. When Hagrid and Olympé finally found out that Murielle had been visiting Grawp daily it seemed unfair to Obliviate the smitten girl. Since she didn't reveal her discovery to another soul, Grawp's big brother decided it was ok if the two crazy kids kept up their friendship. Murielle even taught Grawp some new words. Olympé just despaired the day when both of them would need to be taught the birds and bees. She figured Murielle probably had an idea, but Olympé didn't even want to think about the mechanics of it.

Dean, his wife Padma, and Seamus were filming the whole event on a digital camcorder for Parvati, Padma's twin sister. Parvati was currently eight months pregnant and couldn't make the trip from Auckland by Muggle means of transportation, nor could she Apparate. Apparition was generally off-limits to a witch that heavily pregnant. Padma was also expecting, though she was only a few weeks along. The Prophet, however, was running daily stories speculating on whether the new baby would have blue eyes to match those of its big brother, Conlan's; eyes sort of like his “uncle” Seamus' eyes. Both Dean and Padma's eyes were brown. As far as Harry was concerned his three old friends looked happy with their life, so who was he to judge? They had found something that worked for them. The three lived together and ran a trendy Chelsea art gallery that displayed Muggle and magical artwork. Dean's paintings were featured prominently through out it, Padma handled the business end of things, and Seamus was a natural at organizing the many galas and exhibits that were held there.

Angelina and Lee Jordan, both wearing long dread locked hair and Muggle clothing, arrived to the party late. Ron had been in the middle of trying to coax a bit more blood out of the cut on his palm into the ceremonial chalice at the time. Everyone had turned to watch as the late arrivals tried to hustle themselves and their two young, boisterous children, Isis and Osiris, into a few of the folding chairs that dotted the Burrow's backyard. That distraction seemed to be just what Ron needed. Apparently he didn't like to pee or bleed with people watching. One would have thought that having the Jordans there would be uncomfortable; Angelina after all had been Fred's girlfriend when his best friend Lee stole her away from him. However these days Lee and Fred were as close as ever. Their wives were also good friends who often got their children together for play dates. The two couples actually spent entirely too much time together, plotting just how they were going to get George married-up. With George settled with a woman of their choosing they could all spend more time together. George meanwhile pretended to be unaware of their tactical scheming.

The shock of the day had been when Neville walked in. Not that Neville showing up had been surprising. Not even the idea that Neville had brought a date was so unbelievable. It was the fact that the woman was a Muggle, but more than that, gorgeous! Ron had absentmindedly introduced himself to the Asian beauty as Roonzil Wazlib. Lavender was not impressed. Although he was annoyed by the manner in which Ginny practically dragged him over to meet the young woman, Harry discovered that Candide was a good egg. She was an instructor at a ballet studio. She also happened to own the place. Her parents, who she joked made their money by nefarious means in Seoul, had bankrolled the enterprise.

Ginny practically interrogated her. Although Harry understood that Ginny and Neville were close, best friends even, he still didn't see any reason for Ginny to be so rude to the woman. However Candide stood up well to the scrutiny. She was witty and seemed sweet natured, and Harry figured Neville had made a nice catch. Harry had been happy for him. Up 'til then he had always wondered if Neville still held a torch for Hermione. Back in school Dean and Seamus would tease their dorm mate about the crush he supposedly had on the Gryffindor girl. Of course they did so mainly when Ron wasn't around. Hermione, however, didn't seem to give poor Neville the time of day. Now that Harry had his big epiphany he could empathize with Neville's plight. He musingly wondered if Neville would be surprised at what they had in common.

Cho Chang, Harry's former crush and girlfriend (if you can call a botched kiss and a date from Hell a relationship) made a brief appearance. She wasn't crazy about crowds, but she wanted to give Lavender and Ron her best. A few years back Cho's former fiancé, Adrian Pucey, had stood her up on the day of their wedding. It had been a huge scandal and in all of the papers. Cho had even suffered a nervous breakdown over it. She now lived at Hogwarts where she taught Transfiguration. Once McGonagall realized that teaching the draining course and being Headmistress was too hard a job to manage all by herself, she hired Cho on. The Ravenclaw showed her mettle by being almost as good at the job as her predecessor. Of course the current male student body would probably argue that Professor Chang was a definite step up. Cho left soon after Ron and Lavender's ceremony protesting that she had lesson plans to go over for the next day and more than a dozen scrolls on human versus animal transfiguration to read through. Her colleague, Justin Finch-Fletchley, decided to accompany her back to the castle. He had been the Muggle Studies professor there for one whole year now.

Since Ron was Arthur Weasley's son, a number of Ministry officials attended. Scrimgeour didn't show up, but in his stead he sent his Deputy, Tarquin Adair. Originally a native of England, Adair had been living in Burkina Faso for almost fifteen years where he was the British envoy to that ministry. The distinguished looking, tall, dark skinned Adair blended in well with the citizens of the West African nation. He even found a wife there. However the woman died during childbirth and Adair had moved back home with his son four years ago. Scrimgeour wasted no time making the brilliant diplomat his second in command, an act that incensed the Minister's Junior assistant, Percy. Besides Adair, Hopkirk, Edgecombe and her daughter, Arthur's old office mate Perkins and a few others made it to the party too. Harry thought he would choke on his butterbeer when Romilda and Hanes strolled through the door arm in arm.

Harry was surprised that Luna hadn't made it. He thought she would have at least come to cover the party for the Quibbler. Then again maybe he shouldn't have been that surprised. Harry figured that it might have been too difficult for her to watch Ron start his new life with Lavender. Maybe it was all for the best that she not show. For one thing she would have brought Malfoy with her. To have Malfoy come to Ron's Commencement was like inviting gasoline to a party of lit matches. Then there was the fact that for a few years now Luna had been making Harry somewhat nervous and uncomfortable. It wasn't the weird tics and outbursts that did it. Quite frankly Harry had gotten used to all of those long ago. No, what weirded Harry out was the way that Luna would act around him most times; apologetic, contrite, like she had done something to grievously wrong him. Harry couldn't understand it, but he just figured it was one of those things that made Luna...Luna. So he left it alone. He did however note the other members of the press who had been there and avoided them like the plague. Daphne Greengrass from the Prophet and Demelza Robins from Witch Weekly had both put in an appearance, but the two women had also left early.

So many of their former school friends had been in attendance; Harry felt that Ron and Lavender really should have been touched by the outpouring. The Goldsteins, Ernie and Hannah Macmillan, Katie Bell and her girlfriend of a few years, Lisa Turpin, had all come as well as Sloper, MacDonald, Coote, Hopkins, Boot, Corner and Brocklehurst. The only sad part was remembering those who couldn't be there. The Creevey brothers, for instance. Both boys had been murdered along side their parents while on the Underground. Death Eaters had stormed their train and killed almost all of the Muggle occupants. Zacharias Smith had been a pompous bastard back in school, but nearly all of the kids in their year mourned his loss after he was killed during the battle of Hogsmeade. Euan Abercrombie, Edie Carmichael and Victoria Frobisher, among others, had all met similar ends.

But the day had been a day for joy, not mourning.

Once every song that could be thunk of was sung, every amusing anecdote with a Weasley at the center of it told, and Ron and Lavender had been toasted to by everyone with too much alcohol in their system and too much to say, people began packing up to go home. Finding the hour too early, a group of them who lingered behind had decided to play a quick game of Quidditch outside.

Harry almost felt like he was back in school, practicing with his old house team on the pitch. In fact the whole Fifth Year team was re-assembled, save for Alicia who'd left to check on Oliver. Harry tried to convince his wife to fill in for her, but Ginny didn't want to ruin her manicure. She preferred to stay in the house and gossip with Lavender and her other sisters-in-laws. Glinda shot her husband and the rest of them angry glares as they marched out of the house leaving her behind with all the other Weasley women.

They were unsure of what to do about a third Chaser until Tonks surprised them all by pulling out her broom from her pocket and agreeing to play. Remus gave her a kiss on the head and begged her not to break anything important...like bones. He then portkey'ed himself and Wolfgang home so he could put the sleeping infant to bed.

The opposing team ended up being a hodgepodge of people. Seamus and Neville took up the Beaters' bats. Neville had visibly swallowed when he noticed the twins pointing and whispering as they devilishly smiled at him, but he still seemed willing to give it the old Hogwarts try. Dean, Ernie, and Michael Corner volunteered to be Chasers. Bill decided to roll up his sleeves and play the Keeper position. Ron made some jokes at his expense about Bill not being able to keep up with the younger crowd. Bill made a joke about Ron getting spanked. Everyone gave the round to the big brother. When Charlie, who was late and had just gotten in from Sweden, walked out into the backyard they all knew they had a game. Charlie had once been an excellent Seeker and team captain for Gryffindor house just like his brother-in-law, Harry.

The quick game they had planed ended up turning into a grueling match of nerve and skill. Lee, who was actually an announcer for the professional British league, was giving a play by play of the game and had cast a Sonorus on himself for the benefit of the excited kiddies who were their audience. The game was so amazing that the poor fellow didn't know who to root for. It was that thrilling! It truthfully would have gone on for hours if Harry hadn't gotten knocked silly into about the fourth hour. One moment he had spotted the Snitch, buzzing around Neville's hanging shoelaces. The next moment everything had gone black.

And he had found himself at the Hollow.

Now he was back.

“I started to get worried about you, mate,” Ron said lightly as he plucked at the grass under his fingers.

“Aww, Ron. I'm touched,” said Harry as an amused smile formed on his face.

Ron met his smile with one of his own.

“Lav would have killed me if I had let you die today. All the papers would be about you tomorrow.”

Harry pretended to get choked up and wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye.

“How long was I out for?”

“Dunno, four…five seconds maybe.”

“That's all?”

“Well they were five long seconds,” Ron assured him. “It's a good thing Ginny didn't happen to look out a window or something. She would have had Fred's head if she saw.”

Harry snorted.

“If she knew better she would have congratulated him,” he mumbled under his breath. Ron, however, still heard him.

“What?” asked the confused fellow, brow puckered.

Harry seized up in apprehension. He had been suffering from a moment of guilt. In his mind he had been replaying the conversation he'd had with his inner voice again. When Ron mentioned Ginny's name he couldn't help but think to himself that he was a bastard for leading Ginny on all these years, even if he had done it unawares. But he couldn't tell Ron any of this. If he told Ron about how he came to this conclusion Ron would think he was barmy. Then Ron would hit him.

“I think something set Ginny off, but she won't say what. When she got back to the Palace last night she was hacked off good and proper. She's been irritable most of the day.”

Ron studied him good and hard. He opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and closed his mouth again.

After a second he said, “I'm sure whatever it is, it will work itself out.”

Harry dropped his eyes to the ground.

“I guess.”

He nervously cleared his throat. Harry then searched his brain for a way to distract Ron before he started making any deeper inquiries. His eyes landed on Violet who was surrounded by Rosemary, Lish, Isis Jordan, Aiko Hagrid, and some other little girl that Harry didn't recognize. The girls were oohing and ahhing over Vi's new pet.

“You never told me about how you found Crookshanks.”

That did the trick.

“You wouldn't even believe it, Harry,” Ron said as he practically pulled at his own hair. “I don't even believe it. And the damned cat's been shacked up with me for days now! Pumpkin and I just happened to have walked into that store, you remember the one, and there he was. Waiting for us.”

Ron shuddered.

“It's like he could smell us coming.”

When Harry and Ginny had walked through the doors of the Burrow that morning, Crookshanks had actually been the first one to greet them. The cat wound its way affectionately through Harry's legs, and when Harry looked down, expecting to see Marc and Leo's pet jarvey Serge, he had nearly come out of his own skin at the sight of the squashed face cat. The last time Harry had seen Crookshanks was just after that last Christmas when Hermione had still been with them. Apparently the cat had gotten the idea to run off before she did. And now, for whatever reasons, Crookshanks had decided to come back. If Harry was the type who believed in omens he would have found the timing of all of this very interesting.

But Harry wasn't the type to believe in omens.

“I've been thinking about her,” Ron said breaking Harry out of his own daze. “I've been thinking about her a lot lately.” Ron was looking at the now darkening skyline.

Harry smiled wanly. He felt no need to ask Ron who he was talking about. Hadn't he been thinking about her too?

“I think...” Ron began hesitantly as he turned to face him, “...I think I might have even had a dream about her last night.”

Harry turned shocked, almost jealous eyes towards Ron. Was Ron having those types of dreams as well?

Ron, feeling anxious and befuddled to the pit of his stomach by the look that Harry shot him, quickly looked back to the horizon.

“At least I think it was her. I don't know Harry; it was all so confusing and jumbled up. I barely recall even scraps of it.”

Harry let out a sigh of relief. If Ron was having the same kind of dreams he was having there would be no way that Ron wouldn't be able to remember them.

“I've been thinking about her a lot too,” Harry confessed as he gave Ron a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

Ron looked back and held Harry's gaze.

“I miss her,” he said.

Harry felt like he was drowning in a maelstrom of uncertainty and despair. Although Harry had never outright asked Ron the question, Harry had to wonder if Ron was still in love with Hermione. True Ron seemed to honestly adore Lavender, but Harry remembered the state Ron had been in the months after Hermione's disappearance. Even though they were over by then, Ron had still been heartbroken. Harry had felt similarly (maybe even stronger), he just hadn't recognized those feelings back then for what they were. Now Harry knew. His heart had left him over five years ago. Somehow he had managed to still walk and talk and go on with the endless charade of living his life, but he had effectively done so without aid of his heart; Hermione. She was the one woman who always stood up for him, the one woman who was never afraid to stand up to him; she was the girl who he knew without a doubt would have placed herself between him and the very gates of Hades if he asked her to. He loved her. How could he not love her? But did Ron feel the same? Harry shrunk back from the thought of voicing the question aloud. Harry was just learning to cope with his own truths. He wasn't ready to deal with any that belonged to Ron just yet.

“I miss her too,” Harry miserably admitted. Ron playfully socked him in the shoulder to lighten the mood. Neither of them noticed the two shadows that hovered over them.

“And I miss her three,” mocked Fred as he threw himself on the ground and then pretended to weep onto Ron's shoulder.

“GERROFF...GERROFF!” shouted Ron as he tried to shake his brother from him. The group of children who were playing close by laughed and pointed at the spectacle.

George, who was holding his and Fred's brooms, smirked at the two younger men.

“Are you two girls done having your weepy?”

“Because some of us would like to get on with the game. Bill isn't getting any younger,” Fred joked as he jumped up.

“I HERAD THAT!”

Fred and George both sent teasing grins their older brother's way.

“C'mon Potter, we aren't about to forfeit to Neville's team,” began Fred.

“How would we ever live down the shame?” finished George.

“AND I HEARD THAT!” yelled Neville jovially.

Harry sheepishly smiled up at the matching set.

“Sorry guys, my heart just isn't in it any more. Besides, I'm knackered.”

The twins turned to look at each other as they began to discuss the matter seriously. Serious for them, at least.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” announced George.

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?” Fred asked his brother.

“I'm always thinking what you're thinking.”

“But of course.”

“MARC!” they both shouted in unison.

Marcel looked up from where he was being swarmed by his younger cousins, Percy's triplets. During the lull while everyone was waiting for Harry to wake-up, Barry, Kent, and Phil had decided to play a game of Dragon Tamer with their older brother PJ. Unfortunately for young Percy, no one had bothered to inform him that he was the Opaleye. Marc had been valiantly trying to pull the little monsters off of the bewildered and bespeckled 5 year old when his two favorite uncles called his name. Poor PJ was forgotten in Marc's rush to see what the twins wanted.

“Uncle Gred, Uncle Forge,” he said as he came to a halt before the four older men.

“You think you can manage being a Seeker, Marc?”

“Fleur is going to murder you two,” Ron darkly muttered as he shook his head in incredulity.

Marc's eyes, which were practically hidden by the bangs of his bowl cut hair, widened as he contemplated what Fred was asking him.

“But I haven't got a broom,” he answered sorrowfully. “Maman says I'm still too young.”

Harry, who was very fond of the little boy, picked up his broom and offered it casually to the child.

“Think this old thing will do?”

Marc's eyes grew even larger at the suggestion.

“I've never ridden on a Firebolt, Uncle Harry.”

“But you know how to joyride a Nimbus360˚, don't you?!” Ron remarked irritably.

Marc looked shamefaced at the accusation. Ron was still sore at the stunt his nephew had pulled on him the last time he had dinner at the Burrow.

Harry snorted at Ron's hypocrisy. He almost reminded Ron of a certain Ford Anglia that the redhead had once been acquainted with.

“Take it, Marc,” said Harry as he offered his broom again.

The 7 year old only had to be told twice. He grabbed a hold of the Firebolt and ran off in his father' direction to ask permission. Fred went with him to make sure Bill said yes. George reached out a hand to help Ron up. Ron looked at it suspiciously for a moment before taking it. He visibly winced and cursed lowly under his breath as he rubbed at the still smarting open wound on his hand. Harry remembered the pain well. After the future groom and bride had sliced themselves with the blade during the Commencement ceremony, they were not allowed to use magic to heal the cut.

“Sure you aren't up to finishing the game?” Ron asked congenially.

Harry looked warmly up at him as he handed Ron his broom.

“I'm sure. Besides, being a spectator isn't so bad.”

Ron shrugged his shoulders, and he and George headed towards the two waiting teams.

Harry lay back in the grass and propped himself up on his elbows. He watched the game get back under way, but took little interest in it. He was actually quite tired. He hadn't gotten that much rest the night before. Not because of any night time visits from a certain brown eyed witch, sadly, but because his wife had chosen that night to reclaim her side of the bed in the room they had once shared together.

When Harry had arrived back at the Palace to discover only Dobby in the house, he hadn't been that concerned. Ginny didn't have a job, she seemed to find the task of being Mrs. Harry Potter enough career for her, but she often spent her days visiting her various family members or friends. This night he just figured that she was still at the Burrow helping with the party set-up. Dobby had already prepared his dinner, the usual meat and two veg, so Harry wasn't that fussed over her absence. He should have been.

He had been telling the truth when he told Ron that Ginny had been upset since the night before. Harry had gone to bed early so he could wake-up well rested for Ron's party. He had also hoped to have some sweet dreams. Tonks had put some terribly naughty, yet intriguing ideas in his head earlier that day, and Harry was counting on his imagination to make work of them. But just as he was settling to sleep, Ginny burst through the door, gave him a resentful once over, and proceeded to climb into the bed next to him. Harry probably wouldn't have thought much of her actions if not for the fact that she did all of this while still wearing the clothes she had been wearing that day.

Harry was concerned. He was worried for Ginny; he couldn't think of what would upset her so. He was also nervous as hell! He and Ginny hadn't been in the same bed for quite some time. The last time she had come in the room they had nearly slept together. On paper a man having sex with his wife wouldn't seem so odd. The problem was that in his half-sleep haze Harry had gotten confused and thought it was Hermione he had been about to make love to. He felt terribly guilty about the slip-up afterwards; Ginny had been so great about the whole thing that he felt all of two feet tall. The trouble was that Harry didn't know what to feel worse about, the fact that he didn't finish what he started with his wife or the reality that he didn't really want to.

Last night he had been faced with a similar situation. He wanted to make sure Ginny was alright, he just didn't want to encourage her to make any advances towards him. He tried talking to her, but she actually growled at him. He tried reaching for her hand, but she only turned over on her side. A few moments later she drifted off to sleep. He was at a loss until he remembered the small disagreement they had that morning. Harry had assumed that Ginny was only annoyed and disappointed that he hadn't spent the day with her and the rest of the Weasleys, but judging by her behavior that night she seemed just a moment away from breathing fire on him. Harry figured it was best to just let sleeping dragons lay.

With Ginny sleeping right beside him, Harry was too scared to close his eyes. He feared that the moment he did he would end up invited to a threesome he had no interest in participating in. So instead of falling into dreams he chose to give himself to his trove of memories. One particular memory actually. That day Tonks had reminded him of the night that she and Hermione, dressed as nuns, raided a small Franciscan cloister in France while he, Ron, and Draco Malfoy stood guard over them. Under cover of night, they had slipped into the Monastère Sainte Claire in Boussac. Though they went there with hopes of finding a Horcrux, their main intention had been to save a life.

It had all happened so fast. He and Ron had just entered the common room of the Heads' suite. They had been practicing defensive spells in the Forbidden Forest with Tonks all morning. The training session had been set up so that youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix could work on and improve their skills with the trained Auror. In actuality, Tonks was acting as babysitter for the troop. The majority of the Order had gone to escort a number of war refugees to a safe house near Blackness Castle, and Remus had asked Tonks to watch over the four teens and to make sure that Harry didn't do anything rash. But that morning, when Tonks came to collect them, Hermione had already disappeared and Malfoy was still in the bathroom doing his hair. Harry and Ron, wanting to spend as little time with the Ferret as possible, told Tonks that the Slytherin had a bad case of the shits and wouldn't be able to accompany them. After wrinkling her nose in disgust, she shepherded the rest of her charges to the secluded spot she had picked out for their first lesson.

When they got back they found one fumed Malfoy sitting by the fire, arms crossed before him. Before wands could be drawn, Hermione came rushing down the stairs from her room. She was loaded down with books and it seemed damned near difficult for her to navigate her way, but her cheeks were flushed and she smiled down on all three of them exultantly. Harry had to remind himself to look away after he had been staring at her for what he felt was too long and inappropriate. He looked to see if Ron had noticed, but the captivated young man only seemed to see her. Oddly enough when Harry's eyes passed over Malfoy he saw that the blond was leering in the same direction as Ron. Before Harry could think further on this, Hermione alighted from the bottom step of the staircase, crossed over to one of the large, squashy couches that decorated the room, placed her books delicately on it, and turned to face the three boys.

“I found her!” she squealed triumphantly.

When he, Ron, and Malfoy answered her back with looks of clear puzzlement, she looked between each of their faces as if shocked that they didn't understand her.

“Didn't you hear what I said? I found her!”

“Oh we are all very happy for you, Granger,” Malfoy sneered. “I'm sure you and the poor desperate woman will live happily ever after. It's just good to see that you've finally accepted what the rest of us have known all along.”

Hermione sent a wicked grin Malfoy's way.

“Malfoy, how sweet! But no matter how nice you are about it, I still won't let you watch.” Hermione's words were cloyingly saccharine, yet combative.

Harry frowned at this little repartee. For the last week or so Harry had noticed a change in the air between Hermione and Malfoy. They still argued like mad, and neither could resist sending a well timed stinging barb at the other if given the opening, but lately Harry had begun to notice a subtle difference. Where once Malfoy would say something mean spirited to Hermione causing her to slap him down quickly with a biting retort (usually by insulting his manhood, his hair, or by insinuating that he fancied her) to show him that she wasn't intimidated by him, now, though she still answered his jabs in kind, there was a undercurrent playfulness to her insults.

Malfoy's put-downs also seemed to lack teeth as of late. It was like they were purposely teasing one another and secretly enjoying the dalliance. If Harry didn't know any better, he would think that they were almost flirting. Of course that was a preposterous idea! Like Hermione would even strike up a friendship with the slug! Still Harry had to wonder what ill-effects drinking from the golden Cup of Hufflepuff might have had on her. It had been barely two months since that event. Was she experiencing some strange by-product due to her rash actions? Was this...thing with Malfoy a side effect?

It irked Harry. If he wasn't so sure that Hermione would rip off his balls and hand them to him, he would have mentioned his worries to Ron. Ron would then question Hermione about it...after he split Malfoy's head in two. Then Hermione would come after him. Harry swallowed nervously at that idea. He couldn't stand the idea of Hermione being sore at him. It wasn't too long ago that she wouldn't even have a proper chat alone with him. The idea that she could get mad enough to stop speaking to him altogether, which she would if he sicked Ron at her, was frightening. He didn't want to go through that again. So he decided to leave Ron out of it. Besides, Ron seemed blind to the situation.

“Hermione,” Harry interrupted, calling a cease to her and Malfoy's sickening banter. “Who are you talking about? Who did you find?”

He and Ron advanced to where she was standing in the middle of the room. Malfoy had risen from his seat next to the hearth.

“Boadicea,” she exclaimed excitedly. “Boadicea DuManoir, to be exact.”

Ron grabbed her.

“You found the one that V-Vol...Volde...You-Know-Who was looking for? You found it?”

“Yes. I found her,” she replied. “And I have reason to believe she's the one.”

At this news Ron let out a loud and boisterous whoop. He then picked her up and spun her around. Harry felt that Ron was going a bit overboard. Just a bit.

As Ron set her back on her feet, Harry asked her how she managed to find this mystery person that Riddle was so interested in. She settled down on the couch while the rest of them gathered around her. Ron sat next to her, while Harry sat at her feet. Malfoy, wanting to appear only slightly interested, sat on the arm of the couch furthest from them.

“Remember when I told you that I was familiar with that name?” she asked, even including Malfoy in the question. “Well I was right. Last June I saw it in the Hall of Heads.”

Harry was baffled. He looked to see what he could only imagine was the same question on Ron's face. Hall of Heads?

“You lot have never taken the time to examine the walls that lead up to this tower, have you?” Hermione disappointedly asked them.

“Well, what the bloody hell would we be looking for?!” Ron complained irately.

“Names, Weasleby,” Malfoy explained in a bored voice.

Ron's eyes snapped at him fiercely, but he held his tongue.

“Engraved on those walls are the names of every Head Girl and Head Boy who has ever slept in this tower. The tradition dates back to 993,” Malfoy finished.

As much as he didn't want to show his amazement, Harry couldn't help but be dumbfounded by the scope of what Malfoy was explaining.

“That's a lot of stones.”

Malfoy smiled at him smugly.

“Indeed it is, Potter. At the start of the new term the Deputy Headmaster...”

Hermione purposely cleared her throat. Malfoy shot her an annoyed glance before it took on its usual arrogant glint.

“Forgive me,” he said, nodding his head in her direction. “The Deputy Headmaster or Headmistress escorts the newly selected Heads to this suite. Before they officially cross the threshold they use their wands to put their name on a stone; the men to the right, the girls to the left.”

“As usual Malfoy, you have it all backwards,” Hermione chirped. “It's ladies to the right, little boys to the left.” She emphasized the word little.

He smirked at her quip.

“Of course.”

Harry and Ron looked at each other before gawking at Malfoy in amazement. Their stares seemed to unnerve him.

“I read about it in Hogwarts: A History, alright,” he defensively answered. “My father had high ambitions for me.”

His eyes burned at the mention of his father.

“Of course he was never Head Boy so I never got why he pushed it at me so. It's not like I wanted to...”

Ron let out a bored huff.

“Really Malfoy, I'm playing the world's tiniest violin here.”

“Well I'm sure it would still be larger than that infinitesimal piccolo in your pants, Weasel!”

“FUCK YOU, FERRET BREATH!”

“Knock it off you two!” Hermione snapped, looking between them. “Now as I was saying,” she started after she was sure that neither boy was going to start up again, “I remembered seeing her name last term. The night before Dumbledore's funeral I...I couldn't sleep. When I finally got back to my room I had a lot on my mind. So I snuck out of the dorms and took a walk. I ended up in the corridor outside those very doors,” she finished as she pointed towards the exit.

Ron smiled bashfully.

“Wasn’t that the night we–”

Hermione flashed a quick look of mortification at Ron, then towards Harry before she quickly cut him off.

“Yes, Ron! Yes. But that really has nothing to do with any of this, does it?”

Malfoy made a noise of disgust as Ron gave him a nasty glare.

Harry didn't know what to think. He remembered the night in question. He had come in very late, but even so Ron hadn't been in the dorm. When his best friend finally showed up for bed he looked as though he had just been named Head Boy and Quidditch captain all at once. At the time Harry had been too wrapped up in his own grief to ask Ron what was with the silly grin. But now Harry had to wonder, just what had Ron been so chuffed about? What happened that night? Did Harry even want to know? He was just getting used to the sight of Ron and Hermione kissing and touching each other. Did they do other things together? Did they...

“ARGH!” Harry shouted as he tried to shake the image from his head.

Hermione concernedly looked in his direction.

“Are you alright, Harry?”

Ron looked at him too causing Harry to blush in embarrassment.

“Yes, yes...I'm fine,” Harry answered. He promised himself he'd never think of such things again. “What were you doing in the South Tower?”

Hermione frowned as she began to bite at the corner of her lip.

“I…I don't really know. It's silly I guess. I just wanted to see it since...”

She hung her head down as her eyes began to water. Harry didn't need her to finish. He realized almost instantly why Hermione would want to see the walls emblazoned with the names of the more than thousands of young men and women who had led Hogwarts, almost from its inception.

She had gone to see what she was turning her back on. The wall would have been the visual proof of what she was giving up for him. From the moment Hermione heard the title “Head Girl”, she knew she wanted it for herself. She seemed born for the role, their initials even matched. One would say they were meant to be. She worked harder and studied more than anyone else in their year. She was determined to achieve her goal. But in the end it would all be for naught. Even before they got official word that Hogwarts wouldn't be reopening in the fall, Hermione had already cast her lot with Harry. She had been willing to walk away from her heart's desire even when there was a chance she could have still had it. She was willing to chuck it all for him, to help him. In hindsight Harry could only wonder how he had managed not to fall at this girl's feet in worship back then.

“I read about it in Hogwarts, A History,” she said with a strained smile.

“So this Boadicea has a stone,” drawled Malfoy. “Still Granger, how could you possibly remember that one name out of the thousands that should be there?”

Hermione's smile brightened considerably at the question and Harry almost wanted to aim his wand at Malfoy's skull and shatter it.

“I remembered it because hers was one of the few stones that had two names on it. You see, in all of Hogwarts’ thousand years of being open, only three Head Girls were unable to complete their duties.”

Hermione grabbed one of the books that had been sitting beside her and flipped through a few pages. She came to a stop when she found what she was looking for.

“The first one was mortally injured during the Triwizard Tournament of 1792. She was the Hogwarts Champion and the cockatrice she was supposed to catch for her task went berserk. In fact all three school Heads and Champions got hurt during that round. However the Hogwarts Champion's injuries were so extensive that she died a few days later.”

“Blimey,” Ron whispered. “Was she at least a Gryff?”

Hermione frowned.

“Slytherin, actually.”

“Ha!” cheered Malfoy. “And just think Potter, all you had to deal with was a measly Hungarian,” he said loftily.

“The next Head Girl,” Hermione said, cutting the prat off, “that had to be replaced was a Ravenclaw. Over the Christmas hols she got pregnant.” She started searching through the pages of her book, but obviously couldn't find the page she was looking for. After giving up in frustration she said, “This was sometime in the late 1920's, early 30's. Back then that would have been a big deal in both the magical and Muggle world. She left school to marry the Muggle father of her child.”

She flipped the book open to a page she earmarked and looked at the page hard before continuing.

“Now the third one was Boadicea. She was in Hufflepuff house. She was the first Muggle-born to be named Head Girl.”

“I was right,” Malfoy proclaimed in shock. “She was a Mudbl...uh...Muggle-born.”

Hermione ignored him.

“During the break, sometime around Easter, she suffered a mental break and disappeared from the records.”

“What happened?” Harry questioned.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders.

“I'm not exactly sure. The book didn't say. After the whole Chamber tragedy, Armando Dippet became very protective of Hogwarts' reputation. It appears that there was a big cover-up. I couldn't find much information on her. But I think she might have tried to kill someone.”

“You mean to tell me that all of that was in Hogwarts, A History?” Ron asked in amazement. “Why have you only been telling us the boring stuff?”

Hermione, for some reason, looked embarrassed by the question.

“Well I…um…no…you see…” she stammered haplessly. She looked like she was preparing to make a quick run for the door when Malfoy suddenly leaned over and snapped up the book that had been sitting in her lap.

“Hogwarts Gone Wild,” he read as he flipped the book open to look at the front flap. “What that other biography won't tell you.”

He looked back at Hermione's tomato red face and grinned maniacally.

“My, my Granger, what interesting reading material you have here.”

Ron jumped up and snatched the book from Malfoy's grips. Malfoy didn't appreciate this judging by the scornful expression on his face.

“Does it have pictures?” Ron queried as he glanced from page to page.

Hermione glared at Ron for a moment before she smiled coyly.

“Page 313 has a pull-out pin-up of the Hogwarts Kissing Queen of 1968.”

She paused for effect.

“Molly Prewitt.”

Ron's mouth opened as if he were about to vomit slugs again. He made a strangled cry as he tossed the book back at Hermione and bolted for the door mumbling something about having to send a letter to his mum.

Harry and Hermione watched Ron scuttle out of the room. Once he cleared the door she looked at Harry and her eyes twinkled.

“Mrs. Weasley isn't in here. Ron was just being a prat,” she confided.

Malfoy chortled loudly before realizing that he had openly acknowledged Hermione's funny. He then settled his face into a scowl. She grinned at him slyly.

Harry had had about enough of this. He took the seat next to Hermione that Ron had vacated.

“Help me out here, Hermione.”

She turned her full attention on him.

“I'm trying to understand the significance of all of this. Why would DuManoir be so important to Riddle? What's the connection?”

“Boadicea was Head Girl in 1945.”

Malfoy's eyes grew large at that bit of information.

“The Dark Lord would have been the Head Boy.”

Although Harry should have been more interested in this big reveal, he couldn't fight off his annoyance with Malfoy that seemed to have increased minute by minute the Ferret sat in his presence.

“You know, Malfoy, I would sleep with one less eye open and never question your allegiance if you didn't continuously refer to that murdering, snake faced, scum of the Earth bastard as the DARK-FUCKING-LORD!” Harry rebuked him scathingly.

“HOW DARE YOU!” he answered back, eyes blazing. “I'M AN ORDER MEMBER, SAME AS YOU!”

Harry laughed snidely.

“Don't tell me you really believe that? You bought your way into our good graces. It's a wonder I haven't thrown you to your Death Eater friends.”

Harry then went in for the kill.

“Oh that's right, they want you dead. I can't really say that I blame them.”

Malfoy scoffed. “You can't turn me out. You're not the leader here!” Yet his voice choked on those last words and fear was clearly evident in his eyes. He turned to Hermione as if he actually expected her to stick up for him.

Hermione was literally and figuratively trapped in the middle. She had swung her bushy head back and forth as their argument escalated. Now she was being called to settle the matter. Her discomfiture was apparent. She swallowed visibly as she prepared to say something that she knew would leave at least one of them upset.

“Actually Malfoy,” she began slowly, “Harry is our leader. With Dumbledore gone, he and Professor Lupin are basically the de facto heads of the Order.”

Malfoy opened his mouth to argue her down, but she continued speaking.

“And as cruel as this sounds; Harry is right. You really haven't given us a reason to trust you yet, have you?”

Although Hermione looked pained to say it, as though someone had threatened to pull each and every single tooth out of her mouth to force her to it, Harry still threw Malfoy a smug and conquering smile. Take that Ferret!

As Malfoy stormed wrathfully from the room and out the door, she turned her disappointed eyes on Harry.

“I really wish you wouldn't wind him up so. It would make it so much easier for all of us to get along.”

As if she could talk!

“Never mind him now,” Harry quickly said to deflect her. “Do you think Riddle might have given this Boadicea a Horcrux? Or at least told her about them?” he asked. “Like with Malfoy and Karkaroff? Or with Regulus?”

Hermione pensively chewed on her bottom lip. Harry momentarily was distracted by how plump it was until she started talking again.

“Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. “It would fit with his pattern. But the problem is Boadicea was Muggle-born. Hardly sounds like she would belong to his usual crowd.”

“Maybe...” Harry said, chewing on an idea, “maybe we can go talk to Slughorn. He was chummy with Riddle back then. He might know how well Riddle knew her. And he would have taught her himself. Slughorn might be quite useful.”

“We could do that,” she replied. “Or we could ask the girl...well, now woman, who became Head Girl after Boadicea had to leave. She might know something. She might even be able to help us.”

Harry's eyes brightened at the prospect.

“That would be great! Do you know how to find her?”

Hermione's eyes locked with his own and Harry had to remind himself to breathe, her looks could be so intense sometimes.

“I know her. In fact, you know her too. You see, there was one other reason I remembered Boadicea's name when I first saw it. I recognized the name of her successor, Selene Sinistra.”

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

During the intervals that Hogwarts closed down most of the professors who taught there would go home to their families. It was rare to find a married teacher, most chose their vocation over having a spouse; that did not mean that the staff did not have lives outside of their professions. However there were a few professors that called the castle their home and lived in it year round. Luckily for Harry and Hermione Sinistra was one of these teachers. After looking for her in her office near the Astronomy Tower and a few other spots, they finally located her in McGonagall's office, sitting on the other side of the desk, having tea with the Headmistress. To their shock they found Malfoy in there as well. He had gone to request an escort to the nearest International floo grate from McGonagall. He was ready to be done with the Order and go off to Switzerland to be with his mother. McGonagall denied his request so he was sitting in a corner of the office, sulking.

As soon as Harry and Hermione stepped into the circular room, Hermione began to explain the purpose of their visit. Sinistra visibly paled as she listened to what the two teens had to tell them. McGonagall simply clucked her tongue and sighed sadly.

“He just won't let that poor girl alone. Even after all these years,” said the Headmistress pitiably as she placed her teacup down on the enormous claw footed affair she sat behind.

It turned out that McGonagall knew Boadicea as well, and why not? She had only been two years above DuManoir, Sinistra, and Riddle when she was a student at Hogwarts many a moon ago.

Hermione took out her wand from her jean pocket, conjured a cushy wing backed chair that was almost a replica of the vermilion colored one that Sinistra was sitting on, and took a seat next to her former Astronomy professor. She then placed the few books she had brought with her on the floor at her feet.

“Please professor,” she shyly said to the older woman, “could you tell us why Voldemort would be interested in her?”

Harry stood behind Hermione's chair as he looked the professor over. Selene Sinistra was not an unattractive woman. Though her facial features were a bit too pointed and angled for his tastes, she did possess a lovely set of teal blue eyes that gleamed brightly, and her titian hair, that Harry remembered always being bound up in a bun at the back of her head when he took her class, was glossy and straight and came to a rest on her shoulders. He surmised that she probably had been quite striking in her youth. Even now she still looked quite young and fresh, her un-lined face not betraying the fact that she had to have been on this earth at the least sixty-nine years. She was of Italian heritage, yet her clipped English accent gave none of this away.

“Why would Lord Voldemort be interested in Boadicea, you ask? Because he loved her,” Sinistra answered Hermione plainly.

Harry flinched at the words. Riddle in love? Absurd! He wasn't the only one who found the idea laughable.

“The Dark Lord in love with a Mudblood?!” queried Malfoy derisively. “I've never heard such utter rot!”

Hermione swung her head around to send the blond a disgusted look. He drew back from her gaze. Although Harry hated to admit it, his own thoughts were not so far off from those of Malfoy's.

“Forgive me Professor Sinistra, but Riddle couldn't possibly have loved this girl. Riddle can't love. Dumbledore told me so himself.”

As Harry spoke these words, his eyes drifted up to the portrait of McGonagall's predecessor that hung over her desk. The last time Harry had seen it the man in the painting had been snoozing away comfortably. Now Dumbledore's startling blue eyes were staring back at him and the other occupants in the room as he quietly listened to the conversation. In fact, as Harry looked about the walls, all of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts were listening to what was being said. Even old Phineas' curiosity seemed to have been piqued.

Sinistra half-turned in her chair to speak to Harry.

“Mister Potter, all I can tell you is what I know, and what Boadicea told me herself. Tom Riddle did love her,” she insisted. “But,” she paused as she considered her words very carefully, “he hated her even more. Hated her for what she was. Hated her because she couldn't help what she was. And most of all, hated her for making him feel...something...anything for her in the first place. And in the end he repaid her for it. He destroyed her.”

As Harry began to process her strange words, Sinistra stood up from her chair and crossed over to one of the large windows that faced the east. The dark curtains were drawn back, and as the faltering sun light of the late afternoon washed through the window, the professor settled her gaze on a far away peak of the mountain view.

“Boadicea was my friend, my very best friend. I met her on the train ride to school. Her English wasn't as good as it could be and my French wasn't as good as it could be, but somehow we drifted towards each other and stuck.”

Sinistra turned around to face the room.

“She also seemed overwhelmed to find herself a witch so I tried to be her guide in that as well.”

“As I recall Selene, despite all of that, Miss DuManoir turned out to be a rather brilliant student,” remarked McGonagall casually.

“That she did,” she replied as she smiled wistfully. “Her mind was quick and adroit. When she was 14 she was performing charms at a Seventh Year's level. You remind me a great deal of her actually, Miss Granger.”

Hermione, who obviously hadn't been expecting the compliment, bashfully hung her head down in response. Although Harry couldn't be sure, he could have sworn he heard the sound of Malfoy's eyes rolling to the back of his head in envy and disgust. The thought almost made Harry grin as he took the now empty seat next to Hermione.

“I often wondered why she wasn't placed in Ravenclaw, my own house. I can only assume that the Sorting Hat saw in her heart her kind and trusting nature, her deep loyalty. It's a pity that traits such as those can be used so cruelly.”

Harry glanced up at the Sorting Hat, sitting just behind McGonagall's head on a shelf, before sneaking a peek at his best friend. Hermione was completely enthralled by Sinistra's tale. Harry could practically see the thought process play out on Hermione's face as she listened and voiced her own questions.

“You say that Voldemort loved and hated her. What did she feel for him?”

The faint smile that had been on Sinistra's face gradually eased into a frown as she continued to share her memories.

“Adoration,” she answered scornfully. “Veneration, near idol-like worship; she loved him Miss Granger. From the very first moment she laid eyes on him, she loved him. She loved him even when she was too young to know what that word meant.”

Sinistra slowly walked away from the window.

“He was a very handsome boy back then.”

McGonagall smacked her lips at these words.

“Well he was, Minerva. Never mind that monster he is now, back then he was quite good looking. All dark and brooding too.”

She stopped for a moment to regard Harry.

“You favor him a bit, Mister Potter.”

Harry shivered at the comment. The memory of a young Tom Riddle once told him the same thing. The idea disgusted him then just as it did now.

“I never quite saw the appeal,” McGonagall replied. “Where most saw brooding, I just saw sneaky. The way he would ingratiate himself to the faculty was nauseating, to say the least. I daresay the students, particularly the Muggle-borns, got quite a different side of Lord Voldemort.”

“When he learned that Boadicea was a Muggle-born he treated her with nothing but scorn,” said Sinistra, finishing her colleague’s thoughts. “The names he would call her...I could never understand that kind of hatred.”

Harry looked over his shoulder to give Malfoy a scornful look. Malfoy turned his head to ignore him.

“Despite all of this, Boadicea steadily maintained to me that they were in love. But I couldn't understand how he could love her and think she was chaff. I tried pointing this out to her once, but my concerns fell on deaf ears. Boadicea would say to me, 'Sesi, he's different when it's just him and me, Sesi...I'm going to marry him one day, Sesi'. And because I loved her, and wanted the best for her, I foolishly believed her.”

As she continued to speak, Sinistra began to pace about the room.

“In our last year in school Boadicea was chosen to be Head Girl. We were all so very happy for her achievement. I worried for her, though. With Tom Riddle as Head Boy I knew that she would be spending too much time alone with him. I feared the effects that would have on her. I wish I could say that those fears had been groundless, but...”

Her eyes watered and she stopped for a moment to collect herself.

“After only a few months of sharing the Heads' suite with him she began to draw away from me, from all of her friends. Her eyes lost what luster they once had. All that seemed to matter to her was her slavish devotion to that...that...boy,” she said, almost snarling her words. “Then, right before Easter, she came to me and cried on my shoulder. Tom had told her the night before that he could never be with her. That she was unworthy of him. That she had only been a bit of fun to him. Those words broke her. She got on the train to spend the short break with her mother.”

“How did her parents handle her being magical?” Hermione asked, evidently fascinated by this portrait of a fellow Muggle-born.

“Not very well,” Sinistra answered her. “You see Boadicea's mother was very religious. As a girl she had been orphaned young and lived as a novitiate in a convent. But for whatever reasons, she didn't take her vows and married DuManoir, a poor farmer that lived on the edge of Boussac, instead. After she had Boadicea her whole world revolved around her child and her Church. That is until her head was turned by a wizard named Callum Ferguson. Do you remember him, Minerva?”

McGonagall sneered.

“Aye, that I do. A handsome, devilish rake if ever there were one. He once told me he had the perfect position under him once I became of age. I would be his assistant,” she said dryly. “Dirty old man! I can't imagine how he ever became a school governor.”

“Well it was because of his position that Boadicea went to Hogwarts instead of Beauxbatons in the first place. He had met the mother while staying in Boussac on holiday. A few weeks later she and her daughter were living in Dumfries with him. When Boadicea's letter came winging its way to her he convinced Madame DuManoir that Hogwarts was a better choice for her child. She reluctantly agreed to it, but Boadicea often told me that her mother felt terribly guilty for her being the way she was. She felt it was her fault that her daughter was a witch. It was her penance for turning away from God and her husband that she had borne 'une sorcière'. To make amends for her crimes, Madame DuManoir would make a pilgrimage to the convent chapel where she practically grew up each Easter to attend midnight Mass.

Boadicea wasn't religious herself. You rarely find many magical people who cling to the wand and the cross, or any of the older faiths of the world,” she continued as she crossed back over to the window that faced the pitch. “But for some reason Boadicea was determined to attend Mass with her mother this particular year. Usually she just stayed at school over break like most of us. Merlin...how I wish she would have just stayed this time too!” she cried out in anger as tears began to trickle down her face.

“What happened?” Malfoy asked, clearly being drawn into the story as well. Harry himself was near the edge of his seat. However Sinistra seemed too distraught to go on.

“I can tell the rest, Selene,” the Headmistress offered sympathetically as she began to fiddle with a silver ink pot on her desk. “I've heard most of it. During the Mass, as the congregation recited the Kyrie elesion, Boadicea entered the chapel and strode past the pews, bare as the day she was born. The only thing she had with her was her wand. As she raised it to her mother, prepared to deliver the Killing Curse, Ferguson stepped in the way. I suppose there was some nobility in him after all. Obliviators had to come and erase the memories of all those Muggles, save for the mother of course, who witnessed the sad event. However when the correct authorities came to collect Boadicea, she and Madame DuManoir was nowhere to be found. No one ever figured out what happened to them, though the authorities searched for them for years and years.”

Harry began to mull over all of the information they had been given. A clear picture began to form itself in his head.

“That would explain why Voldemort’s Death Eaters can't find her now.”

“Do you think she might have...something that he's trying to get back?” Hermione asked cryptically, turning in her seat to face him.

Harry got up from his chair and crossed to the middle of the room where Sinistra was standing.

“Professor, did Riddle ever give anything to Boadicea? A trinket? Some sort of memento or something?”

“Not that I recall,” she said in answer, obviously confounded by Harry’s questions.

“Are you sure? Even if it was something that would seem completely trivial to you. A book, maybe? Or jewelry?”

She shook her head warily.

“No. Boadicea wasn't too fond of jewelry. The only bit she ever owned was a hairpin.”

The tension in the room shot up tenfold. Her words hung in the air for a moment. Harry was almost too afraid to speak, fearful that he had misheard her.

“A hairpin?” Hermione asked in his stead, sliding from her seat to the ground. She began sifting through the pile of reference books, tossing some to and fro, in her frantic desperation to find what she was looking for.

“Yes,” said Sinistra as she queerly looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. “It was quite pretty actually. She was very fond of the thing. She wouldn't even let me touch it and I was her best friend. It was one of the few treasures her mother was left with after her parents died. Boadicea said her mother believed it had been in their family for years.”

Hermione, finding the book that she wanted, raised herself from the ground and brought it over to the teacher. She thumbed through the book and opened it to a page of a portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw. As she pointed to the hair ornament in the picture she asked fretfully, “Did it look like this?”

“Is this...isn’t this Rowena?”

“PROFESSOR, PLEASE!” Hermione snapped forcefully.

Harry came to her side and rested a calming hand on her shoulder. This action seemed to help her regain her composure.

“Did it look like this?” Hermione tried again.

“Merlin, yes! But...but…how?”

Hermione turned her dark and troubled eyes to Harry

“Boadicea was from France, Harry. From France! Goodness! It just can't be,” Hermione pronounced disbelievingly.

“Granger,” Malfoy spat, “what are you yammering on about?”

Hermione, however, blew off his question. Instead she swung around and scrutinized Dumbledore’s portrait sharply. The Old Headmaster evenly gazed back at her. Harry searched both of their faces, trying desperately to understand what was going on. He opened his mouth to question Hermione, but she brushed him off and advanced towards McGonagall’s desk. Her eyes never wavered from Dumbledore’s face.

“Professor, is it too extraordinary an idea that Boadicea DuManoir might be somehow connected to Rowena Ravenclaw?”

She paused, her question seemed to embarrass her somehow, but she plodded on.

“I mean...that is to say...could she be a distant relative of hers, a descendant?”

Although Hermione was addressing Dumbledore who was still staring back at her serenely, all of the other busybody portraits decided to voice their opinion to the question. The consensus seemed to be a resounding “no”.

“PREPOSTEROUS!” yelled out a picture of a little feeble old wizard to the right of them.

Although the man was older and much balder than when Harry last remembered seeing him, inside the pages of Riddle’s diary that is, Harry still recognized Dippet. And even as a portrait Harry still considered him an ineffectual bore. How dare he shoot down Hermione’s theory just like that! This was the same man who gave Riddle a medal for killing a girl, for Merlin’s sake!

“I’m afraid I must agree with Dippet, little girl,” the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black sneeringly drawled down at them.

Hermione swung her head between the two paintings. She seemed to retreat into herself for a moment, unsure of what to say. She wasn’t quite used to teachers telling her that anything she said was stupid.

“I mean, really! The idea that this mad Muggle-born of which you speak could actually have come from the line of Ravenclaw is just revisionist twaddle. If such were true you would have any wizard,” he paused as he looked at Hermione appraisingly, “or witch of lowly birth trying to shake a Founder out of their tree.”

Harry saw red at the affront. He marched towards the picture of Sirius' great-great-grandfather fully prepared to tear it to shreds if he could, but Hermione beat him to the punch. She spoke to Phineas proudly, her back straight as though lined with steel.

“There are some who believe that Ravenclaw lived out the rest of her life somewhere in France. It would fit. No matter how unbelievable it sounds…it would still fit!”

“I daresay girl,” called another, sallow faced wizard dressed in very old period robes, “don’t listen to Black. These modern wizards and witches born after the Dark Scourge hardly believe in anything that they didn’t see with their own two eyes. As a small child, I heard plenty of stories of Rowena settling in Lyons myself.”

“I believe you meant to say Black Death, dear Everard,” said a twinkling eyed Dumbledore, his glasses as always hanging precariously from his long crooked nose.

Everard merely brushed at his short black fringe and accepted Dumbledore’s correction.

“However you are correct old boy,” he continued as he brought his gaze back to Hermione. “We modern day wizards and witches can be quite dogmatic when it comes to questions of the Founders. Don’t you agree, Miss Granger?”

Hermione took her seat again in front of the desk, her book still clutched in her hand.

“Ravenclaw couldn't have had a family that went there with her too, could she Professor?”

“My dear Miss Granger, why would the idea seem so inconceivable to you?”

“Because...” Hermione began haltingly, “I mean...surely I would have read about it, wouldn't I?”

“In my younger days, I must admit, I found Muggles quite odd,” the old wizard began as all eyes in the room were drawn to him.

Even Malfoy left his corner perch to advance slowly to the front of the room.

“You see, I couldn't fathom how people who feared the magic all around them, who tried to burn away on stakes anyone they deemed...odd...could instead believe it possible for a man to live in the belly of a whale for days, in trumpet bursts toppling massive walls, and place their faith in the idea that a virgin could give birth to the son of a god. And that this same virgin could be married for a number of years and never have any other children by her mortal husband. Today we know that the Muggle prophet, of which I speak, did have siblings. But there are some who will still argue the fact. It's so much easier to believe in someone's place in Heaven when he isn't tied down to the Earth by his mortal relatives.”

Dumbledore chuckled fondly at his quip.

“But as cavalier as I was about Muggles, I hardly bothered to consider that we wizards and witches were just as guilty of this same blind idolatry. We have made the Founders into almost divine beings. Through the years we have forgotten that these were living, breathing men and women who had wants and needs; who was once flesh. These were people who had lives. Never was the point brought home to me more than when the Chamber of Secrets was first reopened. Before then I never stopped to consider that Slytherin could have an heir. But now we know that he did. Through the tapestry of time a single thread led from Salazar Slytherin to Merope Gaunt's son.”

“So no, Miss Granger,” he said as his blue eyes danced, “I do not find it that extraordinary an idea.”

Malfoy, who amazingly enough had been quiet through all of this, shook his head in disbelief.

“But...but...she was a Mudbl–” he began, but stopped thinking better of it. “She was Muggle-born,” he said instead. “How can she be related to one of the greatest Sorceresses of all time?”

At these words Hermione turned on Malfoy. She was furious! Harry hadn’t seen her this worked up since that first day at Little Whinging. Her eyes blazed lightening bolts as she jumped from her chair and stamped her way towards him. Harry was almost certain she was going to slug Malfoy again.

“AND MALFOY?!” she berated him shrilly instead. “SO WHAT?! So what if she was a Muggle-born? YOU DON'T KNOW SHITE!”

Malfoy was completely stunned by the attack. He slowly began to edge his way from her, yet she trailed him as though he were an injured animal ready for the kill. She backed him right onto the stone wall by Phineas’ picture. The other occupants in the room were shocked into silence at her outburst. Even though Harry knew that Hermione would be completely ashamed of her bad behavior later, some part of him couldn’t help but find this whole exchange terribly brilliant. Hermione cursed in front of teachers! And Dumbledore! And every Headmaster the school had ever had, no less! Ron was going to string himself up for missing all of this!

And where the hell was Ron by the way, he briefly wondered.

“You and your kind, so damned concerned about bloodlines and pedigree,” she snarled as she momentarily looked up at Black and then back to Malfoy. “So bloody well concerned about the pureness in your blood when your father licked the boots of a lowly half-breed!” she malevolently taunted him. “DO YOU HEAR ME MALFOY?! Your beloved Dark Lord is a fucking half-breed! And he was descended from Salazar Slytherin! So you don't know shite, Malfoy!” she finished as she backed away from him.

McGonagall, who had been sitting through all of this, looked down her nose at Hermione and gave her a chastising frown that seemed to pin Hermione in place.

“Miss Granger, I’m surprised at you,” she admonished. “As your former professor I must say that I thought you better than that kind of language.”

Hermione hung her head in abject shame.

“However,” continued the Headmistress as the corners of her lips twitched, “as your colleague I must say, good job!”

Hermione’s head sprung up and she gave McGonagall the most endearing, buoyant smile. Harry almost forgot that there were more important matters at hand while looking at that smile. Then Malfoy grumbled brattishly under his breath and broke the spell.

“Look, let's try to focus on what we know,” Harry said as he and Hermione approached Sinistra and McGonagall at her desk. “Somehow DuManoir came into possession of the Ravenclaw...heirloom. Tom Riddle, who lived in the same suite with her for a year, would have had complete access to this little treasure. If he knew what it was, he could have easily used it for his ends and then left it with DuManoir. Who would have ever been any the wiser?”

“Now he is looking for her. Oh Harry, you don't think he is trying to get it back, do you?”

Sinistra, not being an Order member, had no idea what the three teens were going on about.

“Of course that is what he is trying to do, Granger!” Malfoy spat from his corner. “He's probably caught on to what we're doing and is trying to call a halt to Potter's campaign. We have to do something about it!”

“WE?!” cried both Harry and Hermione in shock as they spun around and faced Malfoy.

“Yes, we,” the blond answered back snidely, arms crossed before him stubbornly. “Don't think I’ll just sit back and let Potter have all the glory.”

Hermione was too flabbergasted to offer any protest.

“If anything we will have to move quickly,” she said as she looked from Harry to McGonagall. “We will need as many Order members as we can muster. Professor McGonagall, you will contact Professor Lupin and Mr. Shacklebolt for us, won’t you?”

“Of course dear,” the woman replied. “But there is one thing you children seem to have overlooked.” This statement caught all three teens’ attention. “No one knows where Boadicea is. We don't even know if Boadicea is still alive.”

Sinistra’s eyes closed and she turned away from the rest of them. She walked back over to the window that faced the mountains, although by now the sun had set and she wouldn’t have been able to see them. She wrapped her arms tightly around her as though to ward off the autumn chill.

“She's alive,” they barely heard her say.

McGonagall was mystified by this admission.

“But...” she tried to say before realization dawned on her. “Oh Selene...”

Sinistra spun around from the window and looked at her friend pleadingly.

“Madame DuManoir begged me to never tell a soul, Minerva,” she tried to explain. “You have to understand why I didn't. Even after the old woman died I still never told any one. Boadicea was dearer to me than...”

Sinistra almost choked on the words, she couldn’t finish the thought.

“Riddle throwing her over like that it...it did something to her. If everything that these children have mentioned is true, he used her and tossed her aside when he was done with her. Her mind snapped. She blamed Riddle's dismissal on her mother. That it was her mother's fault that she was 'Mudblood filth'. That's why Boadicea tried to kill her. After she left Ferguson dead in the mother’s stead, Boadicea realized what she had done. That simple act broke her mind; her heart was already in pieces. Madame DuManoir swore never to let any of ‘les magiciens mauvais’ near her daughter again. Even me! I had to beg the woman to at least talk to me, reassure me that Boadicea was alright. She blamed what happened to her child on the magical world. And really, was she that wrong?!” she demanded, asking the question to all those in the room.

The question made a fierce desire to do away with Tom Riddle burn strongly in Harry’s chest. He now realized that Dumbledore was correct when he said that Riddle couldn’t love. How could one feel love when all they were capable of was destroying it? When all that mattered to them was devastation? The Potters, the Longbottoms, the Bones family, Sirius, and Dumbledore; the list of the monster’s victims seemed endless. But what he did to DuManoir...Sinistra’s tale, for some reason, struck some chord in him. He glanced at Malfoy and was surprised to see the usual arrogance in the prat's eyes missing. Harry then looked at Hermione and was dismayed to see her silently crying. He pulled her to him and wrapped her in his arms. She leaned against him and sobbed onto his chest. Hermione hadn’t allowed him to comfort her, be affectionate towards her, even touch her like this in weeks. It felt nice. But as wonderful as it made him feel, Harry knew that it would have to end soon. They had a job to do.

“Professor Sinistra, we have to find DuManoir. Her life may be at stake. Where is she?”

Sinistra considered the question before shakily answering, “The Monastère Sainte Claire in Boussac.”

She exhaled deeply, finally being free of the secret that had been her burden all these years.

“Madame DuManoir entrusted Boadicea to the Poor Clares, the nuns of the convent, that Easter morning fifty-two years ago. And that is where she has been ever since.”

“Well kiddies,” Malfoy drawled knavishly, “it looks like we’re going to France.”

“DAD! DAD! A car, dad! A CAR!”

Harry shook his head as the memory floated away from him as lightly as gossamer thread born on the wind. He looked up towards the sound of the calling voice. He saw a small, carrot topped blur that he assumed was Marc, hovering high in the sky close to the lane that led from the main road. He seemed to be pointing at something in the distance. Harry's eyes drifted in the direction that Marc was indicating and saw a vehicle coming towards the house.

It wasn't such an amazing thing to see a car at the Burrow. Mr. Weasley had once owned a Ford Anglia that he had charmed to fly. The man had loved that car. Unluckily for him, Ron had to “borrow” it once in order to get him and Harry to school on time when circumstances had caused them to miss the Express. Though they ended up making it to Hogwarts, the Whomping Willow ended up making short work of the car. Harry figured that the Anglia was probably still somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, roaming around, saving poor wayward students who had managed to disobey the yearly announcement to keep out of the dark woods. Now that he thought of it, Harry had to wonder if vehicle theft wasn't a Weasley family trait as well.

A couple of the guests today had arrived in cars. Dean and Seamus were actually huge motor enthusiasts. Padma had complained to Ginny once that the men seemed to collect cars like they once collected Chocolate Frog cards. Their latest toy was a classic 60's Citroën that Seamus had managed to haggle off some hapless Muggle while the bloke was trying to push it down the road. The poor fellow probably thought he had gotten the better end of the deal until he turned his back, Seamus muttered a few incantations over the ocher colored beauty, and promptly drove off in it. Dean and Seamus had shown it off to Harry, Ron, and Neville when their family had first arrived.

Harry was interested to see who this new arrival was. Most of the other guests had already left, it was nearing dark after all, and only a few stragglers were left behind. The Quidditch game looked like it had broken up a while ago; the Jordans, Katie Bell, Dean and his troop, as well as a few others had gone home already. Those who were still there were milling about the backyard or still flying around on their brooms. Everyone, even the children, was watching the automobile's fast approach. Ron, who was still high up, turned his broom in the direction of the road and flew over to meet whoever the late arrival was. Harry wondered if it was a guest who was just arriving to the Burrow. Or perhaps it was a Muggle who had gotten lost and was looking for directions. Harry felt sorry for him. Poor Muggle bastard was just walking into an Obliviate. As he looked around, Harry discovered that everyone else seemed to be just as intrigued as to who the last minute visitor could be.

As the vehicle got closer, Harry's blurred vision cleared somewhat and he noticed that what was coming at them wasn't a car after all. If Harry had to describe the sleek black machine he would have called it more of an over sized lorry than anything else. It was obviously an American made monstrosity. Ron leveled his broom closer to the ground and pulled along the left side of the vehicle so he could get a peek inside. The dark windows appeared to be heavily tinted and gave no view, though. As the motor vehicle swerved a bit, Ron looked like he was becoming annoyed. That is until the driver's window came down. Whatever Ron saw excited the man so much that he gave an ear-splitting whoop, threw his fist in the air, and began to turn cartwheels in the sky. At this shocking display, the machine came to a halt only a few yards from where Harry and the rest of the captivated crowd were watching. When Ron finished his aerial acrobatics, he brought his broom ground level and leapt off the hovering Nimbus into a run.

Harry didn't know why, but his breath caught in his lungs, and for a moment he couldn't breathe. Everything around him seemed to stop for a mere second and then proceed to slow motion. Years later he would never be able to explain why this happened. Even if someone pointed a wand at his temple and threatened his life, he could never specify why at that exact moment, when nothing was clear yet, he knew that his life was going to change forever. But as the engine of the black vehicle shut off, Harry's heart began to race maddeningly. As the driver's door popped opened and a head of sleek, stylishly cut blonde hair peeked out, Harry's palms began to become clammy and he rubbed them vigorously on his robes to dry them. Before the driver, who was obviously a woman, could come out of the vehicle fully Ron rushed at her. He practically hauled the woman from the tank, caught her up in what looked like a crushing embrace, and began to swing her around like a man possessed. Harry was mesmerized as he watched the gauzy material of her long, cream colored peasant skirt get caught up in the breeze.

Tonks, who had been floating nearby, landed next to the pair. She took one look at the woman in Ron's arms and shrieked in delight. As soon as Ron put her down, Tonks was enveloping the stranger in another back breaking hug. In fact Tonks zeal was so great that both women went crashing to the ground amidst tearful laughter from them both.

Harry felt as though he were stapled to the ground. He couldn't move. For whatever reason, the portion of his brain that controlled that simple function seemed to have gone on holiday. As he watched the scene before him, every sound almost became a dull roar in his ear. It was as if he was trapped in a vacuum. The only thing that was really prevalent was the jack hammering of his heart.

He sat back and watched as Ron helped the two women off of the ground. He watched as the twins dashed up to the guest and both treated her to what they jokingly referred to as their “Twin Sandwich”.

“Get off me, George! Let me go, Fred, before I tell your wife on you,” she laughingly reprimanded as they picked her up and began to jostle her back and forth between them.

“Once Glinda gets a look at you she'll probably want to join in and be the cheese,” Fred joked loudly with a guffaw as he and his brother placed her back down to the grass. Ron jovially pushed the two of them away.

“Back away you two prats before she takes off again,” he chuckled.

Ron looked like his face would split in two, his smile was so enormous. That is until he glanced behind the female into her vehicle and started back in wonder.

“WHO THE DEVIL DO YOU HAVE IN THERE, WOMAN?!” he exclaimed as his brow furrowed.

She smiled at his question.

“Oh, that's just Lizzie. Wait until you meet her. You'll just love my girl!”

She reached into the off-roader to unlock the backseat door.

“Lizzie,” she said as she pulled open the door, “there are some friends I want you to meet.”

By this time Harry had finally found use of his legs. He stood up anxiously and began to make his way to Ron, Tonks, Fred, George, and the late arrival. He was nearing them when the stranger's passenger came hurtling out of the backseat and began to sprint towards Harry's direction pell-mell.

“NO, LIZZIE! NO!”

Before Harry knew what was happening, he was being knocked to the ground as something heavy came to rest on his chest. All Harry could see was hair and the hints of two small, friendly blue eyes underneath it all.

“LIZZIE, I SAID NO!”

Harry heard the pounding footsteps of feet racing to where he was, but his vision was obstructed by the face that had lowered itself to his own. A wet, pink tongue began licking adoringly at his cheek.

“LIZZIE!”

As Lizzie was pulled off of him, Harry finally got a good look at his admirer. The Old English Sheepdog barked at him affectionately, as its master tugged it away. A gaggle of children that had gathered around began to “ooh” at its size and “aww” at its shaggy blue merle coat. Their excited murmurings brought its attention to them. The dog began to chase after them merrily as they all squealed and yelled and scattered in over a half-dozen different directions.

“Sorry, Harry,” said a soft voice above him in a honeyed English accent. “She's just so damned friendly that she jumps up on everybody like that. Here, take my hand.”

Harry squinted up at the dainty, tanned, and well manicured hand that was being offered to him. As Harry cautiously reached up and took it in his own, he felt a euphoric tingle of bliss and joy surge through out his body to every nerve ending he possessed. The feeling almost made him lightheaded. So much so that he staggered back for a second before she used all of her strength to try and keep him upright.

“Are you ok, Harry?” she asked, voice tinged with concern.

Harry couldn't answer her. He couldn't speak. He couldn't think. All he could do was gaze helplessly into the swirling world of her big brown eyes, stare covetously at the pink, succulent bottom lip that moved as she spoke to him. Harry didn't know how he managed to keep from running his index finger along the cords of her delicate neck.

“Don't tell me you've forgotten me already?” she teased as her lips curled into a cheerful grin.

“Poor blind bastard probably can't see you.”

Everyone broke into gales of laughter at George's joke, but Harry was still too entranced by the vision before him to even acknowledge what had been said.

“What happened to your glasses?” She seemed amused by his helplessness.

Harry plunged his hand into the pocket of his robes, pulled out the wrecked pair of specs, and presented them to her like a small school boy giving his teacher, and secret crush, an apple. Somewhere in the back of Harry's head he wondered if he shouldn't be patted on the head for his efforts.

When she made no move to do so, he shouted out anxiously, “FRED DID IT!”

“OI!” Fred exclaimed.

She turned to Ron and gave him an appraising look.

“And why didn't you fix them for him?”

Ron chuckled gaily as he rolled his eyes and threw an arm about her shoulder.

“Only been back five minutes and already nagging us, eh?”

“RONALD WEASLEY!”

“He didn't ask,” Ron protested as he removed his arm and raised his hands to her in defense.

He turned to Harry and raised his wand.

“Let me see those glasses Harry.”

Harry dumbly placed them in Ron's outstretched hand. Ron lightly tapped his willow to the specs and in a blink they were brand new.

“There,” she began as she gently lifted his glasses from Ron's palm and placed them tenderly on the bridge of Harry's nose. “All better now.”

For Harry the world came totally into focus and he found himself looking into the face of the woman he was in love with.

“Do you know me now?” she playfully asked before the sound of laughter caught her attention and she turned her head to watch Lizzie run by while a herd of children, led by the Weasley triplets, chased after her enthusiastically.

As she vivaciously laughed at the scene, Harry took a moment to drink all of her in. Five years had worked itself on her in a number of marvelous ways. But it was still her. She was still his brilliant, beautiful best friend. The hair was something completely startling and different, her long voluminous curls being replaced by a thick mane of bone straight, flaxen strands that stopped just below her chin. But the honey blonde shade made the liquid pools that were her dark rimmed eyes stand out more now. Why her eyes are more dark amber than just brown, he thought to himself wondrously.

She looked like she hadn't lost or gained an ounce, however her voluptuous body looked well toned and gave a hint of muscle. He assumed that wherever she'd been she hadn't just been sitting at some desk all this time. Mercifully every curve that Harry remembered, and had caressed in many a fantasy, was in their proper place. Her hips swelled out enticingly from beneath her skirt and her waist looked like just enough of a handful for his eager and wanting palms. The plain white spaghetti strapped shirt she wore gave ample view of tantalizing golden, beige skin. Perfectly round shoulders, beautifully formed arms, distractingly heaving bosom; Harry had to wrench his gaze away from the last as she laughed.

Instead he brought his gaze back up to her eyes. It was always the eyes that had him, he realized. Of course he thought her face was lovely. Of course he thought her body was sexy and sublime. But it was her eyes he had always been drawn to. It was her eyes that could almost make him forget himself. He knew by heart every expression they had ever bestowed upon him. He remembered them shining when they looked at him. He remembered them filled with trust, fidelity, acceptance, faith, and love. Yes, love. He knew she had loved him, still loved him. It may not have been in the way that he now knew he felt for her; that burning intensity that made every particle in him ache...he knew that she still loved him though, even if it was just as her friend. And for now that was enough.

“Hermione,” he almost croaked; his voice under duress from the emotion that boiled deep within him. There was a question in his tone.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other, both puzzled by Harry's odd behavior.

As the befuddled expression on her face softened into a nervous, yet pleasant smile, she turned back to Harry and said, “Of course it's me!”

And that was all Harry needed to hear. He sprung forward, enfolding her in his arms as though she were his cherished, most beloved prize. She smells different, he fleetingly thought to himself. But somewhere he could still sense the essence that was purely Hermione underneath it all. He lifted her slightly from the ground to the point that her feet dangled in the air. Her arms encircled him, and as she hugged him fiercely, he felt her little body begin to tremble with modest sized sobs.

“Oh! I've missed you so much, Harry. I've missed you so much!” she half-cried, half-laughed against his shoulder. “Have you missed me?”

As Harry held Hermione in his arms, he began to feel the gaping void that had been in him these last few years slowly heal. He had tried to fill the vacancy with Quidditch, his Ministry career...Ginny, but none of those things had done the trick. But now, Harry finally felt whole. He deeply inhaled and let that breath out again as he savored this brief moment in time that he knew would end much too quickly. He mentally filed it away with every other precious memory that was his and his alone. And at last Harry smiled.

“I've missed you with all my heart, Hermione.”

A/N: Next up is the long awaited Hermione's POV. Things to look forward to: Hermione tells the family her version of where she has been all these years, ghosts from the past haunt our heroine, and a day of flat hunting turns into a day of revelations.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Lilith the succubus, Theodehad Greenberg, Guy Hagrid, Aiko Hagrid, Hadiya Hagrid, Murielle Vandersteen, Rance Dupont, Conlan Thomas, Isis Jordan, Osiris Jordan, Tarquin Adair, Barry Weasley, Phil Weasley, Kent Weasley, Boadicea DuManoir, Madame DuManoir, Monsieur DuManoir, Callum Ferguson, Serge the jarvey, and Lizzie the sheepdog are canon.

2) “Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation” is from The Prophet by Khalil Gibran.

3) Ath, Belgium is nick named the City of Giants. The Giant festival is an actual annual event.

4) Just in case you missed it, the Ravenclaw Head Girl that Hermione tells the boys about is Harmonia Cadmus.

5) I tried to make the French understandable in the text but just in case it wasn't clear...

sorcière=witch

les magiciens mauvais=the evil wizards

6) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a cockatrice is a deadly animal that is the combination of a cock and a dragon and/or snake. An Antipodean Opaleye is a medium sized dragon native to Australia and New Zealand.

7) The Nimbus360˚ broom, the Hall of Heads, and the book Hogwarts Gone Wild are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

13. Chapter 12a

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 26,332

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None, just angst. Lots and lots o'angst!

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.

Monday, 05/30/05

As the woman reentered the third floor bedroom, the ties of her short Oriental inspired dressing gown fastened tightly around her waist, she made her way to her trunk at the foot of the bed nearest the door and kneeled next to it. She removed the ring of keys that were in her pocket, and shuffling the set until she reached the third one, placed the key in its appropriate lock. As she deftly opened the lid, she placed all of the toiletries that had accompanied her into the bathroom inside. She then proceeded to open the first and second locks and removed a plain black scanty set from the former and a lightweight, dove gray tracksuit from the latter. After closing the trunk and locking it tightly, she dropped the clothing and keys on the bed and sauntered over to the makeshift vanity table under the room's only mirror.

Laid out on the table were enough cosmetics to service the back stage area at a beauty pageant. After pausing for a moment, trying to find a way to sit at the vanity, she got the trunk and pushed it before the mirror. The trunk had seen rougher treatment in its day. It had belonged to Alastor Moody before the wily, former Auror bestowed it upon her for her 20^th birthday. He had once told her that it was sometimes necessary in life to be able to pick up and disappear at a moments notice, and for those times the trunk would come in handy. Sometimes she wondered if Mad Eye's magical blue eye had looked down deep into her soul and had seen what the future held for her. However as soon as those ideas arose in her head she brushed them off. Alastor's opinion of Divination had been even lower than hers, she musingly remembered.

She had sniffed back large tears the night before after she heard of the dear old man's death. It had only been two months since Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody's passing. Though he probably would have preferred to go out fighting whatever riffraff passed for dark lords these days, it seemed that whatever deities controlled such circumstances felt he deserved an easier, peaceful end for such a hard and painful life. He died in his sleep.

As she sat down at the table, she began her daily beauty ritual. She usually liked her eyes smoky so she applied the crème nude colored eye shadow first, before adding the dark brown one to both eyelids and to the crease with her finger. She next lifted the matching brown eyeliner pencil to her face and traced it around her eyes, as well as the inner rim. Her stylist had shown her how to do all of this, and had told her it added extra glamor to her large eyes and made the color of them pop. She then proceeded to add two coats of mascara to her already long and curling lashes. After that she lightly dusted on some face powder, she usually only wore foundation at night or for special occasions. She added a crème blush to her cheeks before applying an apricot toned color to her lips. She blotted them once and then re-applied the lipstick. Finding her face satisfactory, she turned her attention next to her hair.

Even after all of the straightening processes she had put it through these last few years, her hair still tended to curl under at the ends. Usually this fact annoyed her and she often spent most mornings trying to coax her hair into its sleek cut style with a flat iron. But since it was noon already, she decided to go low maintenance on it for the day. She simply parted the honey blonde hair in the middle and brushed it into a shining bob-like coiffure. She turned her head from side to side to look at it from both angles, and liking what she saw, lowered her brush.

She reached for one of her perfume atomizers and released the heady scent of iris, neroli, musk, and just a hint of patchouli at the base of her neck, behind her ears, her wrists, and along the hollow of her cleavage. She also added just a jot at the crook of each knee and her ankles for good measure. When she was a little girl she had watched her mum go through this same routine. Being the inquisitive little swot that she was she had asked her mother why she sprayed her ankles. It made no sense to the little girl that you would put perfume where no one could possibly smell it. Helen Granger, however, informed her daughter that if you did this the smell would blossom up and envelop you all day long. And when others smelled that scent, they would always think of you. Like all lessons she would learn, the child always remembered this bit of instruction and filed it away with the rest of the important data and morsels of knowledge she had gleaned through out the years.

In each pierced ear she fastened a small yellow stud made of beryl and around her neck she placed a thin platinum chain. On the chain hung a large, marquise cut stone almost the same shade as her earrings. As she sat back, hands resting on the table, she gave her handiwork a once over. In her youth, she had never been what one would call overly concerned about her appearance. She had gotten older though, and the tendency to scrutinize every extra line and worry over just when her first gray hair might appear had not been lost on her. But looking back at her reflection, she had to admit that it was a nice face that gazed back at her. She only wished that her eyes didn't look so sad. But there's nothing that can be done for that now, she inwardly sighed as she fastened a white gold cocktail watch around her wrist.

“You look perfectly lovely,” spoke a warm, motherly voice.

A small, diffident smile graced the woman's lips, even as she looked at her own cocksure image.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely to the mirror.

“You’re welcome,” it answered back. “But I would reconsider all the eye make-up, dearie. It does make you look like a bit of a tart.”

Her hesitant smile blossomed fully as she ruefully shook her head.

“Thanks mum,” she replied.

As she took one final glance at herself, she reckoned that she was ready to meet the day and whatever challenges...and more important...questions it had in store for her. It wasn't like she wasn't prepared for it all. She knew that coming back home, after all of these years away, wouldn't exactly be a cakewalk. Still it was time to put away the ghosts of her past and try to find a way to claim back her life. It was time to stop running. She just wished that she wasn't constantly on alert, waiting for all of the skeletons to come barreling out of the proverbial closet. But she was smart, she reminded herself. And when needed, she could summon up enough guile to get her through any tight squeeze. So she could handle whatever anyone chose to dish out at her with aplomb. She had done it before with no problems. What could make now any different? She was ready for this! You can do this Hermione, she thought to herself as she met her own eyes in the glass. I can do this; her reflection seemed to answer back as she gave a proud lift of her chin.

And then she sighed.

“I deserve a bloody Academy Award.”

From the moment she had gotten off the ship in Southampton, Hermione had felt that maybe her homecoming hadn't been such a bright idea. Up until that point everything else about the trip had gone well. She had been lucky enough to book passage on a cruise freighter that was pulling out of Limassol and returning to England in a matter of days. Of course she had to fork over an arm and a leg to get her, the truck, the trunk and her dog on the damned thing on such short notice, but the timing of it all was nothing short of fortuitous. It was also a smooth sail across the water. The only difficulty she had run into was a little sea sickness, which wasn't all that uncommon for her, and a Turkish businessman on his way to Salisbury who kept remarking on what a lovely mistress she would make him. She hadn't kneed him too hard in the groin when he tried to come into her stateroom for a farewell nightcap. All in all everything had gone quite swimmingly.

But as she finally got her vehicle off the boat, and started on her way to St. Catchpole, she couldn't help but notice the ominous goose flesh that kept erupting all over her arms and legs. She cursed herself for the ninny she was being. Of course they were going to be happy to see her! She was their friend. They had to have missed her as much as she missed them, right? But as Hermione drove the near four hour distance, she slowly started to revert back to that small girl cowering in a corner as a troll stamped its way towards her. She was friendless and forgotten in the hullabaloo, just knowing she was going to die while no one at her new school cared. There were still nights now, even after all these years, where Hermione still cried for that little girl. She had even had to pull over onto the side of the road a number of times to collect herself as the tears fought to rain down. Her eye make-up was supposedly tear proof, but she didn't want to take that chance. It would never do to show up looking like a drowned raccoon, she thought humorlessly. The twins would have a field day over that.

It was when she turned onto the two track lane that led up to the Burrow that her panicked mind started screaming at her to turn back. They'll never know it was you, she kept hearing in her ears. They'll just think you're some Muggle who lost their way. Turn back now! You still have time. TURN BACK!

She could see a small group of people milling about the outside of the house, but from her vantage point she couldn't make out any faces. She definitely knew that they couldn't see her. A person could stand at her very window and not be able to see inside the spacious truck. Just like now. Hermione had turned her head for a second and was shocked to see the shape of someone flying near her window. She almost lost control of the vehicle, which sent Lizzie into excited yelps in the backseat. She turned her head to shush the dog and frantically hit the button that sent her window down.

Hermione thought she had never been happier to see a face in her life! She would be proven wrong only a few minutes later, but for the moment, as she looked at the handsome freckled face of her best friend, she finally realized that she had in fact made the right decision. Her joy was only compounded more when she was holding in her arms the other boy, now man, who had been the most important focal point of her short life. Once she was in Harry's arms she knew she had really come home.

After that everything else became a blur. At some point Glinda came hurtling out of the house and as soon as Hermione saw her, she reluctantly disentangled herself from Harry's grip and went running at her friend. The two woman threw themselves at each other and began a silly dance that included laughing, crying like lunatics, and jumping up and down as they held on to each other tightly.

The commotion they caused brought outside the other occupants of the house. All around her were shouts of her name as she felt the warm, welcoming caresses they lavished upon her. After a while she was ushered into the Weasley kitchen. She felt as though she had been lifted up on their shoulders, her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. Before she knew what was what, she was seated at the head of the table, empress-like, while everyone else looked towards her as though she were their Northern star. Ron sat to the left of her, Harry to the right. Molly, after tearfully crying into her hair while simultaneously asking if she had had anything to eat, was off near the stove pointing her wand here and there as she prepared a small feast. Arthur stood behind her chair trying his best to wipe away small, dignified tears from his eyes, while patting the top of her head on and off affectionately as if to make sure she was really there.

Most of the other faces around her looked just as pleased and happy to have her back. All that was left at the house now were the immediate family members; the last few guests had finally departed. As Hermione looked around the table at her family, she felt the walls she had erected around her memories silently crumble. The twins sat to her right, Glinda in between them. They had already begun calling her “Blondie”, and for the time being Hermione couldn't help but laugh along with them. The rest of the table was filled in by Charlie, Percy, Penelope, Bill, and a greatly pregnant Fleur. At the other end sat Ginny and Lavender. Hermione could almost feel the chill wafting from that direction, but at that point of time she just didn't give a damn! The happiness and joy on everyone else's faces, as well as the laughter from the children near the hearth was enough to intoxicate her and blind her to all else.

But underneath all of the laughs and the smiles and the frivolity, there was a question that was practically being shouted at her. Why, Hermione? Why?! She saw it in Arthur's loving and accepting smile. She saw it in Glinda's cocked eyebrow. And most importantly she saw it in Harry's burning, bright eyes. But no one chose to voice it to her. Not just yet. Not when she could make a turn any moment for the door and be gone again in a flash. So instead Ron chose to tactfully ask the next best thing.

“Where the hell have you been?”

“RON!”

“RONALD!”

Both Lavender and Molly furiously fixed their gazes on Ron from opposite ends of the kitchen.

Hermione and the rest of the room laughed at the pink color that bloomed behind the redhead's ears.

“It's quite alright, Molly,” Hermione offered as she snuck a glance at Harry from the corner of her eye. She was distressed to find that he had been staring at her and caught her at it.

She quickly turned her attention towards Ron and smiled in his direction.

“It's not as though I didn't assume to hear those very words from Ron's mouth. I just expected the question to be filled with quite a few more expletives,” she teasingly quipped.

Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought she heard a resentful huff come from the other end of the table.

“Shows you what you know,” he joked as he leaned back in his chair and winked roguishly at her. “I'm a family man now.”

George cackled at the remark causing Ron to send him a death glare. George ignored it and instead said, “Seriously though, Blondie, where’ve 'ya been?”

“Well,” she began nervously, looking at all of their expectant faces, “until about five...almost six hours ago, I was getting off a boat from Cyprus.”

Her answer seemed to astound them.

“Cyprus?” Harry furrowed his brow as he stared at her intently. “But we thought you were in America.”

Hermione expertly hid her shock at his words.

“Why would you lot think I was there?”

“Well, since your wand was still registered with the Ministry, we could track its usage,” answered Percy nonchalantly. “Of course we had no idea what you were doing seeing as how you had the good grace not to cast an Unforgivable.”

Hermione was amazed. In her desperation to get out of Europe she had forgotten that small piece of information. During the Second War, after the failed assassination of Scrimgeour, the Ministry began keeping a registry of the wands of its employees just in case Voldemort or any of his Death Eaters managed to cast an Imperious on any other high ranking officials such as poor Gawain Robards. After the War the practice remained. It would seem that Scrimgeour trusted no one really. On Hermione's very first day as a new hire at the Ministry she had to submit her own vine wood to be logged in. At the time she had been so proud that she was actually going to be an employee for the prestigious British Ministry that she hadn't even thought how invasive such tactics were. Apparently now, after all of these years, she had completely forgotten that her wand had still been registered. Hermione was usually good at crossing all of her T's and dotting all of her I's. The fact that she had let that slip by her was bothersome to say the least.

“Well you're right, I was in the States. In fact I've been there for these last four years. I've been living as a Muggle. Well,” she said nervously reconsidering her words, “I guess you could say I am pretty much a Muggle now. I tossed my wand years ago.”

This revelation left the whole family dumbfounded. Hermione Granger wandless? One of the most well known witches in the world pretending to be a Muggle?

“Hermione,” Ron said, scratching his head in frustration, “just what the bloody hell has been going on with you?”

Hermione looked around the kitchen, and as she saw all of the curious, expectant faces staring back at her, she straightened her spine, sat up straight and rested her hands firmly on top of the table.

“Maybe I should start from the beginning.”

Hermione carefully began to fill in the missing years. Initially she pretty much bummed around Europe, lodging at one hostel after another. It wasn't like she didn't have the money to live such a carefree life. When her parents died she was left the sole beneficiary of both of their wills. For years the Grangers had run a highly profitable dentistry practice in Belgravia, whose clientèle encompassed most of that area, as well as Chelsea and Knightsbridge. Though not terribly rich by some standards, the Grangers were significantly well off. Daniel Granger's only other living relative at the time had been his mother Bridget Rose. He knew that Bridget wouldn't need anything from him; she was completely self-reliant and had lived on her farm for years without ever asking him for anything. He felt comfortable then leaving all he had to his only child. Helen Granger on the other hand had a sister named Holly. But the two siblings had been estranged for years before Helen's death, and there was little chance of Holly Darlington contesting her sister's will.

Her parents' deaths, as well as the selling of the family home on St. Luke's Mews, left Hermione with a rather sizable nest egg. When her beloved Nan died not too long after her parents, Hermione inherited from her as well. For the longest time Hermione had been unwilling to touch that money. She just let it sit in the bank and appreciate. She made a comfortable living working for the Ministry; she felt she had no need of it. But once she left the wizarding world, her secret stash of Muggle money came in handy. Though she wasn't a lavish spender by any means, she did spend a good deal of it as she made her way across the continent “castle hunting”. It was a secret passion and hobby she had shared with her father when they went on their many family trips and vacations. Italy, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland, Germany, Denmark; she celebrated her 21^st birthday in front of Kronborg Castle in Helsingør.

But after spending all of that time bonding with the ghost of her dad, Hermione needed some way to feel close to her mother as well. That was when she decided to find her aunt Holly. From what her mother told her, she and her sister had been close as children and young teenagers. Then when Holly was seventeen she met and fell in love with a Yank who was studying at Oxford. When the young man left England, Holly ran away to be with him. The bond that used to connect the two sisters slowly fell into the large body of water that separated them, even though they tried their best to maintain it. When the American who promised to love Holly forever left her heartbroken and pregnant, she sent Helen a letter from Miami. When Holly's daughter was born, she sent Helen a picture of the baby from Chicago. When the Darlington girls' widowed father died, Holly sent Helen a condolence card from Little Rock. And when Hermione was born, Helen got a note of congratulations from Dallas. That was where the last card Helen ever received from her sister came from. That was also where Hermione went to find her aunt.

“TEXAS?!” exclaimed Glinda in shock.

“You mean you've been in Texas all this time?” asked Harry.

Hermione nodded her head.

“That is until I went to Cyprus on holiday, of course.”

“Isn't that where they have those cow men?” Ron asked, fascinated by Hermione's tale so far.

She rolled her eyes affectionately.

“They're called cowboys, Ron. And yes, there are some there. But Dallas is really quite the metropolitan city.”

“Blimey! I didn't even know you had an aunt. I thought all of your relatives were dead,” Ron inelegantly remarked.

“RONALD!”

“Well mum, I did!”

Harry leaned into her, causing the hair on the back of Hermione’s neck to stand on end.

“I remember you telling me about your aunt Holly. She and your mum were twins, right?”

“Fraternal, yes,” she responded, touched that he would remember that bit of minutiae about her.

“So did you ever find your aunt?” Charlie asked inquisitively.

Hermione shook her head sadly.

“She died. Almost two weeks before I landed on her doorstep. She had been suffering from terminal cancer for years, you see.”

Everyone in the room seemed saddened by the news, even Lavender and Ginny. Hermione could feel the Weasleys' empathy for her.

“But luckily for me, her daughter still lived in the house,” Hermione finished, a big accomplished smile on her face.

“That must have been wonderful news, Hermione,” said Arthur excitedly from behind her.

“It was,” she said in answer. “Cynthia took me into her home that very night. I lived with her for a few months until I got an apartment...a flat with a few friends I made at my job.”

“Zat sounds fascinating, 'Ermione,” Fleur sweetly chirped as she rubbed at her swollen belly lovingly. “Whatever do you do?”

Hermione looked from face to face, knowing that her answer would completely amaze them, and relishing the looks she knew would appear at her reply.

“I've been working at a daycare center. I'm a preschool teacher.”

“BLOODY HELL!”

Hermione turned to look at Harry. If she was being honest, that was the response she had been expecting from Ron.

“BUT YOU HATE KIDS!” her ex-boyfriend practically shouted.

Ah, that was more like it.

“I never said that I hated kids,” she said as she brought her attention to Ron. “You said that I hated kids. In truth they did make me uncomfortable at first. You should have seen me the first time I had to take a little boy into the loo all by myself. Between him and me, I don't know who was more embarrassed about the whole thing,” she chuckled.

The family laughed accordingly.

“But after a while I really started to love my job and love the children there. They were really great kids,” she warmly gushed. “Cynthia is one of the head lawyers for Deeringham's, it's basically the south-western version of Harrods. They're all over Texas,” she said as an after thought. “Well the owners of Deeringham's sit on the board of trustees that run a daycare center for the under privileged children in the area, you see. The Deering family is very modern and socially conscious like that. Well, Cynthia arranged for me to replace one of the teachers at the center after the woman went on maternity leave. She just never came back and I just stayed on.”

“Wow,” Ron responded in awe.

“You can say that again,” Harry mumbled.

“Wow!”

“Git!”

Hermione giggled at the little exchange. God! She had missed her boys so much!

“Speaking of keeds,” Fleur said as she turned her head to look at her brood by the hearth, “I zeenk eet is time for my leetle ones to go to bed.”

This statement almost caused a small coup amongst the group at the grate. There were shouts and pleas for ten more minutes. The children had been playing with the assorted pets; Serge, Crookshanks, and Lizzie. The triplets had been trying to coax a few more naughty words from the jarvey, while the girls had been brushing and playing with Lizzie's thick coat. Lizzie meanwhile seemed intent on making friends with Crookshanks. She cheerfully sat in front of the chair that the part kneazle was perched on, staring at him jovially as she waited for him to acknowledge her. Crooks, however, was having none of it. He was too busy licking haughtily at his paw. PJ meanwhile was reading a storybook to little Dash and Leo near the corner as Marc, ever the adult, looked on.

With Fleur's statement Percy and Penelope decided it was time for them to take their children home as well. They both said their goodbyes, Penelope giving Hermione a friendly hug before picking up the child nearest to her, and the six of them portkey'ed out of the Burrow to their home in Exeter. After all four children gave their new “aunt” a kiss on the cheek, Fleur hustled her children up the stairs to get them ready for bed. That just left Violet and Felicity. Glinda was nowhere near ready to leave just yet, though. She still looked thoroughly amazed to have Hermione back after all of this time.

Violet was spending the night at the Burrow and Lavender, for her part, wasn't budging an inch from the room. Ron called Violet to him and sat the little girl on his lap. Fred did the same to his daughter. Hermione then floored everyone when she asked if she could hold Lish. Felicity after all was her godchild. She held out her arms to the little girl, and the child climbed across her mother, her uncles' George and Harry, and settled herself in Hermione's lap as though it was the most natural thing in the world to do. Hermione shifted her so that Felicity was straddling her lap and the child rested her head adorably on Hermione's shoulder.

“Ducks! What the bloody hell did they do to you over there?!” Glinda bemusedly asked. “When did you become the bleeding Child Whisperer?”

“Hermione, if anything I'm glad you're back so you can explain to me half the things this mad woman says,” said Fred snarkily.

Glinda repaid him for the remark by pinching his bum under the table.

As everyone laughed, Molly came bustling from the stove laden down with food. She sat before Hermione one plate with roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, another plate with gammon and eggs, and a dish of custard. Knowingly, she also set three eating utensils on each plate. Ron and Harry looked across Hermione, sent a spirited grin each other's way, and both picked up a fork and began eating out of the plate nearest to them. Hermione merely shook her head adoringly at them. Molly also floated bottles of butterbeer to all of the adults in the room.

“Mum, you should rest,” said Ginny tersely from across the table.

As far as Hermione could recall, this was the first time Ginny had spoken since they had all come into the house. When Ginny first laid eyes on her, Mrs. Potter first paused, as though having seen a ghost, then proceeded to give Hermione a tense and awkward hug. However since then, Ginny seemed comfortable just staying on the sidelines of this reunion. That is until now.

“You've been running around like a chicken since dawn, mum. There is no need to go to all of this trouble. It's just Hermione,” she continued. Then thinking better of how that statement might have sounded she added, “She's practically family after all.”

“Yes,” said Molly as she lovingly rubbed at Hermione's cheek, “she is family. And if I hadn't seen any of you naughty children's faces in all these years, I would go to the very same trouble. Eat, sweetheart,” she told Hermione. Molly then sat in the chair that Fleur had vacated.

Arthur walked over to his wife, stooped to kiss her cheek, and bade everyone a good night. As much as he wanted to stay up and chat some more, he had a very busy day at the Ministry to look forward to. Before heading up the stairs he kissed the top of Hermione's head.

“We've all missed you so very, very much, dear girl. I'm so happy that you finally came back to us.”

Hermione felt her eyes go wet at Molly and Arthur's poignant speeches. She called on every bit of strength she possessed not to bawl her eyes out right there as she watched the man she considered almost a father climb the stairs. Instead she picked up a fork and began making headway on the pudding. In truth she was starved. The long drive from the docks had really worn her out.

“So Hermione,” Lavender said drawing her attention to the other blonde, “what brings you back here? Now?”

Hermione softly chuckled at the distrusting underlying inflection in Lavender's voice.

“Well,” she began slowly, easing her fork down, “I'm here for Ron.”

These words made all action at the table cease. Ron had been lifting a spoonful of custard to Violet's mouth. His eyes went wide. Harry was staring at Hermione. Again! Only this time he was staring at her with the most peculiar look on his face. Hermione didn't even want to glance down at the end of the table.

“That is to say, I'm here for Ron and you Lavender,” she quickly amended. She looked at everyone and smirked at the stunned faces. “I'm here for the wedding!”

Hermione could feel Harry release the breath he had been holding near her right shoulder. Everyone else seemed to relax simultaneously at her statement.

She then recounted the moment, only a few days prior, she'd drifted into a small meze restaurant in Limassol. When she sat down at the table she noticed a newspaper laying haphazardly on it. As she picked it up, her jaw nearly hit the table as she recognized the winking picture of Pavel Dimitrov on its cover. The first time Hermione had ever seen Dimitrov was when she was 14 and watched him, Viktor, and the rest of the Bulgarian National team play against Ireland for the World Cup. The handsome Dimitrov hadn't changed that much in the eleven years or so that had passed since then. He was also apparently still a whore if the article detailing the paternity suit that fourteen different witches in ten different countries was filing against him, was true. Viktor had often told her of the ladies man that his team mate was.

What Hermione found was a copy of a day old International Seer. She quickly looked around to see if the paper's owner was coming back for it. Obviously a wizard or witch had been in the restaurant before her and had carelessly left the Seer in the Muggle eatery. Hermione quickly exited the restaurant, paper in hand, and walked to her hotel nearby. Once in her room she poured through the periodical. This was her first real contact with anything magical in years. She searched for any mention of anyone she knew from Great Britain. That was how she saw the Weasley wedding announcement. As soon as she saw that Ron's Commencement was going to be held in a matter of days, she arranged passage to England on the very next boat pulling out of the port town.

“Blimey! I would have married Lav ages ago if that's all it took to get you back home!”

Nearly everyone found the joke funny. Lavender, however, did not. She primly stood up from her seat, plucked Violet out of Ron's arms, and exited out of the Burrow’s front door. Ron smiled embarrassedly at everyone as he quickly followed his fiancée out. George, Fred, Bill, and Charlie snickered loudly at his retreating form.

“Well,” began Hermione evenly as she stroked Felicity's sleeping head that was now nestled comfortably against her bosom, “I don't know if I would have showed up any other time before now. I was pretty content in Dallas, although I had been contemplating moving on for some time, settling some place new. I just happened to be in Cyprus recharging my batteries before deciding where to go to next. But it does almost seem as though fate brought me into that restaurant, doesn't it?”

She looked to her right and her gaze locked with Harry's for a moment, before she forcefully wrenched it away.

“Then again I've never put much store in fate.”

George, trying to make a joke out of it cracked, “Well I think it's fated for Ronniekin's hand to be very busy awhile. Lav-Lav doesn't look like she is going to be too accommodating tonight”

“GEORGE!”

“Sorry, mum.”

“I heard you, you prat!” snapped Ron as he reentered the kitchen holding Violet asleep in his arms.

Molly got up, gathered the child from Ron, and headed up the stairs with her.

“Lav's gone home to her mum's. You know she can't stay with me any longer 'til the wedding,” he said as he took his seat next to Hermione again.

Once Ron was seated, the kitchen began to fill with the sounds of the family's muted chatter coupled with that of scraping cutlery hitting dinnerware as Harry, Hermione, and Ron finished off the food on their plates. Glinda had already removed Lish from Hermione's embrace and was cradling the little girl in her arms. Fred and George had started in on Bill, trying to get him to tell them what Fleur was having. Bill, however, wasn't disclosing the information.

Charlie took the time to inform them all that he was coming home to stay for a few months. Maybe even settle down for good with a nice bird. Everyone was shocked, yet pleased to hear the news. Charlie hadn't really lived at home since he had left Hogwarts. He was always off at some foreign locale after another, wrangling dragons. But after so many months in Sweden, he felt that now was the time for him to finally put down some roots.

Harry briefly mentioned that he wanted to discuss a case he was working on with him as soon as Charlie was free. This statement confused Hermione. What would a world famous Quidditch Seeker need a Dragon Keeper for? When she asked, Ginny took it as an opportunity to brag on how her husband was now one of the most well known and respected Aurors in the country. Hermione couldn't believe it! She asked what else had changed since she had been gone.

Everyone took turns filling her in on the marriages, the births, and sadly the funerals she had missed out on. Moody and Winky's deaths were the ones that she had taken the hardest. Regrettably, Ron had also annoyingly made a big deal out of Oliver Wood being engaged to Alicia Spinnet. Hermione had said that she was happy for them. She was shocked though to hear that Cormac McLaggen had married Pansy Parkinson. And more than that, the two were having a baby together. From where Hermione was sitting, it looked like Ginny was just as mystified by the whole thing.

“And how about you, Ducks?” Glinda asked as she expertly raised an eyebrow in Hermione's direction. “Let's see those hands.”

Hermione, being thoroughly confused as to what Glinda was implying, held out both of her hands before her.

“No rings on those fingers then?”

It took Hermione another second to catch on.

“Oh,” she said when she finally did.

Her cheeks flushed pink.

“No, no rings on my fingers.”

Once again she felt Harry's heated gaze fall on her. It felt as though he were trying to look straight through to her soul. She practically felt it all the way to her tummy.

“Well why not?!” Glinda badgered her. “A girl like you still single? It ought to be a crime!”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. Her hands rose to her chest and she began to anxiously twist the large gem stone hanging there around and around on its chain.

“I guess I'm just poor wife material.”

“Well surely, Hermione, there must be someone in your life,” Ginny pressed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You were never the type that liked to be alone for long.”

Ginny's comment suddenly made everyone in the room uncomfortable. Charlie tittered nervously, while Bill excused himself and went up the stairs to bed. Harry looked at his wife almost for the first time that evening, and gave her a displeased look as he gathered one of Hermione's hands in his own. Ginny ignored this; she just kept her eyes fixed on Hermione. Ron disgustedly rolled his eyes as he leaned back and protectively put an arm across the back of Hermione's chair. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had felt so well cared for.

“Actually, for some time now, Lizzie has been the only real companion in my life,” she joshed as she sat up straight in her seat. “I had a blind date just a few years ago that just about put me off of men forever.”

“What the devil could have happened that was that bad?” Glinda asked as Harry made a queer choking sound.

Hermione giggled at the memory.

“You see one of my roommates, Amelia, was dating this bloke who worked for this tool company. Her boyfriend was closing this very big deal with an exec from a firm based here. So lover boy gets it into his head how great it would be if the two Brits meet. Mind you, when he first met me he thought I was from Connecticut. So he invites the poor bastard out for a few drinks and corners Amy into bringing me along as the sacrificial lamb to the slaughter. Our other roommate even got in on the act, forcing me to go. Benny even...”

“Who’s Benny?” Harry suspiciously questioned, interrupting the flow of her story.

Everyone at the table looked at him, Hermione chief among them.

“Just curious, is all,” he defensively said.

“Benitez is...I mean, he was, my other roommate.”

Harry screwed up his face as if trying to decipher a difficult Arithmancy problem.

“You lived with a man?”

“Well...yes,” Hermione said in answer, bewildered by Harry's line of questioning. “If you recall Potter, I once lived with two men.”

Ron and Charlie snorted at her reply.

Harry gave them both withering looks before arguing, “That was different. Ron and I were your best mates. Any other bloke might be out to take advantage of you.”

Hermione sighed. He was still playing the overprotective brother.

“I really didn't have to worry about that with Benitez. You see, I had a vagina. I don't think he was very interested in it. Besides his boyfriend would have had a few choice words for me if he had been.”

Ron, who had been nursing his bottle of butterbeer, spat the liquid out. Charlie reached over to pat his back while smothering his own snort. However Fred, Glinda, and George practically fell over each other from laughing so hard. The only ones who seemed like they weren’t amused were Ginny and Harry.

Felicity began to stir in Glinda's arms, and Fred reached over to take his daughter from his wife. He told Glinda to stay while he took Lish home. He would fly them on his broom; she could just floo into their cottage when she was ready. Glinda, who abhorred flying on any contraption she couldn't get an in-flight movie and a bag of peanuts on, readily agreed. After she kissed her little family goodbye, she turned dancing eyes back towards Hermione.

“So finish tell us about the date from Hell!”

Hermione chuckled at Glinda's excited interest. Glinda always enjoyed a good story.

“There isn't much left to tell. I showed up to the bar, when who should I spy sitting beside Amy's boyfriend, was none other than Dudley Dursley.”

Hermione giggled madly at the stunned faces of Harry, Ron, Charlie, George, and Ginny. Glinda seemed to be the only one in the dark.

“No fucking way!” said Ron in awe.

Harry was still too shocked to say anything.

“Who or what is a Dudley Dursley?” asked Glinda.

George turned to Glinda, a large grin on his face.

“Remember Fred and I told you about Harry's fat Muggle cousin?”

“Oh yes,” Glinda said as realization dawned on her. “The one who got the pleasure of being WWW’s very first guinea pig right?”

“You went on a date with Dudley?” Harry asked, baffled.

“Mmm, yes.”

“I haven't seen him in years, thank Merlin!”

“What did he say to you?” asked Ron.

“Nothing. He was a perfect gentleman at first. Big as a house still, but sweet.”

Both Ron and Harry scoffed at this.

“It's true. He was actually quite shy when we were first introduced. He didn't seem to recognize me. My hair wasn't blonde back then, but I figure after not seeing me for years I did look quite different. Plus the bar was dark and smoky. We actually got on quite well.”

“Well where did the Hell part come in?” Glinda asked.

“Oh, that would be about the time he walked me to my door and thought he was spending the night. He even got a little aggressive with me.”

Harry made a strangled sound and looked as though he was ready to leave his seat, hunt his cousin down, and give him a good throttling on the spot. Hermione, sensing his jumbled thoughts, laid a gentle hand on his wrist to hold him in place. He calmed down quickly.

“Don't bother,” she told him. “He didn't get too far. I simply asked him when the last time he had been turned into a piglet was. He took one good look at me under the bright lights of my hallway and took off like a streak.”

Hermione chuckled softly to herself.

“You know I never figured a man that large could run that fast.”

Everyone's laughter brought Molly stomping back down the stairs.

“I just got the girls back to sleep. You lot need to keep it down.”

Molly's chastising words made Hermione look to her watch.

“Oh damn!” she exclaimed. “I hadn't intended on staying this long. I have a reservation at the Blakes and it will take me forever to make the drive over.”

“You're staying in London then?” Harry nervously asked.

Hermione began to stand up.

“Yes. I booked a suite as soon as I made the arrangements to get on the boat. I wanted something in town so I wouldn't have to go too far to look for a flat.”

Glinda, Ron, and Harry all seemed to inhale deeply at her statement. All three were frightened to speak in case they misunderstood what she meant. It was up to Charlie to ask the important question.

“You're looking for a place to live? Here?”

Hermione bit on her bottom lip as she looked between Harry and Ron. She hadn't realized that she hadn't made her plans more obvious.

“I'm sorry; I thought I made that part clear. I've decided to come back home.”

Before Hermione knew it, she was being engulfed in a hearty bear hug by both Harry and Ron. The two tall men lifted her easily off of the ground.

“Put me down, you prats! PUT ME DOWN!” she shouted amusedly. “What do I look like, a doll you can just fling about? I already had a taste of the Twin Sandwich!”

“Oh yeah,” Ron said cheekily, “well this is the Trio Panini!”

“Leave it to Ron to get technical when it comes to food,” said Harry as they both gently set her down and he bent down to kiss her cheek sweetly. Hermione had to consciously remind herself not to put her hand to the spot just to touch it.

Glinda practically pulled the two men from Hermione so she could get in her own squeeze.

“You mean it?! You've really come back for good?!” she asked as she held on to her friend tightly.

Hermione simply moved her head up and down; too choked up to speak.

“Well forget about that fancy, schmancy hotel, Ducks. You're coming to Hogsmeade with me!”

“I would kick this one out,” Ron said referring to George, “so you could stay at my place, but Lavender would kill me dead.”

“Well why don't you just come home with me,” Harry said eagerly. “Me and Ginny I mean,” he quickly amended as he looked at his wife, and promptly turned his back to her as he saw the incredulity form in her eyes. “We have more than enough room at our house. We have room after room in fact.”

Although her face looked impassive to anyone looking at her, Hermione had to control the near horror struck expression that threatened to spread across it. Stay at Harry's?! What did these people think she was made of? That was a horrible idea!

Ginny walked up and reached out a hand to her.

“Harry is right, Hermione. We have more than enough room at the Palace. We would both just love to have you.”

To say that Ginny's eyes were frozen blue ice chips wouldn't have come close enough to describe them. The redhead's cold eyes seemed to challenge Hermione. Come stay with me. See how happy my life is. I dare you! At least in Hermione’s opinion that's what they seemed to say.

A terribly insincere smile grafted itself to Hermione's face.

“I wouldn't want to impose,” she said as she carefully removed her wrist from out of Ginny's claws.

“Well you won't be imposing on me,” said Molly as she wrapped Hermione in a motherly embrace. “You think I would let you come all the way back here and then send you away to some big, drafty hotel?” she asked. “Merlin no! You will stay right here. You can have Ginny's old room.”

Ron, Glinda, and George all made noises of approval. Although Hermione was touched by the offer, she still valiantly tried to protest.

“But...but...where will Charlie sleep?”

“I don't mind bunking down on the couch for a few nights, Hermione.”

“See Hermione, this will be perfect,” insisted Ron as he threw his arm around her shoulder.

“I won't take no for an answer, Hermione Granger,” Molly said firmly as she turned the young woman around to face her. “It's much too late for you to drive all that way. Besides dear, I think your friend would protest if you tried to leave now.”

Molly cocked her head in the direction of the fireplace. Sleeping peacefully in front of it was Hermione's beloved pet. Curled up on top of Lizzie was Serge. The lordly Crookshanks was sleeping high above them on his chair.

Hermione's hesitance eased at the sight of the resting animal, as well as at Molly's hopeful face.

“Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?” Hermione asked, just a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“Dear, it would be no trouble at all.”

Hermione then looked at the bright smiles of Glinda, Ron, George, and Charlie and decided that maybe it would be alright for her to stay. It would only be for one night, two at the most hopefully. As Hermione studied Ginny's face she could see that the young woman was quite relieved that Hermione hadn't taken her up on her offer. For once Hermione could agree with her on the sentiment. But it was the expression on Harry's face that troubled her. It was guarded. As though he were trying to hide from her how he felt about this whole arrangement. Was he mad that she hadn't chosen to stay at his home? Was he disappointed? He probably thought it would be harmless enough for her to stay with him for a few days. Hadn't she innocently shared a bed with him too many times to count? It would be like old times. He probably still saw her as that same teen aged girl who was his trusted best friend, who was like a sister to him. Of course Harry wouldn't see anything wrong with her staying in his great big house where he slept with his ravishing flawless bride, and he lived his wonderful perfect life.

But Hermione could.

“Alright then,” she said as she focused her attention on Molly instead. “I'd be more than happy to stay.”

Thirty minutes later Hermione was resting comfortably in the third floor bedroom where she'd once spent a handful of summer nights, gossiping and giggling with a little girl who had been her very first female companion. She fondly remembered that hazy, lazy summer, just before she turned 15, when she and Ginny started to bond. She could still recall the morning that Ginny nicked a very large maroon brassier out of her mum's room and both girls took turns trying it on, praying for the day that they would have enough to at least halfway fill it.

Hermione could still hear her own laughter as she watched Ginny's freckled face go from disbelief to horror as she described to the younger girl what a tampon was and where Muggle women actually put them. And if she tried she was sure she could see, despite the darkness of the room, the faint outlines of two adolescent girls huddled under the sheets of Ginny's bed, confiding and whispering to one another the name of the boy each girl fancied. The fact that both objects of affection were upstairs in the attic bedroom, probably dead to the world, only helped to fuel their girlish giggles.

As Hermione finally pulled the duvet tight around her, she could only wonder if her life had really been that uncomplicated back then, or had time simply tampered with her memories to make everything appear so idyllic. Probably a bit of both, she said aloud to no one but herself and the darkened room, then rolled over on her side and closed her eyes. Probably a bit of both.

In fact those were simpler times. They were times when no one gave the slightest thought of dark lords rising from the pits of Hell to throw everything in disarray; days when youth promised you a future, not death for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Days when a little boy hadn't yet been told that it was his responsibility to save the world. Days when all Hermione Granger had to worry about was whether or not a badge marked with a large “P” would come her way in another year, or if Ron would ever notice the two whole inches she grew while vacationing with her parents in Majorca. That's where Hermione had been before she came to spend the rest of her summer at the Burrow. The Granger women had spent a few days sunning themselves on a beach in Pollença, while Hermione and her father explored the remnants of the old watch tower and palace of Sóller. All in all it had been a pleasant getaway, even if Hermione felt she had been coerced into it.

The trip had been part of the deal that enabled Hermione to go to the Quidditch World Cup. When Ron's family offered to take Hermione and Harry to the championship game and then deliver them to school for the start of term Hermione, despite her indifference to all things Quidditch, jumped at the offer. Any chance to spend more time with her two best friends was well worth the bother of the silly little game. All Hermione knew was that wherever Harry and Ron were, she wanted to be there as well. It was a desire that grew and grew with each passing year of their friendship.

Her parents, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to let her go as long as she spent a few weeks with them beforehand. Though her parents were proud of her accomplishments at Hogwarts and her status as a witch, Helen and Daniel Granger couldn't help but feel that with each passing year they were being slowly marginalized out of their daughter's life. It was as if they no longer belonged to her world or she to theirs. Hermione noticed the change as well but felt too young and inadequate to do anything about it. When her father offered her the proposal, she figured that maybe the little family holiday with her parents would be enough to make up for it all. Although Hermione would have preferred to have gone straight to the Burrow, she and her father shook on the deal. Sadly no one knew at the time that the vacation would be the last real bit of quality time the formerly close-knit family would ever spend with one another.

After they arrived back in England, her dad drove Hermione straight to the Burrow, and tried to ignore the sad tug on his heart as his one and only child gave him a quick kiss goodbye and ran blissfully towards the Weasleys' front door. The only thing that made the situation bearable for the Grangers was the fact that their little Hermione Jane was finally happy. Before they had found out that Hermione was actually a witch, that hadn’t always been the case.

As a child making friends had never come easy to Hermione. She was always different from the other children. She thought that studying and learning new things was the most fun that could be had. She raised her hand in class more times than the law should allow. During Break Time she preferred sitting on a bench with a well worn and much loved copy of Peter Pan or Through the Looking Glass, as opposed to making daisy chains with the other little girls or pretending not to notice the boys playing leap frog nearby. And most importantly Hermione could make things...happen...without even trying. She was what the polite, well raised children called odd. The other little bastards chose far nastier names for her.

Usually the modus operandi used was clever word play on her name. Well, clever for a bunch of primary schoolers. Her-morngy, Herma-ninny, Germy Hermy; one 8 year old, snot nosed monster named Sebastian Bingham called her Hermaphrodite during morning Assembly for three days straight. It was only on the third day, as the other kids laughed uproariously at her plight, and hot tears threatened to stream down her face that Hermione retaliated the only way she knew best. She dared Sebastian to spell it. That was the last time Bingham ever looked her way.

Hermione learned an important lesson that day. She was smarter than most of her peers, and when needed, she could use her rapier sharp mind as a fierce weapon to protect herself. Sadly for Hermione, she never noticed that she also inadvertently used her keen intelligence as a shield and barrier to keep others from getting too close. Through out her primary school career she was a very lonely girl. When she got to Hogwarts she had hoped that all of that would change, but she only received more of the same. That is until Harry and Ron came barreling their way into the girls' toilet that All Hollow’s Eve and forever wove themselves into the fabric of her life.

In Harry and Ron Hermione found two people worthy of all of the care and devotion that had been hoarded away in her big heart for years. In Harry and Ron she found two people who accepted and loved her for the bossy boots, know-it-all, pain in the arse that even she knew she could be from time to time. In Harry and Ron she found two friends that she knew she would have all her life. And most importantly, in Harry and Ron she found what had been missing without her even knowing it had been lost. She found the two missing puzzle pieces that completed her.

Theirs was an unlikely friendship. It was very rare that you saw a relationship, especially one as strong and devoted as what the children shared, develop between two boys and girl. Sure Hermione never understood the boys' near obsession with Quidditch, and sure Harry and Ron tended to label any oddness on her part as “girl issues” more than her liking, nevertheless, Hermione would have never traded them for all the gold in Gringotts.

It wasn't until she got older that she began to miss the presence of a feminine outlet in her life; someone who could relate to some of the changes Mother Nature was bestowing on her, as well as another little girl she could confide things to that she would have been too shamed to share with her boys. Hermione's dorm mates, Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, were out of the question, though. In Hermione's humble opinion Lavender was silly at best and vacuous at worse. Parvati wasn't that much better if judging by the titles of her book collection; The Necromancer’s Naughty Nymph and The Potion Master, the Witch, and his Magic Wand, to name just a few.

Although she got along well with Padma Patil and Susan Bones, often sharing many classes like Arithmancy or Runes with them, the three girls' relationships with one another back then was best described as competitive rather than close. Each girl knew early on that the other two would more than likely be her competition for Head Girl in a few years. Eventually Hermione accepted that she had done quite well for three years without female companionship. She figured that Harry and Ron's friendship was all that she needed. It was after reaching this monumental conclusion that Ginny Weasley decided to enter the picture.

Before that summer of '94, Hermione and Ginny had never really associated with one another. Of course they knew each other pretty well; Ginny after all was Ron's baby sister and a fellow Gryffindor. However the difference in ages and personality made the idea of a friendship between the two of them seem unlikely. That fact didn't stop Hermione from trying to befriend the younger girl when she first came to Hogwarts, though. At first Hermione had tried to be friendly with the redhead, giving her advice or offering her assistance with homework assignments. Ginny, however, struck Hermione as being overly secretive and slightly stand-offish. Later on they would all discover that Ginny Weasley had fallen under the thrall of Tom Riddle's diary for most of the year, but at the time the young girl's seemingly reticence to form any type of relationship with her strengthened in Hermione the belief that she obviously sent off some kind of pheromone that repelled members of her own sex.

Then one day shortly after the fiasco with the dark mark and poor little Winky, while Harry, Ron, and the twins were off near the lake behind the Burrow flying or causing some sort of trouble (at least to Hermione's thinking), Ginny cautiously approached the corner of the room she had been reading in.

“Yes?” asked Hermione, looking over the top of her Standard Book of Spells, Grade Four.

Although she didn't know it, her face was stern and drawn, a facial expression that was quite the norm for her when she was immersed in one of her school books. Hermione always took her studies very seriously. However this was the look that often made people think she was unapproachable. Or worse still, a wet blanket.

“I don't mean to be a bother, I'll leave you alone,” she said as she turned on her heel to exit the front parlor of the house.

The lines on Hermione's brow relaxed and a genuine, shy smile crept to her face.

“Oh, you're no bother, Ginny,” she said as she settled the book on the floor next to her feet. “I just figured that you were outside watching the boys. I'm absolute rubbish on a broom myself.”

Hermione flushed an embarrassed pink. It always tweaked her ego a bit that she was a witch with absolutely no head for flying. Hermione wasn't used to being rubbish at anything.

“What about you?” she asked Ginny.

“Oh I've been stealing my brothers' brooms since I was 6. But shhh,” she said putting a finger mischievously to her lips, “don't tell them that.”

Ginny grinned down at her and Hermione couldn't help but smile as well. This girl before her was worlds different than the shy, tongue-tied one she was used to encountering. Of course Harry was usually around for those times, thought Hermione analytically. As soon as that thought rose up, Hermione brushed it easily to the side.

“Although I don't support theft in any manner,” Hermione began in a falsely grave tone, “I think that's absolutely brilliant,” she said as an admiring smile broke across her face. “Do you think you might try out for the house team this year?”

Hermione patted the spot next to her on the floor, a clear invitation, and Ginny's smile brightened as she eased down beside her.

“Well I am a bit scrawny for Keeper, don't you think? With Wood gone that's about the only option open,” Ginny said in an easy, carefree tone. “I wouldn't want to be a Beater for all of the galleons in the Malfoy vault. The twins are just too good to replace, and besides I wouldn't want to end up with man arms like Pug Face Parkinson,” she joshed as her freckled face wore a naughty grin.

Hermione bit the insides of her right cheek to keep herself from smiling. Although Pansy Parkinson was a cow, it wasn't really nice to talk about her that way...even if her arms were rather masculine.

“I would love to play Chaser, but Angelina, Alicia, and Katie are unbeatable as a team. I couldn't hope to compare.”

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. The three Gryffindor Chasers did work magnificently together. Probably because they were all such close friends, Hermione surmised. Hermione could only wonder how Katie Bell was going to take it in a few years when the two older girls left her behind.

“Then there's Harry,” Ginny said dreamily as she hung her head down and smiled. “But who could replace Harry? Dad says that he's the best thing to happen to Gryffindor house in years.”

Hermione couldn't miss the near worship in Ginny's voice. It was painfully obvious that the poor thing still fancied Harry. But Hermione knew that as long as Ginny treated Harry as though he were some near god-like figure, he would never look her way.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about? Harry?” Hermione asked sharply. She was used to other girls asking her questions about Harry, sometimes even Ron, and it bothered her to no end. She hated that most people only saw her as a conduit to one of her boys. It hurt her to think that this was what Ginny was doing. Hermione had almost fooled herself into thinking that Ginny had actually wanted to make friends.

Ginny must have caught on to a bit of Hermione's frustration because her face quickly took on a look of worriment.

“Oh no...no...that's not it at all,” Ginny said, voice atremble. “I...I...” Ginny stammered as her ears burned red, “I wanted to talk to you about school!”

At the word “school” Hermione's face perked.

“School?”

“Yes, I...it's just that I'm going to be starting my Third Year soon–”

“I know, isn't it exciting?!” Hermione asked as her eyes brightened cheerfully. “You get to pick two new classes and you have so much to choose from. There's Runes and Arithmancy, Muggle Studies and Magical Creatures...Divination...”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Although Trelawney is a fraud and anyone who would tell you different is an idiot,” Hermione said as she held her nose high.

Ginny smirked. “Like Parvati and Lavender?”

Hermione couldn't help herself from wearing a similar look on her face.

“Well I didn't say it.”

The two girls laughed at the sly jibe.

“But seriously your Third Year is so important, Ginny. I mean, just think, you're only two years closer to OWLs. And then after that you only have another year before you have to think about NEWTs. And then there's all the new spells you're going to learn,” she said as her eyes glowed and her cheeks ached from smiling so hard.

Ginny gave Hermione a wide eyed look of awe that made Hermione blush furiously.

“Sorry,” she said, abashed. “That all probably sounds pretty boring to you.”

Hermione hung her head. She could only imagine what Ginny would think of her now. Why would someone as funny and pretty as her want to befriend someone whose nose was perpetually wedged in a musty old book.

“You're not boring Hermione,” Ginny declared forthrightly. “You're pretty far from boring. Boring would be Percy or...or...what's that puffed up Hufflepuff's name again, the one constantly bragging about his scores?”

“That would be Zacharias.”

“What I wouldn't give to be able to stuff his fat hole.”

“GINNY!”

“Well I would,” Ginny answered with out a hint of apology. “But you're nothing like them. Besides, I know how important school is to you. Ron's told me often enough.”

Hermione felt her face go warm at the mention of her secret crush.

“Ron talks about me then?” she asked as casually as she could muster. However she wouldn't meet Ginny's gaze, thus missing the look of understanding that alighted in the redhead's eyes.

Ginny smiled as she said, “Talks about you? He won't shut up about you, at least not to me and mum. 'Course he wouldn't dare say anything in front of Fred and George; they would never leave him alone if he did. But he's constantly going on and on about something you said, or something you did. He practically hangs off your every word.”

As Ginny said this, it took every drop of Hermione's poise and dignity to refrain from jumping up from the floor and clicking her heels at these words. That is until Ginny said something that completely threw her for a loop.

“Why, to hear Ron tell it, one would almost think that he considers you the only girl in the world. Him and Harry, that is.”

If Hermione hadn't been concentrating on how odd Ginny's last remark was, she might have caught the barest hint of something...odd in the girl's tone. But at the time she had been so perplexed by the statement that she was completely oblivious to everything else.

“Somehow I doubt that. I'm just the only girl that they know well.” She sighed forlornly. “Sometimes I don't think Ron even recognizes the fact that I am a girl.”

“Why not? You're cute...enough.”

As much as that last bit smarted, Hermione couldn't really fault Ginny for it.

“Ginny Weasley,” she half-scolded the girl, “my head is too small for my hair, my teeth are too large for my face, and right now I'm wearing a training bra that makes me feel like I'm a right and proper fraud.” She despondently sighed as she dropped her head back against the wall. “Trust me; I know when I'm licked.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at the tirade.

“Mum says that girls like you are just late bloomers, is all. I still think my brother fancies you.”

“Well he sure has a funny way of showing it,” Hermione sulkily replied. Then she and Ginny locked gazes and simultaneously huffed, “Boys!”

This caused both girls too fall upon themselves in laughter.

“Golly Hermione, I knew there was a reason I liked you!”

Hermione looked at Ginny in amazement.

“Y–you like me?”

“'Course I do! You're not at all like these giggling idiots who only care what new robes they can get daddy to buy them.”

“Well yes, my predilection towards giggling is virtually non-existent,” Hermione said in mock severity.

Ginny smiled at the quip.

“See, you're smart and funny too. I wish I could be like you.”

“Like me?” Hermione bewilderedly responded. “Why would anyone want to be like me?”

Ginny shook her head at the inquiry as if it were the silliest question ever asked.

“Why wouldn't they? All of the professors brag on how you are the most talented witch Hogwarts has seen in a long time, everyone knows that you're going to be Head Girl in a few years, and best of all Harry Potter is your best friend. Who wouldn't want to be you?”

“But I don't even think of it like that,” Hermione tried to explain. “I've never thought of Harry like that. Harry is just...”

She paused as she searched her brain to find the best way to describe just what she meant.

“Harry's just Harry to me.”

Ginny's smile tightened ever so slightly.

“Well we can't all be so lucky, now can we?”

The conversation was taking a very odd turn in Hermione's opinion, but before she could protest Ginny's last remark, the other girl effortlessly changed the topic.

“Do you think…” she nervously began as she fingered the frayed edges of the skirt she was wearing, “…do you think we could maybe...oh, I don't know...hang out some more? Together?”

Ginny was so obviously embarrassed by the offer that she couldn't even look at Hermione's face. But if she had, she would have seen the bright, hopeful smile that had formed there.

“I mean I would understand if you don't want to; you have Ron and... and Harry. But I think I could learn a lot from you, spells and such. I know this great concoction we could put in your hair, make it all shinny like mines. And it would be nice to have a girl I could talk to from time to time. You just don't know how lucky you are being an only child Hermione! Having six brothers is hell...whoops,” Ginny said as she quickly covered her mouth. “Sorry,” she sheepishly apologized.

Hermione only smiled at the slip.

“That's alright. I am friends with Ron; I've heard worse.”

Ginny smiled too.

“And I would like it very much if we...hung out. And there are so many spells I could teach you, Ginny. In fact I've been working on a new one. Would you like to see it?”

Ginny nodded her head up and down enthusiastically as Hermione stood up from the floor. She drew her wand out of her jean pocket. Ginny got up as well.

“But won't you get in trouble?” she nervously questioned Hermione.

Hermione only smiled at her trepidation.

“The first time I tried it out I did. Got one of those letters from Hopkirk's office. But I'm sure I could get away with it here. With five of age magical people staying in this one house right now they could never track it back to me.”

Hermione breezily explained to her how the Ministry really couldn't trace an individual wand. In a house where so much magic was expelled regularly a small spell like hers would slip easily through the cracks.

“You mean I could have turned Percy into a slug a long time ago?”

Hermione's mischievous smile was all the answer that Ginny needed.

“Yes, but don't tell Ron or Harry. Merlin only knows what they could get up to if they knew!”

“Forget that, just imagine the twins.”

The very thought of what mischief the Weasley twins could stir up before they officially were allowed to perform magic sent Hermione's eyebrows into her hairline.

“This remains our little secret then,” she conspiratorially said as she offered her hand to Ginny.

“Something tells me we are going to have a lot of those,” Ginny said as she took Hermione's hand in hers and pumped it up and down.

Hermione was almost made speechless by Ginny's statement. She felt tears begin to prickle in her eyes, but commanded herself not to let them fall. She didn't want Ginny to think that she was some blubbering fool or something.

“Yes, right. Well the incantation is Roentgenesco. It's a variation on a vanishing charm with a bit of a Protean thrown in.”

She said all of this as if her audience should obviously know what she was talking about. Of course Ginny didn't, but she didn't want to confess this fact to Hermione.

“It makes you see through things; doors, ceilings, plastic. Thin walls even.”

Ginny was obviously impressed by the scope of the spell, if her wide opened mouth was any indicator.

“Did you learn that in your Third Year?”

“Goodness no, I...I sort of came up with it on my own,” she said, hoping that she didn't sound half as conceited as she feared she might.

She smiled bashfully at Ginny.

“You see Harry...being Harry...you just never know when that sort of thing might be necessary.”

“Galloping Gorgons, Hermione! Is there anything you can't do?”

The praise in Ginny's voice did nothing for Hermione's modesty.

“Well keeping my toast from turning into bits of charcoal does seem a bit difficult, but other than that...” she said cheekily, trying to deflate her own ego as much as she could. Ginny only laughed at the act of self-deprecation.

Hermione then walked over to the wall next to the doorway that led into the kitchen as Ginny followed after her. Hermione expertly raised her wand and pointed it towards the old, peeling wallpaper. With her shoulders squared and her spine straight, Hermione looked perfectly in her element.

“Now I must warn you, you must tread with caution with this spell,” she advised her friend.

“Why? What could happen to me?”

“You just might see something that scars you for life,” Hermione said. “Honestly, a girl should never catch her parents doing...that ever!”

At first Ginny was at a loss what Hermione could possibly mean, until the other girl's arched eyebrow gave her a clue.

“Oh,” she muttered in awe. Then again she said, “Oh!” That time it was laced with near horror.

Both girls nearly succumbed to a lengthy giggling fit before Hermione had the good grace to try and act her age and calmed Ginny and herself down. Once Ginny looked as though she would no longer fall to the floor in hysterics, Hermione cast her spell at the wall. Instantly a picture of Mrs. Weasley standing in her kitchen appeared before them. The Weasley matriarch was cooking, as was normal. She had a bottle of sherry in her hand, the kind she used to make her Sherry Trifle with. Surprisingly enough, until that day, no one ever knew just how much Molly Weasley actually nipped out of the bottle while she was preparing her Trifle.

“Blimey! No wonder mum always seems so happy after making that god-awful thing.”

Hermione covered her mouth so she wouldn't laugh too loud.

Both girls continued to look at the wall. The spell was so good that it almost looked like they were watching the scene play out on the telly. Professor Flitwick would have definitely given Hermione an O for her skill. Seeing the admiring glint in Ginny's eyes only made Hermione even prouder of her accomplishment. As the sound of a herd of wildebeest tramping through the house (really only the boys done with their play) was heard, Hermione ended the incantation. Ginny turned to her, idolization and something else....what was it...envy; perhaps...burning in her eyes. Hermione, however, ignored the latter and only seemed to see the former. It was nice to know that she could impress Ginny so easily.

“Cor, Hermione! You know everything!”

And that was how their tenuous friendship began.

“Hermione, how can I get Snape off my back and still pass Potions?”

“Hermione, do you know a spell that can make my robes look new?”

“Hermione, what do you really think of Cho Chang?”

Hermione never tired of giving Ginny her solicited advice. It felt nice that someone truly respected her opinion. Of course she knew that, in their own way, Harry and Ron appreciated all she did for them such as advising them about their homework or trying to keep them out of trouble. But she also knew that at times they did think she was a nag. Ginny, however, seemed to hang off of her every opinion. Ginny's glowing praise and admiring smiles drew her in, moth-like. It would burn her as well one day.

“Hermione....I can't stand it! I JUST CAN'T STAND IT!”

Hermione had just come from Ron and Harry's bedroom. It was the Christmas holidays, and though she was supposed to be in Gstaad skiing the slopes with her mum and dad, she had opted to spend her vacation at Grimmauld Place instead. Hermione loved skiing! It was one of the few sports in which she actually excelled. But when she learned of Harry's prophetic dream, and then his and the Weasley children’s flight from Hogwarts right before the end of term, she knew that her place was with him.

Of course her parents had been disappointed, but they seemed to understand how imperative it was to her that she be with her friend. They dropped Hermione off in front of the sidewalk between number eleven and number thirteen, before being on their way to the airport. Hermione barely had time to shake the snow flakes out of her hair or even take off her gloves and jacket before she searched Harry out, her need to see and comfort him being that great.

He had been surly, an irritating step down from his usual moody self, when she first barged in on his hideout in Buckbeak's room. He asked her why she wasn't with her parents. Hermione told him a simple white lie about her not being that good a skier. She instinctually knew that if Harry thought she was chucking her vacation for him he would be even surlier.

Somehow she had managed to get Harry out of that room, fed, and arranged a quasi-intervention for him in his bedroom with the rest of the Weasley kids. By the end of the night Hermione had felt her job had been well done; Harry no longer believed himself to be a vessel of evil, and had returned to being the moody 15 year old boy he had been for most of the year. A definite improvement!

After Ginny and the twins had left the room, more like been hustled out rudely by Ron, the three friends put their heads together and discussed a few other matters before deciding it was time to turn in. In actuality Ron had rudely drifted off to sleep while Hermione had been talking, and she stormed out of the room in a snit. When she arrived at Ginny's room she hadn't been prepared for what the redhead threw out at her, though. At Ginny's outburst Hermione rushed to the side of her friend's bed.

“Ginny, what's wrong? Are you alright?” she asked frantically.

Ginny huffed resentfully at the question.

“Of course I'm not alright! How could you?! How could you not tell me?! I thought we were friends!”

Hermione was at a loss as to what could have sent Ginny into her current state.

“But we are, Ginny,” she insisted. “I don't under–”

“Harry kissed Cho?!” she asked demandingly as her skin turned a sallow color that made her freckles stand out.

Hermione finally let out the breath she had been holding once Ginny said that. So that's what this is all about, she thought to herself.

“And?”

Ginny's blue eyes seemed to snap fire at Hermione's apparently unconcerned response.

“AND?!” she snarled, voice dripping in disdain. “Didn't you think I'd want to know something like that? You know I still have a thing for Harry. But instead I had to hear it from the Fred and George, who got the story from Ron. And if Ron knew about it, I know that you did too.”

Hermione couldn't be sure, but she thought she almost heard an accusation in Ginny's tone.

The truth was that Hermione had been trying to think about anything but that kiss that Harry and Cho had shared only a few days prior. She had known that Harry had a crush on Cho since at least the end of their Third Year and had felt terribly bad for him when the Ravenclaw turned down his invitation to the Yule Ball that next year. But at the start of the new school term Hermione began to get the impression that Cho Chang had decided to change her tune where it concerned Harry. And for some reason Hermione didn't like it one bit. But since Harry seemed to be so excited over the prospect of dating Cho, Hermione decided to be happy for him.

When he told Ron and her about the tear stained peck Hermione had tried to detach her brain from her own jumbled emotions and explain to Harry the best way she could what she thought was going on in Cho's head. She knew she sounded clinical, almost un-feeling, but even that was better than her annoyance at the pretty Seeker tainting Harry's memory of his very first kiss forever, and her own incredulity at how such a dingbat could have ever gotten herself sorted into Ravenclaw house. The fact that she was having such catty thoughts unsettled Hermione as well. She didn't understand them at all. So she turned her frustrations out on poor Ron, insulting him rather viciously. She convinced herself that he deserved it. The way he was acting one would have thought that he had kissed Cho Chang himself. As if he would ever have the stones to haul off and kiss a girl, Hermione thought with a cruel sniff.

“Of course I knew about it, but...I mean...it's no big deal, Ginny,” she said as she seated herself on the bed facing her friend.

“NO BIG DEAL?!”

Ginny looked at the other girl as though she had gone all loopy.

“Besides,” Hermione countered, “she kissed him.”

It was a petty thing to say, but still...it was true wasn't it?

Ginny frowned.

“That's it then,” she said dejectedly. “I have no chance. Cho Chang is pretty, and popular, and plays Quidditch. What more could Harry possibly want?”

Hermione's forehead wrinkled at the remark.

“I hope a lot more than that!”

Ginny rolled her eyes as though Hermione were being purposely obtuse.

“Be serious Hermione, you know what I mean. Against someone like Cho I have no chance. I even tried to take a page out of your playbook and make Harry jealous, but he didn't even seem to care that I was dating Michael.”

Hermione was flabbergasted at this admission. She had assumed that Ginny had finally settled on another boy so she could get over Harry. Hermione had no idea that Ginny had done so only to try and gain Harry's attention. It was rather devious. She wasn't sure if she liked this divulgence.

“What do you mean by my playbook?”

“Come now, Hermione,” Ginny snickered drolly. “It's not like you went to the Ball with Krum because you enjoyed his excellent conversational skills and his interest in house-elves' rights.”

Hermione's mouth fell open, aghast that Ginny would even suggest such a thing. People had been speculating on Hermione's reasons for going to the Yule Ball with Viktor ever since the night it was held. According to half of the population at Hogwarts it was a desperate act to get Ron to notice her. According to the Prophet it was her way of playing with poor little Harry's heart. The truth was far simpler. Viktor had a nice bum. The day Hermione noticed this fact was the day that she conceded to stop hating Quidditch, at least a little. It also didn't hurt that Viktor was the first boy who had ever recognized Hermione as something more than just a pal, or a potions partner, or worse, a last minute pity date.

“I was not trying to make Ron jealous!” she insisted. “As though I needed the trouble! He just went from being a clueless blind git to being a jealous blind git. Who, might I add, was STILL CLUELESS!” she fumed. “And just so you know, I went with Viktor because he happened to find me interesting,” she said haughtily.

Ginny's lips twisted themselves into a smirk.

“I bet he found two things about you very interesting.”

Ginny outright laughed at the pink shade that Hermione's cheeks turned.

“In fact, if I didn't know better, I would think that Malfoy's spell had been aimed lower.”

Hermione couldn't believe that Ginny would even say such a thing! Of all people Ginny knew how self-conscious Hermione was of the growth spurt she experienced shortly after term began the year before. Hermione was so confused by the rapid change in her body that she had begun to wear her robes and school uniforms looser. Only Ginny and a few other girls in Gryffindor seemed to notice the change, thankfully.

However that summer, when she had shown up to Grimmauld Place wearing nothing but a plain white cotton polo shirt and a pair of worn jeans, it became obvious that Ron had finally noticed the difference as well. In fact his eyes kept drifting down her shirt front whenever she spoke to him. Hermione was torn between feeling flustered that Ron would even look at her that way, smug that now she could compete with the likes of Hannah Abbot and Lavender Brown, and incensed that the redhead would treat her as though she were some piece of meat. Unhappily, she didn't know which she felt stronger so she ignored the matter altogether. Besides Harry didn't seem to notice, so she figured that it was no big deal really.

“You're getting to be as crude as your brother,” she said glibly.

Ginny's smile instantly fell from her face, and she looked like she was going to hit Hermione.

“OH, SO YOU'RE TOO GOOD FOR MY BROTHER NOW, EH?!” Ginny accused.

“WHAT?!”

Ginny paused, as if realizing all at once the horrible words that were coming out of her mouth. She jumped off of her bed and scurried over to where Hermione was seated.

“Sorry, Hermione,” she apologized. “It's just this whole Harry thing is making me nutters. But I might as well accept it; a girl like me could never hope to have a boy like that. Besides I should be used to getting things secondhand. Why not a boyfriend as well,” she sighed dismally as she looked at the floor boards. “I might as well settle for someone like Goyle or Neville,” she said with a snort.

“Ginny,” Hermione said reproachfully, “do you even know who Harry is? Harry doesn't give a fig about that kind of thing.”

These words only seemed to make Ginny despondent. Hermione decided to change tactics.

“If it makes you feel any better, this thing with Cho is just a passing fancy,” she said, trying to cheer her friend up. “Harry will be over it in no time, you'll see”

Ginny looked up at her suspiciously.

“And how do you know that?”

Hermione grinned back at her cheekily.

“Because I know my Harry Potter.”

Instead of finding what Hermione said funny, Ginny seemed to mull it over seriously.

“Yes,” she muttered. “Yes, you do. There's probably no one who knows him better, not even Ron.”

Hermione blushed at the statement.

“That's probably why he listens to everything you say.”

Hermione quirked a smile.

“Harry? Listen to me?”

“Just look at today for instance. All of us had been trying to get Harry out of that room for hours. Then you show up, and just like that he does. Just like that!”

For some reason Hermione was made uneasy by Ginny insinuations. It made her a tad tetchy.

“Oh yeah,” she snidely retorted, “just like that! Never mind the fact that my hair is still slightly singed from where it made the acquaintance of the patented Potter Death Glare.”

Ginny ignored Hermione's denials.

“It's not surprising, is it? Harry has been relying on you since last year.”

“Yes, when nearly the whole school ostracized him,” Hermione argued.

“In fact the amount of influence that you have over him is almost unsettling.”

Ginny began to twist a lock of her hair lazily.

“I bet you could convince Harry to do almost anything.”

Hermione felt the hairs on the back of her neck bristle. She didn't care for the feverish light in Ginny's eyes, or the intensity of her words.

“And what would I convince Harry to do?”

“Well, I know you don't like Cho...” Ginny began cautiously.

Hermione began to protest, but Ginny stopped her.

“Don't deny it. It's written clearly on your face. Now if you told Harry how you fee–”

“No,” Hermione said in a low, steady voice.

“Hermione–”

“I said no! Even if I had the power to sway Harry's opinion, which I don't, I would never do such a thing. I'm no fan of Chang, but if Harry wants Cho I want Cho for Harry. It's as simple as that.”

Ginny's blue eyes began to well up with tears at Hermione's heated declaration.

“If you wanted to, Hermione, you could help me get Harry,” she told the brunette.

“Well maybe I don't want to,” Hermione muttered to herself. Unfortunately for her, Ginny heard every word.

The younger girl didn't say anything for a minute. She just scrutinized the brunette as she sized up the situation before her.

“Hermione,” Ginny began hesitantly, “You don't...you don't fancy Harry, do you?”

That tore it! Hermione pitched herself from the bed and went to her trunk. She began searching for her flannel pajamas, the ones with the yellow ducks on them. She couldn't explain why Ginny's question set her off. All she knew was that she wanted to remove herself as far away from the other girl as she could manage. As soon as she found the pajamas, she turned around so that Ginny wasn't in her sight and began pulling her clothes off, throwing them on the bed haphazardly. This was not at all like Hermione, neat freak extraordinaire, but she barely cared about how wrinkled her clothes would be in the morning. As she pulled up the pajama bottoms and put on her shirt, she tried to calm her nerves. But her hands shook as she tried to fasten the delicate buttons of the nightshirt.

“Hermione...” Ginny tentatively murmured as she got up from the bed and walked towards the upset girl.

“YOU'VE FOUND ME OUT, GINNY,” she cried out mockingly. “I'M IN LOVE WITH HARRY! This whole thing with Ron had only been part of my nefarious plot to win Harry for myself. AREN'T YOU SO CLEVER?!”

“Look Hermione, I'm sorry. I really am. Of course I know that there is nothing between you and Harry.”

Hermione stopped the assault on the tiny buttons of her top to look at Ginny fully. She knew that what Ginny was saying was true; still she felt a small pang of sadness at the words.

“Nothing but friendship, that is. I don't know what could have come over me to suggest otherwise.”

Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand and led her back to her bed. They both sat down on it facing each other. Ginny continued to hold Hermione in her grip.

“I know how important that friendship is to you too.”

Hermione released the breath that she had no idea she had been holding. Her drumming heartbeat that had been pounding wildly in her chest finally slowed to a livable rhythm. She began to relax at Ginny's calming, dulcet tones.

“But just think about it, Hermione,” she continued, “Harry may one day have a girlfriend who doesn't understand the connection that you two have. Who might not like the fact that the person closest to him in all the world is another girl. She might even try to cut you out; make Harry choose, you or her. Who do you think Harry would choose?”

Tears threatened to fall from Hermione's eyes, but she bravely held them back. Something in her told Hermione that she didn't want Ginny to see just how her words were affecting her. Was that it, Hermione wondered. Is that why I've been having such nasty thoughts about Cho? Do I think she would turn Harry against me? That line of reasoning started to make a dull, vague sense in Hermione's troubled mind. She had been so used to being the only girl in Harry's life that now that she was going to be replaced, by a girlfriend of all things, her muddled feelings had started to surface. Hermione knew that a girlfriend would trump a best friend every time. So was Ginny right? Would Harry forget about her just to chase after some pretty face?

“But if I was Harry's girlfriend,” Ginny said, intruding on Hermione's thoughts, “you wouldn't have to worry about that. None of that silliness would ever come up. Then you could be with Ron and I could have Harry.”

Ginny embraced Hermione in a firm hug.

“Then we would almost be like sisters,” she said into Hermione's shoulder. “Wouldn't you like that? Wouldn't that be perfect?”

Hermione's skin began to crawl at the suggestion. For some reason the idealized family portrait that Ginny painted sent waves of disquiet through Hermione’s already tempest-tossed thoughts. Would she really like that, Hermione wondered. Was that what she really wanted?

“Well,” Ginny said as her voice turned steely, “wouldn't it?”

“Of course,” Hermione proclaimed in a wan voice.

Ginny pulled back from her and beamed a large smile.

“You'll help me then?” she asked.

Hermione sighed resolutely.

“I can give you advice; tell you what you need to know about Harry. But I am not going to break up Harry and Cho for you,” she said, her voice razor sharp and defiant.

“That's fine, that's fine,” Ginny replied quickly, too scared that Hermione would change her mind on even that much. “I know that with you helping, Hermione, Harry will be sure to come around to me in no time. You know everything after all.”

Hermione smiled weakly. Yes she did. Hermione knew it all. If Ginny wanted Harry she knew just how to make it happen. Besides it wasn't such a bad idea, was it? Ginny was the kind of girl she would want for Harry if she had to choose; down to earth, good humored, sweet, with some intelligence to her. It also didn't hurt that the young girl had the makings of a great beauty some day. From the pictures Hermione had seen the girl even shared a vague resemblance with Lily Potter. If she had any real trepidation with trying to help Ginny, the inner romantic in Hermione quelled it. It would seem fitting that the Hero would finally find the girl of his dreams standing right beside him, the girl who had been pining away for him all along. It would be perfect. With that thought, Hermione's mind was settled. She wanted Ginny for Harry.

It was just too bad for Hermione that she had yet to realize that she wanted him too.

Of course at the time she didn't know what she felt for Harry was the first flush of love, real love...the kind of love that seemed to possess you wholly and held you in its grips 'til you were wrung dry, because she thought it was the Weasleys' youngest boy she had been meant for. Hermione had felt the first romantic stirrings of her heart all at the tender age of 12. Draco Malfoy had called her a name, a horrible, terrible name and Ron had drawn his wand on the blond boy to defend her. Of course the sensible part of Hermione's brain told her that she should have found such displays of testosterone vulgar and uncouth. But there was another side of Hermione, a side that she often camouflaged with her books and her big words that found the whole thing terribly dashing. That was the moment she settled on what she wanted. It took five years for Ron to finally catch up to her, but when at last they became boyfriend and girlfriend Hermione was sure that everything was as it was supposed to be.

Then one night she awakened from a deep enchanted sleep where she had dreamt of a man with dark hair that she loved and wanted above all things. Her heart quickened at his smiles. Her skin burned wherever he kissed it. In his arms she felt a bliss that made her want to laugh and cry...and cry and laugh and just...be. Hermione was sure she had never experienced such joy, such indescribable happiness in all her life. As she felt her conscious mind slowly ease itself from its dream state, she tried to hold on to the thread of that other life, the life that she didn't want to leave, by the tips of her fingers. Instead it slipped effortlessly from her grasp. But as her eyes slowly began to open she smiled a content, blissful smile. He had followed her out of her dream world and into the real one. Then her eyes focused clearly and Hermione realized that it was Harry. That it had been Harry all along.

Hermione had wanted to die in that very moment. She wanted to find some corner, in which she could squeeze herself into, and just cease to be. Her mind felt like it couldn't deal with the ramifications of what she now knew to be true. Because she did know that the dream only told her the truth. She realized it as soon as she saw Harry's worry worn face looking down at her while they were the only two people in the Head Girl's bedroom. She did love him. She loved Harry Potter with all that she had. It was that simple.

Except for the part where her boyfriend was probably somewhere nearby.

And that's when Hermione began to cry.

The transferring of her affections from one best friend to the other had been so seamless that she hadn't even noticed the difference until it was too late. Just one day while her mind and her eyes had been doggedly looking towards Ron, her heart and her soul had turned to Harry. And that's where they remained. Even now that she had returned home to England.

As Hermione made her way down the Burrow’s staircase, she had to wonder what folly had brought her back to this place. She was still in love with Harry, nothing had changed. Did she really think that she could come back and pick up where she left off as though nothing had happened? Did she really think she could go back to ignoring the plaintive longing of her heart whenever her thoughts turned to him? Did she really think this was a good idea?

When she hugged him the night before she could feel the altogether kind heart and innate goodness that made Harry...Harry still there, and she'd had to force herself to let him go. Now, as she walked down the stairs, Hermione made the decision that for as long as she chose to remain in England the only way she could handle the whole worrisome dilemma was to be aloof with him from then on and pray that he not notice. In Hermione's opinion the alternative was akin to begging for trouble.

If she found herself in Harry's arms again she might not want to ever let go. How then could she possibly explain that? No, thought Hermione, shoulders set firmly in determination, the best thing for me to do is try and keep my distance as best I can. Hermione was highly impressed with her plan of action, thinking that it would be a piece of cake. Then she neared the end of the staircase, looked up, and spied before her the very man whose visage was imprinted on her soul.

Who the hell was she kidding?

Harry was facing her in profile, his long onyx black hair lying past the collar of his dark scarlet robes. Hermione wondered at the weight of all of that hair and imagined for a second what it would feel like if it rubbed against her cheek. His shell pink lips were slightly parted, as if she had caught him in the midst of a thought. And as his tongue slipped out to capture a droplet of moisture along the ridge of his upper lip, Hermione reached out a hand to clutch the banister of the stairs. That was when she realized that this all might not be as easy as she had hoped.

“Well hello there, stranger,” she said as she plastered on a bright, sunny smile and reached the bottom step of the stairs.

Harry turned in her direction, and at the sight of her his emerald fire eyes seemed to dance. Hermione had to force one leg before the other in fear that she would go jelly legged any moment at the sight of him. She wanted to curse herself. Here he was excited to have her home, nothing more, and she was acting like some addled brained, lovesick teenager.

“H-Hermione, h-hello,” Harry stammered out as he met her at the stairs.

“And what pray tell is a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?” she shamelessly teased. Really how could she resist when he looked so damned delectable standing there, staring innocently at his dear and trusted friend?

Bastard!

Harry seemed to miss the coquettish note in her voice and bewilderedly asked, “Huh?”

Hermione sighed deeply.

“It's almost one o'clock, Harry. Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

She crossed from the stairs and fully entered the kitchen. Molly was bustling back and forth between the table and the stove, while Hermione detected the scent of Eggs Florentine in the air, a favorite of hers. She turned to continue speaking to him and found that he had followed closely behind her. A tad too close for her liking. They were practically nose and nose. Well...nose and chest. He had such a nicely toned chest. Damned Auror robes were practically indecent, if you asked her!

Hermione self-consciously took a step back.

“Not playing hooky, I hope?” she asked quickly once she regained her composure.

Harry seemed to be as uncomfortable from the fleeting brush of their bodies as she was, because he acted just as flustered.

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Oh no, I'm...I'm not skiving work.”

His face relaxed into an easy smile.

“I'll have you know that I am on official Department business.”

“Right,” Hermione wryly answered him as one of her eyebrow arched upwards. “And this departmental business wouldn't have anything to do with Molly's cooking, I suppose?”

By this time she and Harry had both made it to the table and were sitting down, Harry right next to her. Two mugs of black coffee sat on the table as well as a creamer and a bowl of sugar.

Harry sent her a cocky grin that made her want to slap him. Or kiss him. Maybe both. To keep her mind from going down that particular path, Hermione began to haphazardly shovel mounds and mounds of sugar and cream into her cup with a teaspoon. Harry didn't notice her discomfort; instead he kept up the idle chit chat.

“And what if it does? Bloke's got to eat. Besides, who could turn down Molly Weasley's Egg Florentine?”

Molly had just approached the table in time to hear Harry's high praise.

“You dear, dear boy,” she cooed as she placed a plate of the egg dish of spinach and cheese in front of both of them. She then patted Harry's head adoringly before placing a quick kiss at Hermione's temple.

“You two tuck in,” she said as she turned to attend to some other matter. Harry did so gladly.

“Honestly Molly, you didn't have to go through all of this trouble for me,” Hermione meekly said, knowing that any protest on her part would be pointless.

Molly pointed her wand at the few dishes she had currently in the sink and they began to magically wash themselves.

“No trouble at all dear. I actually tried to wake you up earlier so you could eat with the rest of the family, but you put the pillow over your head and mumbled, 'five more minutes mum'.”

“Oh my,” Hermione remarked, turning pink. Harry almost spit out his food, he was laughing so hard. Hermione sent him a nasty glare before turning back to Molly.

“Where is that adorable little Dash and his sister, Molly? I was hoping to get better acquainted with them. They're too young for day school, aren't they?”

“My yes,” answered Molly. “But since Fleur had an appointment today with Healer Bones-Goldstein, she decided to just take the little ones with her. I told her to just leave them with me, but she said she wanted to give me a break for once. She's such a lovely girl that way.”

Hermione bit on her lip to keep herself from smiling. There was once a time when Molly Weasley would have rather hexed Fleur Delacour so much as look at her. What a difference a happy marriage and four or five grandchildren made, Hermione couldn't help but think.

“Poor dear had to take a temporary leave from Gringotts. This last babe has been troubling her so. But such is a witch's lot in life,” Molly added wistfully before returning to her chores.

Hermione was very proud of herself for not rolling her eyes at the woman's archaic ideals. She glanced over at Harry and saw that he was watching her, and judging from the joshing glint in his eyes, probably knew exactly what she was thinking. She playfully stuck her tongue out at him before she began to clear her plate.

“Harry...” Charlie began as he came bustling through the door that led from the parlor, but stopped as his eyes landed on Hermione.

“Oh, hello there again, Hermione,” he greeted her with a bold grin. She smiled and said hello back to him.

Charlie then focused his attention on Harry again.

“I hope you don't mind, mate, but I took a jump start on looking into this Vipertooth business for you. I just sent Gerda a note, but there's no telling when she'll get back to me. Last I heard from her she was still in Greenland chasing down a species thought to be extinct, the Snowdragon.”

“The Snowdragon?” Hermione gasped. “But I thought that it was just a myth.”

Charlie smiled brightly at her, warming to the topic.

“So did I, 'til Gerda found fragments of an egg that didn't match any other known species on record near the Baffin Bay. Gerda wanted me to accompany her when she first set out, but I was still finishing up my program in Sweden.” He then turned back to Harry. “Anyhow, as I said before it might be a while 'til I hear from her again.”

At this Molly sent the muffin pan she had used to cook with crashing into the cupboard. She looked terribly cross as she faced her son.

“STILL WRITING TO THAT WINKLER WOMAN, EH?”

“Mum,” Charlie groaned as he rolled his eyes. “Sorry I couldn't be more help,” he directed to Harry. “I'm just not that familiar with the dragons of the Americas, especially the Peruvian. But Gerda should be able to help you. There's nothing that Gerda doesn't know.” he said matter-of-factly.

“Thanks Charlie,” Harry replied. “I can't tell you how much this means,” he said as he lifted up the steaming mug of black coffee to his lips, and cautiously took a sip.

Hermione had no clue who this Winkler woman was, but by judging from Molly's reaction, she was certainly no friend of Mrs. Weasley. Molly began murmuring hot epithets under her breath that always seemed to end or begin with the phrase, “that woman”. Molly then stormed out of the kitchen and into the parlor. Charlie sheepishly smiled at the room's other two inhabitants, before chasing after his mother to calm her down. Suddenly something began to snap into place for Hermione.

“That's right,” she said as she turned towards Harry, “you did say that you had some big case you were working on. What's it about?” she asked after taking a long sip out of her cup.

“Erm...”

Harry had been doing that since she had first met him. As much as it irritated her to no end, Hermione always thought he was at his cutest when he was at a loss for words. It also reminded her that no matter how much Harry aged, when you got right down to it, he was that same 11 year old boy she once knew. Thoughts like that always comforted her for some reason.

She looked at him over the rim of her cup.

“Your case, Harry. What's it about?”

It was obvious that Harry didn't want to discuss it with her for whatever reasons, but she didn't quite understand why he was acting so oddly about it.

“I...um...it's confidential,” he just barely managed to spit out.

“Confidential? Really now, Harry,” she said as she smirked at him and put the cup down, “when did you start keeping secrets from your best friend?”

“Probably 'round the same time she started keeping them from me,” he darkly muttered, eyes never leaving his now cleaned plate.

She had only meant the statement as a joke, but Harry seemed to take it to heart and lashed back out at her. Whoever said that words couldn't kill obviously left out the part where they sure as hell could maim you if given the chance.

“Oh...” Hermione barely squeaked out. “I see.”

For a second her eyes burned, but she fought down the urge to cry. Instead she pushed away from the table, her brunch barely eaten, and walked over to the hearth where Crookshanks was stretched out. At the sight of her he stood up, and she leaned down to scoop him up in her arms.

At least you still like me Crooks, she ruefully thought as she nuzzled her face into the cat's neck and he purred affectionately back at her.

“Shite!” Harry clumsily swore as he left the table and walked over to her, arms before him in supplication. “Hermione, I didn't mean for it to come out like that.”

“And yet it did,” she perfunctorily replied. She kept her back turned to him.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck in frustration.

“Merlin, Hermione, don't think that I'm not happy to have you back home,” he said, a touch of aspiration in his voice. “I couldn't even begin to tell you how much.”

Hermione turned to face him then, the plaintive tone of his voice almost unnerving her.

“But...just exactly how long are we all supposed to pretend that you didn't run away?”

“I did not run away!” she snapped furiously. “Children run away! I AM NOT A CHILD!”

She brushed past him and sullenly made her way back to the table. She threw herself into her chair and rested Crookshanks in her lap.

“I know you're not a child,” he remarked as he walked and stood over her. “However right now you are acting like one.”

“What do you want from me, Harry?” asked Hermione nastily as she cut her eyes away from him.

“I want to know why you left...us,” he evenly replied. “I want to know why you stayed away for five years and didn't even bother to send a note letting us know that you were still alive.”

Harry dropped to his knees and forcefully turned her around to face him. Hermione, however, refused to meet his eyes.

“I want to know what you're hiding.”

That statement got a reaction from her. She swiveled her head in his direction; her eyes widening, her mouth dropping open.

“You might still be smarter than me, Hermione, but I'm not dumb,” Harry plainly stated.

“Look Harry I...”

“...AND IF I EVER LAY EYES ON THAT WINKLER WOMAN AGAIN, THERE'S NO TELLING WHAT I'LL DO!” came Molly's raised voice, interrupting whatever Hermione might have said. Molly had her back turned as she re-entered the kitchen, while Harry got up off the floor and took his seat again.

“We'll finish this later,” he leaned over and whispered in her ear, sending chills down her neck. Hermione couldn't figure if it was from the proximity of his lips near her sensitive skin, or the fact that she was scared as hell that he actually meant what he said. In either case, Hermione strengthened her resolve not to get left alone with Harry any time soon.

“Harry, if you know what's good for you, stay away from that so-called 'Dragon Huntress',” Molly disgustedly advised him. “She's nothing but trouble. All of those young boys...apprentices,” she said, sneering the last word, “calling her mother, disgusting! If she wanted a young boy to call her mum so bad she should have had one of her own!”

Molly plopped herself down in the chair on the opposite end facing Hermione. She seemed oblivious to the tension between the two friends. Hermione wanted to keep it that way.

“Well,” she said as she exaggeratedly looked at her watch, “as much as I would love to stay and chat, I really should try to make some headway on finding myself a flat.”

She was about to place Crookshanks on the floor when she realized that she hadn't seen her dog since coming downstairs.

“Where's Lizzie?” she asked Molly.

Molly practically beamed at her. It was obvious that the older woman had fallen under Lizzie's spell. Wherever Hermione took her people couldn't help but fall in love with her shaggy beast.

“That darling dog of yours met the acquaintance of a bumblebee and had the pleasure of chasing it around since dawn,” Molly tittered. “Now I think she's just sunning herself.”

Hermione left her seat to walk over to the kitchen window above the sink that faced the backyard. As she looked out of it, she caught sight of the dog lazily rolling back and forth in the grass, her tongue hanging happily out of her mouth.

“Oh Lizzie,” she lovingly sighed.

“In fact she looked like she was having so much fun that the older children wanted to chase bumblebees all day as well,” said Molly jovially as she joined Hermione at the window. “Arthur had to force them to go to school.”

Hermione chuckled.

“That's just Lizzie for you. She's never met a butterfly...or a squirrel...or a frog for that matter, which she didn't like.”

She turned to face Molly as she continued to stroke Crookshanks.

“By my house there was a duck pond that I just couldn't keep her out of. It seemed like I was forever trying to get rid of the scent of wet dog.”

“Well she's a sweet girl.”

It was at this point that Crookshanks obviously decided that he had enough of the admiring talk centered all on the competition. He jumped down from Hermione's arms, and instead slinked his way over to Harry where he rubbed against his leg before being lifted onto his lap.

“Aww, Crooks, I did miss you,” Hermione insisted while trying not to laugh. She had walked back over to the table and was standing next to Harry's chair. Crookshank, however, moodily turned his head from her.

“That's right Crookshanks,” said Harry as his eyes twinkled, “us men have got to stick together.”

“You're not helping,” she said with feigned severity.

Harry laughed.

“You know I would have never figured you for a dog person,” he said.

“That makes two of us then,” Hermione answered. “I didn't even think I liked them until I found her. Or I should say, until she found me. I was driving late one night when she ran out into the middle of the road. I almost lost control of my truck trying to avoid hitting her.”

Molly turned away from the window to face the other two.

“Did someone lose her?”

“That was my thinking at first. She had no license or registration on her, but she looked too well cared for and loved to be a stray. I took her home that night and instantly started looking for her owner. I put up signs, made calls, but nothing ever came of it, thankfully. It only took me a few weeks before I couldn't bear the thought of being parted from her. I've had her for five months now.”

“What are you going to do about Crookshanks?” asked Harry, giving the cat a scratch behind the ear.

Hermione folded her arms and regarded her old friend for a moment. Of all of the loose ends she knew she had to tie up upon returning, a custody battle for her house cat had never entered the list.

“I don't know,” she honestly answered. “I did miss him, yes I did,” she said directly to the fur ball as she petted him lovingly. “However it seems a bit brutish of me to snatch him out of the arms of a little girl, doesn't it? Then again Crooks could have already made his decision.”

“What do you mean?” Harry curiously asked.

“Well...Crookshanks was my familiar, a witch's cat. When I decided to no longer be a witch, he decided to no longer be my familiar,” she carefully explained. “Of course you did jump the gun a bit old boy,” she joked as she hunkered down on her heels and nuzzled her face to Crookshanks'.

She pulled back and looked at Harry.

“Then again I could just be over reaching and Crooks only left to get away from my incessant snoring,” she said in jest.

Harry's brow furrowed.

“But you don't snore,” he said innocently enough, right before realizing what a loaded statement it was. “I mean...” he mumbled, trying to fix his own mess, “I just remember that you don't. S-s-snore th-that is.”

Hermione froze; too scared to look over her shoulder and see the peeved expression she knew just had to be on Molly's face. Good job Harry, she waspishly fretted in her head, just announce to your mother-in-law that you and I have been in a bed together before. And while you're at it, mention the fact that her baby boy also came along for the ride. Old-fashioned Molly would probably just love that. Probably mention it at the next Weasley family gathering...in Hell, Hermione mused.

“Yes, well,” Hermione said trying to change gears quickly, “I'm sure Ron's little one and I will work something out eventually.”

She stood up.

“But for now I must leave you, Crooks. No decent landlord will have me if I show up with a cat and a dog. Probably think I'm running some sort of petting zoo.”

She turned to Molly finally.

“Do you mind terribly watching Lizzie and Crookshanks?”

Molly smiled and said, “Of course not dear. I'll be glad to.”

Hermione sighed in relief as she smiled back at her.

“Oh,” Molly chirped lightly, “here's a lovely idea. Since it's already so late, and I'm sure you aren't looking forward to the drive into London, why don't you let Harry Apparate you over and then keep you company? That way you two can spend some time alone together and catch up.”

Oh God!

“Say, now there's an idea,” concurred Harry as a huge grin spread from his left to his right ear.

Yes, a bad idea. A very, very bad idea.

The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with Harry. She might do something rash like trip, fall on top of him, and snog him to death. Or if he kept hounding her she might just slug him one good time. By the scrutinizing look he was giving her, Hermione figured that it was probably going to end up being the latter.

She tried to calm her nerves and retain her cheery outward disposition. But Molly's proposal had all but sent her screaming out of the room.

“Well as wonderful as that thought of yours is Molly, I'm sure Harry has more important things to do with his day then worry about little old me,” she anxiously said.

“Actually I don't,” he replied as cool as a cucumber.

Harry unzipped his Auror robes to reveal the simple white dress shirt and black slacks underneath. Even when dressed so plainly, to Hermione's mind he still looked so damned good! This won't do, she thought to herself fearfully. This just won't do! She had to find a way to put him off the idea.

“But you have to work, Harry.”

“I'm on an extended lunch break.”

“Then you should see about your wife,” she said sharply.

Harry dropped Crookshanks to the floor and leaned back in his chair as he said, “She's at the spa.”

Molly clucked her tongue in disapproval as she began to clear the table of the few plates and cups. Either the woman was as thick as a post, or she was blatantly ignoring the heated looks that Harry and Hermione were trading. Hers read vexed. His said that he had her right where he wanted her.

Smug bastard thinks he knows why I don't want to be left alone with him!

“Listen,” Harry began slowly, trying to ease Hermione into his idea, “I'll shrink your truck, we'll pop off into some back alley somewhere, and then we can take it from there.”

Hermione eyed him apprehensively. It sounded easy enough, but when had anything in her life been easy.

“Think of it this way; if the promise of my charming company isn't enough to sway you, just think of all the quid you'll save on petrol.”

Then he decided to play dirty with her. He flashed her a bewitching smile.

“You know you want to say yes, Hermione.”

In truth she didn't really want to, but Hermione said yes anyway.

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

“Dwight Yoakam...Travis Tritt....Toby Keith?”

Harry held up a CD case of a man in a cowboy hat with a sulky, disagreeable look on his face and showed it to Hermione.

“Are these actually their real names?”

Hermione took her eyes off the road for a moment to look at what Harry was holding. She frowned.

“Keith? I thought I destroyed that one,” she said bemusedly. “Well, no matter.”

She pressed a button near her left arm. All of a sudden Harry's window came down, Hermione stretched her arm across to pluck the offending CD out of Harry's hand, and she unceremoniously threw it out the window.

“There,” she said as she pressed the mysterious button again, this time sending his window back up, and smiled at him triumphantly. “All better now.”

Hermione and Harry were in her truck pulling away from a bed-sit in Maida Vale. The place was too small for her liking and she didn't really care for the neighborhood. She had already seen several lovely crawl spaces in Little Venice, Marylebone, and St. John's Wood. Before she and Harry had set out on this little adventure she had already done her research, looking up rooms and flats to rent on the trusty laptop she took with her always. She really thought that finding a place to live in London would be easy. How naive she had been.

Every other place she had lived in previously had practically fallen in her lap; she figured this time would be no different. The three bedroom in Diagon? The landlord had practically thrown the keys at Harry when word got out that the Savior of all Wizarding kind needed a place to live. He probably would have let her, Harry, and Ron live there free of charge if she hadn't negotiated a deal on the monthly fee, much to Ron's displeasure. The place in Brixton? Glinda had already been living there for years when she invited Hermione to move in with her and split the rent. In Dallas she had gone from out one person's door and into another's. But now she was faced with the very real difficulty of finding a place to call her very own that she could live in, but more importantly, live with. Price was really no obstacle. So far it was proving to be a daunting task. She had already run through all of the places she had check marked to see, and she really didn't have any idea where she was going to go next. As she turned west on Elgin, she decided to just keep on driving until she hit something. Anything.

Harry was looking at Hermione as though she had lost her mind.

“What? Don't look at me like that,” she told him. “Those aren't my CDs anyway,” Hermione explained. “Despite loving Texas, I never became enamored of Country and Western music. Or line dancing. Or football.”

She looked at him and smirked.

“It's a rather beastly game. You'd probably love it.”

He ignored her little crack.

“If they aren't your CDs, who do they belong to?”

Hermione opened her mouth to answer him, but at that moment her mobile rang. She had left it in the truck the night before, and when she and Harry had first started out, she had seen that she had about twelve missed calls; six from the night before and six that morning. All were from the same number. She picked the phone up and looked at the call screen. After noting the same number of the previous calls, she muted the cell phone and put it back down.

“Those are Collier's,” she finally replied. “Poor thing is as blind as a bat, yet won't wear his glasses. After the fifth car accident he got his license revoked. Since I'm such a good friend I took pity on him and chauffeured him about whenever I could. Really great guy,” she said as a small smile affixed itself to her lips. “Terrible taste in music, though. Those other disks are mine.”

Harry reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a few more cases.

“Joshua Tree...Rio...Journey's Greatest Hits Collection...” he read from off them.

Harry gave Hermione a bewildered look.

“I don't bloody well know who these people are.”

Hermione shook her head sternly.

“And to think you were raised by Muggles.”

“Yes,” Harry said dryly, “and they were so good to me, weren't they,” he cracked.

Hermione tried her best not to smile, but failed.

“Touché.”

Once again Hermione's mobile began ringing, but instead of answering it, she took the Greatest Hits CD from Harry, and while keeping only one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road, she wrangled the disk into the truck's player. She then pushed a button repeatedly until she reached the song that she wanted and blasted it. The volume of the music drowned out the ringing phone.

“I didn't really discover this band until I got in the States, but I just love them now,” she explained to Harry over the opening strains of the song. “Number twelve is a classic.”

"Lying beside you, here in the dark

Feeling your heart beat with mine

Softly you whisper, you're so sincere

How could our love be so blind

We sailed on together, we drifted apart

And here you are by my side"

Hermione then cranked the volume up louder. In a shaky, yet serviceable voice she began to sing out at the top of her lungs.

"So now I come to you, with open arms

Nothing to hide, believe what I say

So here I am with open arms

Hoping you'll see what your love means to me

Open arms"

Hermione loved the song and had already worn out one copy of the disk from playing it so often. Harry, however, didn't seem to share her opinion on good music.

“Merlin,” he groaned, wrinkling his nose as he leaned forward and turned the volume down. “You mean to tell me that Muggles actually listen to this?”

“As if the Weird Sisters are any better,” scoffed Hermione.

“He sounds constipated,” Harry said simply as he straightened his glasses.

“I'll have you know that this was one of the greatest male vocalists of his day...” Hermione insisted passionately, “even if he did sound constipated.”

Harry knew she was joking by the upturned right corner of her lips. This caused him to laugh out loud which led to her joining him. It was this easygoing air between them that actually emboldened Harry's tongue.

“So this friend of yours,” he casually brought up. “Cauliflower is it?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Collier.”

“Is he like that flat mate of yours, Ben...something...you were telling us about? I mean...when you say he's your friend, just how friendly do you mean?”

Once again Hermione rolled her eyes. She didn't even turn to look at Harry as she answered him.

“Are you asking me if Collier is gay or if he's seen me naked?” she asked tartly. “You have to be more specific, you see. Because Benitez has seen me starkers numerous times and it never made a jot of difference really.”

By the sound of silence that hung in the air one would have thought Hermione's answer had sent Harry into cardiac arrest. Hermione quickly glanced in his direction to check if he was still breathing and met his annoyed green eyes.

“You're teasing me.”

A smile curled her lips.

“Harry Potter gets a gold star,” she coyly said.

Harry looked like he was getting ready to have some choice words for her. But then her mobile rang again. He looked between her and the phone sitting in the cup holder and asked, “Aren't you going to answer that?”

Hermione shook her head.

“It's a wrong number. Let's see if they will get the message if I turn it off,” she said as she silenced the phone with a push of a button.

After a short drive she finally came to a stop and parked the truck. Hermione shut the engine off, took her keys out the ignition, tossed them into her camel purse and without a word to Harry, opened her door and proceeded to climb out of the vehicle. Harry hadn't even realized that Hermione had a destination in mind when she started driving. But as she took determined strides around the front of the vehicle, she approached the cobbled lane that led into a quaint looking cul-de-sac. This was about the time that Harry finally lost his patience with her. He jumped out of the passenger side and before Hermione could get passed him, he grabbed her upper arm to stop her progress.

“Ow! What the hell do you think you're doing, Harry?!” she asked him irately. “Let me go!”

She tried to shake him off, but what Hermione failed to realize was that she was now dealing with a very different Harry Potter than the one she had last left behind. This one was far more imposing. This one had also had years of intensive physical training all thanks to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“I'll let you go after we talk.”

“Harry, not now,” she pleaded.

“Yes now,” he said in answer. “I'm not going to let you put this off any longer.”

Seeing the determined look in his eyes, Hermione decided that it was in her best interest not to struggle any longer. It would be pointless. Instead she relaxed herself in Harry's grip and turned to face him. He instantly let her go, allowing her to cross her arms before her in a belligerent, closed off manner.

Thinking he was making progress, Harry's gaze softened as he looked at her.

“Why did you leave?”

“I told you all last night I–”

“I don't mean all of that nonsense you were spouting about castles and what not,” he said harshly. “You didn't take off like a thief in the night just so you could see some crumbling old rubble in France somewhere.”

Hermione's eyes started flashing and she started sputtering indignantly.

“ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?!” she demanded.

“Yes.” Harry didn't even blink as he said it. “Yes, I am.”

Well that did it! How dare he say something like that to her? Of all the nerve! To actually accuse her of lying! Never mind the fact that it was true, that was beside the point! When the hell did Mr. Oblivious catch a clue? Hermione didn't like this brand new development one bit. She turned to walk away from him, but Harry grabbed her wrist and forced her around to face him. She opened her mouth to protest when all of a sudden she stopped. She felt her vision go fuzzy. His eyes seemed to pin her in place, but she barely had time to notice their queer luster as images started to come at her at lightning speed. She would have asked who was turning on and off the sunlight, because that was almost what it felt like, but she was far too busy watching her life flash before her eyes. Literally!

She was 8 years old and a crowd of jeering children were surrounding her, pointing and laughing...She was 12 and she looked up in wonder at a black haired boy, no older than herself, holding on for dear life to a troll as though he were riding a bucking bronco...She had just innocently entered the Common Room only to see Ron's lips melded with Lavender Brown's...Harry had found her where she was hiding and was trying to comfort her...Harry was holding her hands as they stood before two black coffins...Harry was staring straight at Ginny while Hermione stood behind her, dressed in her pink, silken Maid of Honour robes. Rufus Scrimgeour had just asked if there was anyone who objected to the union...

Hermione pushed Harry forcefully away from her. Her whole body felt as though it were about to combust. Her complexion had taken on an angry red flush. She turned away from him and stormed her way down the cul-de-sac, passing a row of large semi detached houses. Of course Harry followed. He easily caught up and trotted along side her.

“LEGILIMENCY, HARRY?!! You bloody well tried to break into my mind?!!” She turned on him, nostrils flaring. She even swung her purse out and smacked him on the arm. “WHEN THE FUCK DID YOU EVEN LEARN HOW TO DO THAT?!!”

Although she was furious that Harry had actually tried to secretly and sneakily probe her thoughts, she couldn't stop the ghost of the old Hermione from rising up in her. She was simply amazed that Harry was a Legilimens now! Back during the War he was still having trouble blocking his own thoughts, much less even thinking about looking into those that belonged to other people. But now here he was, obviously gifted in the craft and using it on her. And without a wand no less! She had grown accustomed to seeing Harry do bits of wandless magic here and there, but usually only in emergency situations. Obviously he found that this was one of them.

“I've picked up some new tricks since you've been gone,” he answered simply. “I rarely do it, not even with suspects. But it does come in handy every now and then.

“Aren't you talented?” she crankily sneered. “Look, I don't know who you think you are, Harry Potter, but I've been away too long just to come back here and allow you to treat me as if I were some common criminal,” she fumed as she raised an accusatory finger at him.

She could only imagine the spectacle they were making in front of the residents who lived in the quiet niche.

“I don't care how long you were gone or even where you went! I don't care who you bloody well saw while you were there, Hermione! I DON'T!”

He grabbed the hand that was pointing towards him, eased the palm of his hand along the underside of her bicep, and pulled her closer to him. Hermione felt her pulse rate skyrocket into overdrive at the simple, yet intimate act. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady her nerves.

“But I do care that you went away and didn't even bother to tell me why, Hermione. I care that you've been keeping secrets from your best friend, that you still are keeping secrets from your best friend. I'm sorry that I did what I did, but how else am I going to get you to tell me the truth?”

Harry hadn't let go his hold on her. More than anything she wished that he would just let her go.

“I have no secrets,” she retorted high-handedly as she looked at him fully. “I am an open book.”

Harry snorted at the remark.

“Why did you and Ron pretend to still be together back then?”

Hermione forcefully removed herself from Harry's strong grip as she said, “At the time I didn't want to burden you with Ron and my problems.”

“Burden me?!” he exclaimed as though astounded that she would even say something as simple minded. “After everything we've been through together? Burden me? How could you ever be a burden to me?! I lo–”

Hermione had been facing away from Harry, but turned her head and stared directly in his eyes. He had been saying something and choked on his words. This wasn't so surprising; Harry had never been what one would call smooth when it came to getting his point across. Still, something in his tone had stopped Hermione short. For that matter his face had gone a rather deathly pale shade. The way his eyes bulged in terror made her stomach clench in fear. She felt herself effortlessly slip back into her old role of protector of all things Potter.

“'I'...what, Harry?” she asked as she grabbed onto him, searching his face for signs of whatever was plaguing him. “You...what? Are you alright? What's wrong? What were you about to say, Harry?”

He swallowed hard.

“I looked for you,” he croaked tensely as the color came flooding back into his face. “Me and Ron, we looked for you everywhere,” he said diverting his attention to the ground as though he found his boots fascinating objects of wonder. “But you didn't take any of the job offers you had.”

He caught her eye again.

“I didn't even know you had job offers. I didn't know that you wanted to leave us,” said Harry miserably, making Hermione's eyes water. “Why didn't you tell me you had been planning to move away?” he asked her, almost petulantly.

Because you would have talked me out of it, Hermione wretchedly thought to herself. She turned her head to avoid Harry's gaze.

“You were already so busy,” she answered. “With Ginny...and all.”

She didn't notice him flinch at the mere mention of his wife's name.

“Why didn't you take any of those jobs?” he asked next.

Because you would have found me and brought me back, her tortured soul answered him.

“Changed my mind I guess,” she whispered.

Harry tenderly placed both of his hands on her shoulders and brought her around to face him. The pained look on his face was almost enough to reduce her to a weeping mess. It tore her up inside to do this to Harry, to keep from him the answers he was practically begging of her. She had been doing this to him for years, really. Desperately trying to keep him at a distance for fear that he would see...something in her eyes, when she would have given anything to be the one always at his side. Pretending to be happy if only to make him happy. Smiling broadly in his face, when it was all she could do not to throw herself in his arms and confess what truly resided in her heart. But she knew she couldn't tell Harry any of this, no matter how many questions he asked. The funny thing was that there had once been a time when she would have denied Harry Potter nothing. But seven long years of practice had skilled Hermione in the craft of artifice and half-truths well.

“What can I say, Harry,” she sighed wistfully, “I was tired. I was tired of being me. I was tired of trying to be everything to everybody. It started to feel like people wanted things from me that I felt at the time I could no longer give. Not then, at least. Ron wanted a wife, Molly and Arthur wanted a new daughter, and the Ministry wanted a loyal and faithful little worker bee. It started to become almost too much.”

“But that doesn't make sense, Hermione,” Harry countered, looking very confused. “You and Ron had already broken up. Molly and Arthur already considered you one of their own. And you were leaving the Ministry.”

“Yes,” she agreed, “but it felt like I was just moving towards more of the same. The Minister in Marrakech thought he was getting a...a...superhero or something. Hermione Granger, co-defender of the Magical World, Right Hand to the Man who Triumphed, Greatest Witch of her Age. They wanted a trophy, they didn't want me. And that was about the time I started wondering, was that all I was? Was that all Hermione Granger was? Just some witch?”

Harry was so stunned by these words that he dropped his hands from her.

“Just some witch?! Hermione–”

“Haven't you ever made choices, Harry?” Hermione asked, cutting him off. “Choices that you made at the time because they seemed to be right, but later you realized were so wrong? Choices that you felt that you couldn't live with, but you knew you had to? Choices that you wished, for the entire world you could take back, but you knew you couldn't?”

“Yes,” he whispered in a low, strangled voice.

“Well, Hermione Granger did too. So one day I decided I just didn't want to be her any more.”

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself and began to slowly walk forward as Harry followed next to her. Her eyes stared straight ahead.

“Nearly a decade of my life had been devoted to being a witch. And at first it brought me so much happiness.”

She turned her eyes towards him. She smiled.

“It brought me you and Ron. But then...but then something happened, and I could no longer pretend to fill the role that had been meted to me.”

She stopped her progress and turned to face him squarely.

“You must have known I was unhappy for a long time, Harry.”

She didn't say it as a question, but he answered with a shaky nod of his head, up and down.

“I decided that being in this world, your world, was never going to make me happy. I could never have the things that I wanted. So I decided to just chuck it all and find my happiness elsewhere.”

Harry's eyes began to water and Hermione had to stop herself from telling him that she took it back. That she took it all back. That she didn't mean to say it, not if it made him so unhappy to hear. But her tongue could not form the words.

“And did you find it? Your happiness, did you find it?” he sadly asked.

“For a while,” she said as she grabbed one of his hands. “And then I started missing you and Ron frightfully. I would be out somewhere and hear a deep belly laugh nearby. I would turn around praying to see a redhead there and feel my heart sink because it wasn't him. Whenever I saw a man with green eyes I would almost start to cry because they weren't yours.”

Harry brought the hand holding his up to his lips and kissed it gently. She felt her whole body involuntarily shiver and drew her hand back quickly so he wouldn't notice.

“That's when I knew that I had to come home,” she explained while ignoring the sad expression on his face. “But you see I was so scared. It had been so dreadful of me to just leave the way I did. I started to convince myself that you all didn't want me back, that you had moved on without me. And then I saw Ron's announcement in the paper. Somehow I just knew that it was time to come home. I had to come back for Ron.”

Although Hermione didn't know it, those words, however innocently they were meant, nearly ripped through Harry's heart.

“So do you understand now why I did what I did? And why I mentioned none of this last night with all the Weasleys around? Even just a little?”

There; nothing she had told him had been a complete lie. Of course nothing she told him had exactly been truthful either.

“I...uh, I guess,” he responded, his voice constrained. “But Hermione, you said that you felt that everyone wanted things from you. What...what did I want from you?”

Hermione stared into Harry's worried, apprehensive gaze and tried to smile. Tried and failed.

“Nothing. You wanted nothing from me.”

And that was the one thing she had said all day that she believed was a verifiable fact.

“But because I had to leave Hermione behind, I had to leave you behind as well. And I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry. It wasn't fair to you. But at the time I felt that it was what I had to do. Can you ever forgive me?”

Once again she felt the irresistible urge to just throw herself at Harry and cry in his arms rear up again. But this time she refused to fight it. She tentatively stepped closer to him and encircled her arms around him, pressing her face into his firm chest. She heard the unmistakably rhythm of his heartbeat pound furiously at his ribcage, and felt rather than heard his quick intake of breath. Please forgive me, Harry. Please, she begged in her head. She had no idea what she would do if he didn't. Was he still mad at her? Did he hate her for what she had done? Did he no longer want to be her friend?

All the way on her journey from Cyprus Hermione had decided that even if she couldn't be with Harry, she could still stand beside him. She could still be his friend. Even playing that small role delegated to her was better than having no part of Harry in her life at all. It had taken her five years to accept this. But Harry's minute hesitation almost killed the slim ray of hope inside her that had carried her all the way back to England. She was about to fall into despair, when she felt a set of strong arms circle around her waist and pull her tightly against him. She felt the almost undetectable sensation of lips pressing themselves into her hair. That's when she knew that all was forgiven. He didn't even have to say the words.

They stood there, just holding on to each other, in the middle of the cul-de-sac for a few minutes longer. Maybe hours; time felt irrelevant. They were just Harry and Hermione again. An old, gray haired grandmother happened to peek out of the window of the house they had been standing in front of. She smiled at the couple. She remembered a time when she had been as hopelessly in love as the two before her so obviously were. She briefly wondered if they were going to buy the house for sale at the end of the row, before closing her blinds and giving the two young people their privacy. A little boy on his way home from school passed them and pulled a face. Probably going to kiss or something, he disgustedly thought as he hurried pass them to avoid seeing such a gross display. To everything going on around them, Harry and Hermione were oblivious. Then Harry opened his eyes slowly and actually took a good look around him for the first time.

“Um...Hermione, why does everything look so familiar around here?” he asked as his eyebrows knitted together. “Why do I feel like I've been here before?”

Hermione pulled back from him and giggled.

“That's because you have.”

She took one of his hands in her own and began to walk up the path with him again. She pointed a short distance in front of them.

“Right there is where Draco Malfoy nearly flattened your nose and you almost rearranged his face.”

At her account, realization began to wash slowly over his features.

“He should have let me. It would have made a vast improvement,” Harry said with a smirk.

Hermione playfully rolled her eyes and ignored his statement.

“You see that lamp post?” she asked as she pointed to the end of the path. “It has a dent in it courtesy of the bicycle I got for my sixth birthday. I had begged and badgered my dad to take the training wheels off the bike, although I was no good on it even with the damned things on. Dad tried to warn me that I wasn't ready, but I was a determined little thing. As soon as he let me go I went careening into the dratted poll.”

Harry seemed to find her story amusing. He wore a large grin as he said, “Sounds like an epic battle. Who won?”

Hermione smiled triumphantly as she lifted up her left elbow and pointed at the faint scar there.

“Lamp post 1, elbow 12 stitches.”

Hermione and Harry came to a halt in front of a beautiful, three floored mock Victorian. Hermione stared at it, a soft little smile on her lips.

“Now that house,” she said as she lifted a finger to point it out to Harry, “in that house lived one Eustace Youngfellow. He took me out on my very first date. We went to the cinema.”

Harry scowled at her.

“And I'm just hearing about this?”

“Well brother dearest, it's a bit late to do anything about it now. Besides I was 17, it was Christmas break, and you and Ron were nowhere around.”

Hermione folded her arm in Harry's and they continued walking as she spoke on.

“We went to see...oh bother...I can't remember what we went to see,” she said as she gnawed on her lip. “Something with aliens...and guns...and lots of things getting blown up. A simply dreadful movie. Eustace was a perfect gentleman, though. He was even kind enough to have red hair.”

Harry made a chuffing noise that made Hermione laugh.

“Look, I had just watched Ron slobber all over Lavender on the train and I wanted my own pound of flesh. I was miserable company, but Eustace asked if he could take me out again the next time I came home in June. I said yes. Then he died that May.”

Harry's steps faltered as he turned his head to look at her.

“Drunk driver,” was all she said in answer.

She came to a stop in front of another three story house that looked like it bore a fresh coat of paint. A sign stood in front of it touting that it was for sale. Hermione knew that the five bedroom dream house would fetch a pretty penny on the market. It had when she sold it.

“And this was my house,” she said finally as a lonely tear cascaded down her cheek. Hermione, however, was so entranced at being back at her childhood home that she paid it no heed. “Did you know I picked it out myself?” she asked with a proud lift to her chin. “We lived in Sunninghill before this, but when mum and dad moved the practice they wanted something closer to the office. Whenever the Realtor would take them out to look at houses, I always came along. 'Let's let Hermione Jane decide', dad would say. The agent probably thought my parents were completely barmy, letting a 4 year old make a decision like that, but the poor chap held his tongue. We looked at houses everywhere; Kensington, Knightsbridge, Pimlico. Then we saw this one. As soon as I entered the corner bedroom on the first floor, I turned to my mother and said 'can this one be my room mummy'. Dad made an offer for it that very day.”

She paused as she gazed longingly at the house. The smile that was on Hermione's face was so heart achingly beautiful that it rendered Harry speechless for a moment.

“I know this house like a mother knows the face of her own child,” she affectionately stated. “My mum's study was on the ground floor, next to the kitchen so she could smell it if her food was burning.”

“So that's where you got it from.”

“Prat!” she said as she smacked him jovially on his arm. “She had a loose floor board in her office and that's where she would hide our birthday and Christmas gifts. Of course dad and I knew about it, but we never ever peeked.”

First one, then two fat tears began to slowly crawl down her face.

“On Saturday night's we would play Scrabble in the dinning room or watch one of my mum's old movies in the lounge. Dad always wanted to watch something silly like Our Man Flint, but got voted down every time,” she snickered as she wiped half-heartedly at her face.

“Every few months dad would get out his old penknife to mark out how tall I was growing in the kitchen door frame. And on some mornings, though I would have just been measured the day before, I would jump into my parents' bed and shout 'daddy, daddy I dreamt I grew a whole inch in my sleep'. And while laughing all the way, he would march me downstairs, line me up next to that frame and exclaim, 'my oh my Hermione Jane, I think you did'. Of course he was lying, but he had already told me such whoppers about Father Christmas and where babies came from, so really what was one more? So he would pull out his penknife and mark out the new, suspect inch for posterity and ask me, 'Hermione Jane, how did you manage that'. And I would say, 'magic daddy...I used magic'.”

The tears had finally begun to fall freely.

“You know, Hermione, I think this is the most I've heard you talk about your parents since they died.”

“It probably is,” she said as she reached into her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes and rubbed her red and runny nose as she tried to regain her composure. “I guess I felt that the less I talked about them, the less guilt I would feel. Faulty logic to be sure,” she added as she placed the hankie back in her purse, “but I was grieving so it made sense at the time.”

“Guilty?” questioned Harry, baffled at the quick flash of emotions she seemed to have cycled through in such a short period of time. Now her words seemed remote. Dispassionate. “Why would you have felt guilty?”

Hermione looked away from Harry's penetrating stare. Instead she turned her eyes to the cobbled path.

“I killed my parents, Harry. I'm the reason they died.”

“Hermione, you aren't making sense. Your parents died in a car accident on their way to a seminar in Edinburgh. You were nowhere near there at the time.”

He placed his hands lovingly on the sides of her face and brought it up so he could look into her eyes. Hermione closed her eyes to avoid this.

“How could it possibly be your fault that your parents died?”

Hermione's eyes slowly opened and she asked him a simple question.

“Do you remember Amycus Carrows?”

To Be Continued...

A/N: Next up is the conclusion to chapter 12. Things to look forward to: a trip to France, exorcised demons, and Hermione gets made an offer she can't refuse.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than the Turkish businessman, Holly Darlington, Cynthia Darlington, Amelia Calhoun, Juan Miguel Benitez Cohen, Sebastian Bingham, Collier, gray haired grandmother, schoolboy, and Eustace Youngfellow are canon.

2) Helen Granger is named after the legendary Helen of Troy who, by her husband King Menelaus, had a daughter named Hermione.

3) The lyrics are to the song “Open Arms” by Journey.

4) Amycus Carrows and just how he fits into this whole sordid mess will be revealed in the next chapter.

5) Deeringham's department store, the Snowdragon, the Roentgenseco Spell, as well as the books The Necromancer’s Naughty Nymph and The Potion Master, the Witch, and his Magic Wand are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

14. Chapter 12b

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 22,675

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: A few vague mentions of incest, necrophilia, and bad things happening to good nuns. Other than that; good wholesome fun! Be prepared for a lengthy flashback at the start.

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.

The Monastère Sainte Claire, that's where Boadicea DuManoir had been residing for over 52 years now, at least according to Professor Sinistra. If everything that the Astronomy teacher revealed was true, it was quite possible that DuManoir was in possession of the disguised Ravenclaw Pensieve, and more importantly, one of Voldemort’s Horcruxes. Of course some pieces of the troubling puzzle just were not fitting right, to Hermione's thinking. No matter what Dumbledore said it still seemed inconceivable that Boadicea was some how descended from the Ravenclaw line, even if she had been in possession of the Ravenclaw Pensieve. More than likely a grandmother or even a great-grandmother of DuManoir's found it in some estate auction or in a trunk that had been tossed aside with no one knowing what treasure lay inside it.

Also it seemed terribly implausible that Voldemort would have had a “Mudblood” lover. Voldemort seemed the type who wouldn't sully himself with an undesirable like the former Head Girl. Maybe Professor Sinistra got it all wrong. All the information she had was secondhand at best. Then there was the fact that Boadicea was insane. She killed a man, had tried to kill her mum; maybe the great love affair she told her friend about was just a figment of her own imagination.

Then why are Voldemort's minions looking for her?

That was the sticking point that Hermione kept coming back to. He's looking for her. Why else would he be looking for her? Really, in some sick, twisted way it was really brilliant strategy. Leaving a Horcrux with one of his Death Eaters would be an expected move. But leaving it with some expendable “mad Muggle-born”, to quote former Headmaster Black, was inspired. Who would ever think to look to her? Hermione could almost admire the boy who had been Tom Riddle. Almost. She just preferred to save her esteem for those who actually had souls.

The important thing right now was that Voldemort was looking for Boadicea. If the intel they had gathered some time ago was correct, he had been looking for her since late summer. The fact that he hadn't been able to locate her yet gave them some hope. Harry had already informed them that Professor Dumbledore didn't believe that Voldemort could tell when a Horcrux had been destroyed; whatever connection he had with that piece of his soul long gone. It was obvious that he couldn't tell where he had misplaced one either. This little nugget of information not only put them on equal footing with Voldemort, it actually tipped the scales in the Order's favor for once. They had a hot lead on where to possibly find one Horcrux. They pretty much knew for certain what another one might be. Four of them were already destroyed. As long as Voldemort didn't know that the Light side even knew what a Horcrux was, they had a fighting chance. Harry had a fighting chance!

Why is he looking for her then?

Did Voldemort discover that Harry and Professor Dumbledore had figured it out about the Horcruxes? Or worse, could they have a double agent within their midst? Had Malfoy become a member of the Order for the sole purpose of spying on them? True she had finally gotten to the point that she didn't want to hex that pointy arrogant nose off of his pointy arrogant face every time she laid eyes on him; this development did not negate the fact that Hermione trusted the pugnacious prima donna about as far as she could throw him. And to quote Ron, after many a dismally played rounds of Gobstones on her part, she threw like a girl! But before she could have Malfoy tried and found guilty of treachery by reason of being an enormous git, she quickly dismissed these thoughts from her head. She was starting to sound as unreasonable as Ron or even as bad as Harry these days. She was allowing her opinion of Malfoy to sway her view of the facts. Malfoy had brought them the Cup; had even told them how to destroy it. He was on their side now. He was still a vainglorious, sneering, ill-tempered, obnoxious jackarse; but like themselves he was also an enemy of Voldemort, and these days that had to count for something.

Then why is he looking for her?

Whatever the case, the fact still remained that Voldemort was after Boadicea and there was no telling what he would do to her if he found her. The Order needed to intercept him before this could happen. That's why it was so distressing that nearly half an hour after being told where DuManoir was Harry, Malfoy, and herself were still stuck in the Headmistress' office.

“And furthermore,” continued McGonagall who had been lecturing them for what seemed an eternity, “you are not to make a move without Remus Lupin's or Auror Shacklebolt's expressed approval. Am I understood, Miss Granger?”

Despite addressing Hermione, the Headmistress' eyes were trained steadily on Harry.

“Of c-course Headmistress McGonagall,” Hermione managed to stammer out as she and Harry tried to edge their way towards the door for a third time. Malfoy had finally just walked out.

“AND THAT GOES FOR MR. WEASLEY AS WELL!” she called after them.

“Where is Gingerlocks, by the way?” Malfoy sneeringly asked as the three teens made it to the spiral staircase now going downward. “Still writing a letter to mummy all this time?”

Harry, who looked as though he was pulled as tight as a snare drum and just spoiling for a reason to snap, swung around fiercely towards the blond.

“Malfoy, I swear I'm going to remove your big fat mouth from the rest of your face if you don't shut it!” he growled as he made a move to lunge at the other boy.

Hermione grabbed his arm to hold him in place.

Malfoy grinned as he stepped on the staircase and looked over his shoulder at them. It was the smile the boys had designated as his “I LOVE being a bastard” look. Harry and Hermione followed close behind.

“If that threat was coming from Granger here I might have taken it seriously. But I'm afraid, Potty, that you just don't have her talent with a wand without the Half-Blood Prince helping you out.”

“Who said anything about wands?” Harry seethed in a cold, chilling voice. The look he gave Malfoy made the idiot swallow hard and quickly look away.

Hermione could feel the tingle in the air that Harry's emotions were expelling. Power. It seemed to be a living, breathing thing that emanated from him. It gave her a heady, almost light-headed feeling. And 'ye Gods, was it sexy! Harry's normal goofy cuteness seemed to just fade away at these times and be replaced by this sort of primal confidence that made him...dare she say it...hot! If she was the kind of witch that went in for that kind of thing she might have swooned at his feet. But she primly and firmly reminded herself that she indeed was not that kind of witch, that there were far more pressing concerns right now, and if needed, she wasn't afraid to turn her wand on herself and douse a brisk spray of water at her face to cool her down. Damned ruddy hormones!

“Could you two call a cease fire to this juvenile battle of egos please?” she reprimanded them both, sick and tired of their constant bickering. “How are we supposed to work as a team, much less save someone's life, if you two and Ron won't stop attacking each other? It's so childish!”

Harry looked at her incredulously as he asked, “Oh? And what do you call it when you and the Ferret are going at it?”

She opened her mouth to tell Harry that she had no idea what he was talking about, but before she could, Malfoy took it upon himself to answer the question for her.

“Foreplay.”

“SHUT UP, MALFOY!” Hermione and Harry yelled at the git at the same time.

Harry looked like he was trying to restrain himself from ripping Malfoy's scalp off. He purposefully turned his whole body so he wouldn't have to look at the back of Malfoy's head and be tempted. Instead he brought his attention towards Hermione.

“We need to find Ron,” he told her anxiously.

“He's probably off somewhere sulking,” she replied.

She knew that Ron would probably not speak to her for at least a whole day. He was sure to be embarrassed over the little joke she had made about his mother. If he was still upset she couldn't muster up enough feeling to really care. Maybe a night with little canoodling would do them a world of good. It definitely would do me a world of good, she inwardly sighed as they neared the bottom of the staircase and the stone gargoyle started to move to let them out.

“Either that or stuffing his face,” she continued right before her eyes fell on the crumpled form of her boyfriend by the wall facing the entrance into the Headmistress' office.

“Or he could just be lying in a heap in the halls,” Malfoy dryly quipped.

She and Harry practically tossed him out of the way to run quickly to Ron's side. Ron was out cold and the side of his face looked badly bruised, as if he had been on the losing end of a fight with a sledgehammer.

“RONNIE!” Hermione cried, kneeling at his side.

She gathered him by the shoulder and gave him a desperate shake. She felt an immense wave of guilt wash over her as she recalled her disloyal and selfish thoughts just a scant few seconds before their discovery. How could she be so callous, Hermione wondered to herself. Ron was a good boyfriend! He deserved better than a fraud for his girl.

“Ronnie, please answer me!” Hermione begged as she told herself over and over again that she would never forgive herself if anything happened to Ron. She promised, to whatever forces were listening, that if he would just be ok she would never raise her voice to him again. She would turn a blind eye if she saw him lift up a fifth or sixth éclair to his lips. She would be the perfect girlfriend. She would even try not to roll her eyes the next time he talked about Quidditch incessantly. “Please Ronnie, this isn't funny! Wake-up!”

Harry pulled her back a bit so he could get closer to Ron. He got on his knees, pulled out his wand from his back jeans pocket, and pointed it at their best friend.

“Ennervate.”

Ron's body seemed to shiver for a moment before he opened his blue eyes and groggily stared at Hermione.

“Scabbers,” he moaned with difficulty.

“Is that his pet name for you in the sack?” Draco snarkily inquired from his place next to the stone gargoyle. “Romantic,” he smugly stated.

“YOU ARSE!” Hermione yelled as she looked over her shoulder at him. “IT'S NOT A PET NAME; IT'S HIS PET'S NAME!”

Harry hovered near Ron, checking him all over for any other bruises or signs of injury. Although Hermione could tell that Harry had been deathly worried for their best friend when they first found him, he had effortlessly slid into his role as leader now.

“Ron, who did this to you?” he asked fiercely as though he were ready to take the offending party down single handedly.

Ron pulled himself into a sitting position, his chin resting on his knees.

“P-Pettigrew,” Ron whispered, voice choked with pain. “Peter P-Pettigrew.”

Hermione quickly looked at Harry and saw the intense fire that had lighted in his eyes the moment they found Ron; now grow into a powerful flame. Pettigrew after all had been his parents' friend; their friend and partial executioner. He was the one who had betrayed the Potters to Voldemort, giving up the secret where the young couple as well as their baby boy had been hiding.

It was also the appropriately nicknamed Wormtail who caused Harry's godfather Sirius to languish in an Azkaban cell for years, accused and believed guilty of the crimes that he had committed himself. If anyone should have been angry and bitter towards Pettigrew is should have been Harry. But when given the chance to have the ultimate revenge on the traitor Harry had chosen the higher road and begged for the pitiful man's life. Of course Harry hadn't been able to look into the future and see Pettigrew's subsequent escape and assistance in bringing Voldemort back into the world, still Harry's act of kindness back then had amazed a young Hermione. Who in this world was that selfless? Who was that goodhearted? If Hermione hadn't been friends with him for nearly three years by that point she would almost think that Harry Potter was too good to be true. These days though, Hermione had to wonder what Harry would do to Wormtail if given a second chance, especially now after this assault on Ron.

“Pettigrew?” Harry asked; a far off look in his eyes.

“He was here?” Hermione asked Ron. “He was here in the castle? Are you sure?”

“Tell me everything that happened?” Harry demanded firmly.

Groggily, and a tad irritably, Ron began to recount to them the tale of how the side of his head met the acquaintance of Wormtail's magical silver fist. Part of his irritation was due to Hermione's attempts to try and heal the rather large, bluish black lump on his head that seemed to be growing by the minute. Being the best friend of the Boy Who Lived in the Infirmary, one would think that Hermione would have known all there was to know about healing charms and spells. But the little feminist in Hermione protested this kind of thinking. Why should she play nursemaid just because she was the female member of the group, she seethed inwardly. Let Ron open up a book for once! If he could memorize by heart the scoring average of the entire British Quidditch league each year, he could learn how to brew up a proper bottle of Pepper Up. But that was as likely to happen as Trelawney correctly predicting whether or not it would rain the next day, she archly conceded.

So Hermione did learn a few of the necessary spells and potions that she felt would come in handy; incantations that would heal cuts, charms that would cool burns, draughts that would either cure your migraine or knock you out long enough that by time you finally came to, your head had stopped pounding. But she only did so grudgingly. That was probably why she was lacking her usual brilliance when performing most healing charms. The fact that Ron wouldn't stay still long enough to let her get his swelling down also did not help matters.

“Dammit, Hermione!” Ron gritted out through his teeth. “THAT HURTS!”

“WELL IF YOU WOULD STOP FIDGETING ABOUT LIKE YOU WERE HOPPED UP ON SUGAR QUILLS, I COULD FIX IT FOR YOU!” she barked back at him, her annoyance making all her vows of a mere minute ago take a running leap out the window.

Malfoy's snort of disgust made her turn to him as he sauntered over to her side.

“Move, Granger,” he pompously sneered as he motioned her out of the way. Hermione haltingly did so, and before she or Harry could do anything to stop him, Malfoy drew his wand on Ron, placed its tip on the injury, and said, “Integrosectum”. Before their eyes the bruise began to go down and Ron's face returned to its natural color.

Although Hermione should have been grateful for Malfoy's surprising, yet helpful assistance, she instinctually knew that he was going to find some way to rub his supposed act of kindness in her face. She knew him pretty well by now. He hadn't helped Ron out of the goodness of his heart. He had only wanted to show her up.

Hermione got up from her position on the floor as Harry began to get the rest of the story out of Ron. Hermione stepped a few paces away and of course the prat took this as an opportunity, while Harry's attention was diverted elsewhere, to annoy the hell out of her.

“Looks like we finally found your Achilles' heel,” he smarmed near her ear. “And I don't mean your boyfriend.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and let out a vexed sigh as she folded her arms in front of her.

“I knew there had to be something you weren't good at, Granger.”

“One or two things, but not much else, Malfoy,” she said crossly, nose upturned. She would have slapped him about the head, but she didn't want her hands to be covered in the gooey hair product he used to slick back his hair.

Malfoy's cold gray eyes raked up and down her for a moment before his face broke out into a smarmy leer that made her skin crawl.

“I'm almost intrigued enough to test out your claim.”

“Eww!” she groaned as she threw her hands in the air in disgust and stomped her way back towards her two best friends, Malfoy's evil sounding chortle following after her.

Malfoy was always saying things like that these days. He lived for getting a rise out of Ron mostly, Harry mainly. As of late, however, she had noticed that Malfoy had begun looking at her with a bit more...interest in his eyes. She would have been lying if she said that some small section of her female vanity wasn't flattered by it. Still she swore if the smug arse even thought of trying something on her she would give his other cheek a good smack to match the one he had received from her back in Third Year when he had taunted and insulted Hagrid so cruelly. As if she would ever allow him touch her. Hmph!

“So tell me again,” she heard Harry say to Ron as she settled at his side and peered down at her boyfriend, “are you sure that you saw Pettigrew?”

Ron moved his head in an up and down motion.

“That's what I'm telling you, Harry. I came looking for you and Hermione. When I didn't find you two back at the suite, I went into your trunk and got out the Marauder's Map. I saw the little Harry and little Hermione dot in with McGonagall, Sinistra...him,” he snarled as he threw Malfoy a nasty glare, “but what I didn't expect to see was the little Peter dot that looked like it was just outside the door.”

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, both of their faces registering shock. Hermione sunk to her knees.

“There's no way we could have missed that,” Harry argued.

Hermione anxiously bit down on her lip.

“If he was in Animagus form we might have,” she said in a weary voice. “He probably even got up the stairs when we went. I bet that's how he got into the castle again.”

She closed her eyes to stop the tears that were about to fall.

“He heard everything!”

“AND WHY NOT?!” Harry shouted harshly as he pitched himself from the ground and began to pace the hall. “Riddle already lost his inside man in Snape,” he proclaimed.

Hermione could feel Malfoy's heated stare at the back of her head, but she ignored this and tried to concentrate on making Ron comfortable where he was.

“Wormtail would make the next best spy, wouldn't he?!” continued Harry. “Riddle just traded in one rat for another.”

“Yes...well...it looks like your div of a best friend let Rat Boy get away,” Malfoy drawled in a bored voice as though he were completely disinterested in the whole drama unfolding before him.

“I DID NOT LET HIM GET AWAY!”

Malfoy's taunt had incensed Ron to the point that the redhead had jumped up, ready to physically strike out at the Slytherin. But he was obviously still woozy from his encounter with the Death Eater, because he shakily slid back to the ground as Hermione tried to keep him calm.

“By time I got over here he was already coming from behind the gargoyle. He wasn't Scabbers by then. I tried to surprise him, throw a Leg Locker at him or something, but...”

Ron paused and swallowed tensely.

“I don't know how to describe it. He threw that...that...hand up in front of him. The spell bounced off and came back at me. I had to drop to the floor to avoid it. That's when my wand slipped from my hand.”

Hermione couldn't control the disappointed groan that escaped from her.

“It rolled to his feet and he scooped it up and pocketed it in his robes. Before I knew what, his fist was coming at my face and then...blackness.”

“Oh Ronnie, if you would have just practiced your non-verbal spells more...”

Malfoy sniggered loftily as he leaned back against the wall. He seemed to find all of this highly entertaining. Hermione was about to toss off a cutting remark to him, but Ron beat her to it. The only problem was that he directed it towards her.

“Yes, yes Hermione, I'm a dumb, stupid git!” he snapped. “I'm already down enough, are you sure you want to keep kicking?!”

Hermione reared back from Ron, shocked at the vitriol in his words. She knew that she was only trying to help him; she wasn't trying to put him down. Why couldn't Ron see that? Why couldn't he and Harry understand that sometimes this was the best way she could show them how much she cared for them and loved them? She was certain she was about to start crying in a matter of seconds.

“He didn't mean it, Hermione.”

Harry had dropped down to Hermione's side. She hadn't noticed him make the move, but there he was, his sad green eyes trying to convey to her that he did understand that she meant no malice by what she said.

“Tell her you didn't mean it, Ron,” he said, a tad shirtilly, to his best mate. Ron, however, turned his head and muttered a few indignant words under his breath.

Seeing that he wasn't going to get the apology he wanted out of him, Harry switched gears.

“Did Pettigrew say anything to you, Ron?” he asked.

Ron looked back at Harry, completely avoiding the miserable expression on Hermione's face.

“He did actually. Something about...about...”

“SPIT IT OUT, MAN!”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sent Malfoy their best death glares.

“MAGGOT FACE, I DID JUST GET MY HEAD BASHED IN! SORRY IF I'M A BIT SLOW AT THE MOMENT.”

The three friends then focused on each other again as Ron said, “Right before I lost consciousness he did spout some nonsense about his master being pleased that the blood traitors had found his toy for him.”

Ron looked between Harry and Hermione who were gaping at each other. The terror filled expression that both wore was not loss on him.

“Then he turned into Scabbers again,” he continued. “What did he mean, Harry?”

As if answering Ron's question, Harry simply said to Hermione, “We have to move now!”

Hermione felt a nervous pull in her stomach at these words. Something in his tone called up memories of their unfortunate trip to the Department of Mysteries, Sirius' subsequent death...her own near fatal injury. For a moment she almost protested.

“Harry...”

Harry's exasperatedly straightened his glasses on his nose as he sternly stared her down.

“We can't wait on the rest of the Order, Hermione. Pettigrew has a head start on us. For all we know Voldemort is already on his way to Boussac.”

“But Harry–” she tried again.

“WHAT?! GOING TO ACCUSE ME OF PLAYING HERO AGAIN?!” he chided her resentfully.

A lone tear fell down her cheek. Hermione simply brushed it off and looked Harry squarely in the eyes.

“I wouldn't do that,” she simply said. “Never again.”

Harry looked completely chastised by her declaration, but before he could open his mouth to offer an apology she cut him off.

“You're right.”

Her response not only stunned him, but seemed to baffle Ron as well.

“I AM?!”

“HE IS?!”

If the situation hadn’t been so dire she might have laughed at their bewildered faces. But time was of the essence and they couldn't spend the rest of the evening lollygagging about.

“We have to be quick about it, though!”

She got up from the floor and Harry followed suit. Both of them reached down to help Ron to his feet.

“We could Apparate,” Ron suggested.

“Yes and splinch ourselves in the process,” she calmly dismissed. “Who here has ever been to Boussac?”

She looked between Harry and Ron as both boys muttered their negative replies to her question.

“Hell, raise it if you've even been to France?”

“Ahem,” called Malfoy from his place on the wall opposite them. His right hand was elegantly raised in the air.

“You would,” Ron enviously grumbled.

“Jealousy doesn't become you, Weasleby. Well,” said Malfoy as he paused, gave Ron a superior once over, and added mockingly, “neither does that head of hair of yours, but I suppose you can't help that.”

Ron made a move to jump at Malfoy, but Harry and Hermione each grabbed an arm to hold him back.

“The Malfoy name is still very powerful in French wizarding circles. I've often visited my cousins at their villa in Provence.”

“Unhappily for us, it looks like they had the good sense to send you packing every time,” Hermione snickered, effectively knocking the conceited, self-satisfied smirk off of the blond's face. Ron looked like he was ready to kiss her for the comment; any hard feelings from before wiped clean in her defense of him.

Harry, however, looked peeved.

“Listen,” she said as she turned her attention back to her boys, “trying to Apparate there would be folly. Besides not knowing exactly where we are going, it also is too far of a distance. We need...we need...”

Hermione desperately tried to wrack her brain to find a solution to their problem. Then the answer seemed to fly out at her all at once.

“That's it!” she beamed as she quickly turned to Harry.

Harry opened his mouth to question her, but she was already ahead of him.

“You and Ron go up to the room and get your brooms,” she instructed them. “Harry, get your invisibility cloak as well as some thick coats for all of us to wear.”

All four of them were dressed simply in jeans and jumpers. The warmth of the castle hardly gave a hint of the true temperature outside. But it was autumn and at night the air was quite nippy. As high up as they were going to be, Hermione figured it might just be near arctic. They were going to need some form of warm clothing and a Heat Spell or two.

“Once you two are done meet us at Hagrid's.”

Hermione then looked at Malfoy.

“You're coming with me,” she said.

She sent both Ron and Harry a look that told them that she was not to be debated on this. She hated to do it, but the boys just might try to kill the Slytherin if she sent him off with them.

She turned and began to walk passed Malfoy. He pushed off from the wall and practically swaggered towards her.

“Trying to get me alone?” he drawled smarmily.

Hermione swung in his direction, ready to change her mind and hex the nose off...or at least give him a good kick in the shins.

“BUGGER THE HELL OFF, MALFOY!”

“Lovely,” he drolled. “Kiss your mum with that mouth?”

“I ALWAYS KNEW YOU HAD A MIND LIKE A SEWER, BUT EVEN I DIDN'T THINK YOU CAPABLE OF THOSE KINDS OF KINKS!”

Hermione and Malfoy were about to turn into the next corridor when she heard Ron say to Harry, “You ever get the impression that when those two get going, they forget that there are others in the room?”

“OH DO SHUT UP, RON!” was the wrathful response that he got.

As Hermione and Malfoy rounded the corner she heard poor Ron's faint voice bewilderedly ask, “But Harry, what did I say?”

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

As Hermione hastened her footsteps towards Hagrid's hut, she had to wonder what foolishness had actually sent her out here, on this chilly October night, without a coat on. She was freezing! She had her arms wrapped around her trying to ward off the chill, but that was of little help. Malfoy, skipping along side her as though it were a sunny summer day, also did little to help matters. He was babbling some nonsense about it being beneath a Malfoy to shiver like a commoner. Idiot! However she knew that she had to take care of a few things before the other two boys showed up.

Once they reached Hagrid's, Hermione went towards the pumpkin patch. She knew that if Hagrid was here he wouldn't mind that she was about to borrow his friend, but the half-giant was off on a rescue mission with most of the other Order members and he wasn't that much of a concern to her at the moment. She came around to where the fence was and found exactly what she had been looking for.

The gray coated creature studied Hermione and Malfoy sharply with its orange colored eyes. Actually it seemed to be paying particular attention to Malfoy as it ruffled its wings menacingly and took a few jerky steps on his hooves towards them and then backed away. The creature clicked his talons together and made a stabbing motion with his steel-colored beak at the air. Hermione, however, knew that there wasn't much to worry about since the animal was tethered to the fence post. At least for now.

As she cautiously inched closer to it, she had to remind herself over and over again that there was nothing for her to be scared of. He would remember her. She prayed that he remembered her. She kept steady eye contact with the creature, and when she reached the point that she felt was close enough, she bowed before the impressive beast. She kept her head down for a mere second or two before she looked back up to see if she should make a run for it. The creature, however, had already sunk to its scaly knee and was standing back up. That's when Hermione exhaled the breath that she hadn't been aware she had been holding.

“You know this chicken?” Malfoy asked obnoxiously from behind her. Hermione could feel the hairs on her neck bristle at the very sound of his voice.

She looked over her shoulder at him and hissed through clenched teeth, “Yes, as do you. So if you don't want to spend the rest of the evening picking your entrails from out the grass, I suggest you bow.”

Taking the threat in her voice to heart, Malfoy looked straight into the hippogriff's eyes and bowed slowly. For a moment the hippogriff regarded Malfoy with an odd tilt to its head. Hermione quickly searched her memory for a spell that was strong enough to incapacitate a full grown hippogriff long enough so she could get Malfoy away from the pen. Really she shouldn't have been so surprised should she? Hippogriffs ate ferrets after all. But before she could settle on what to do, the hippogriff repeated the same bow for Malfoy that it gave her, then straightened.

“Fuck all!” Malfoy harshly whispered in a strained voice.

Hermione glanced at him again and saw the recognition that was in his eyes.

“I thought this...this...thing had escaped.”

Hermione smiled at him with a gleeful smugness that surprised even herself, before she turned and faced the hippogriff.

“You thought wrong. Witherwings, meet Malfoy.”

She looked back at the boy behind her.

“Malfoy, meet Witherwings. Or as his friends like to call him...Buckbeak.”

Hermione had no idea that Malfoy's pale, pinched face could lose even more color. She almost reveled in his fright.

“That...that...beast was supposed to be destroyed for what it did to me!” spluttered Malfoy as he looked at Buckbeak hostilely. He was smart enough to take a few steps back, though.

Approaching Buckbeak with a bit more confidence now, Hermione reached out a hand to pat his beak. He allowed her to do so and closed his eyes in pleasure.

“Aww, Malofy, what's the matter?” she cooed in a mellow tone used to soothe the hippogriff and mock the blond. “Disappointed that you didn't get everything you ever wanted from your daddy?”

It wasn’t until the final word had left her lips that Hermione realized what she had said. She might dislike Malfoy...greatly, she might think that he deserved to be taken down a few pegs or ten, but this all did not merit the nasty manner in which she had taunted him about his father. In her opinion Lucius Malfoy was a heartless fiend who she hoped, if there was any justice in this world, was in Hell getting sunburn. But he was Malfoy's father and she knew that the teen still mourned his passing. If he loved his dad even a fraction as much as Hermione adored and treasured her own father, she knew that her low blow had been uncalled for. Hermione had to wonder what changes this war was making in her for her to say something so hateful.

“I'm sorry, Malfoy. That was uncalled for” she apologized as she made her way back to him.

Malfoy preferred to not look at her and kept his eyes on the grass.

“I shouldn't have said it,” continued Hermione. “I guess...I guess I just got carried away.”

“Whatever,” he sullenly mumbled, still avoiding her eyes.

She hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze of comfort.

“I am truly sorry,” she said again. “I mean it.”

This time Malfoy only nodded his head.

“WHAT'S GOING ON HERE?!”

Startled, Hermione took a step back from Malfoy and pulled her hand from him as though she had been burned. Both she and Malfoy turned to see Harry and Ron trudging their way towards them, both of their arms laden down with items. Hermione couldn't understand why she felt so rattled by Harry's accusing tone. She hadn't been doing anything to warrant the fishy look that he was giving her and the Slytherin. All she was doing was standing in the middle of a pumpkin patch with a hippogriff and a Ferret. What the hell did he think she was doing?

“Yeah Hermione, what's going on?” asked Ron suspiciously as he eyed Malfoy up and down.

“Nothing!” she stated righteously.

She then looked to Harry.

“Did you get everything I told you to get?”

Harry stared at her then at Malfoy a moment longer before answering.

“We did, but...” he began, then paused as though trying to figure out the best way to phrase what he wanted to say. He rubbed unconsciously at the back of his neck. “Help me out here, Hermione,” he continued. “Merlin knows that you've been saying and doing some things lately that have been confusing the hell out of me ever since...”

...you drank out of that Cup. Harry didn't bother to finish the sentence, but they all knew that was what he was thinking.

“But...um...aren't you afraid of flying?” he finished as he looked at her, uncertainty in his eyes. It had been obvious that flying to Boussac had been part of Hermione's intention all along.

“More like afraid of falling,” she said as she walked towards him and Ron and took a winter jacket from each of them. She turned to hand one to Malfoy and began to put the other one on. “But right now we have to fly. It's the quickest way.”

Ron came up beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Don't worry about it, Hermione,” he said reassuringly. “As long as you hold on tight to me, you have nothing to fear.”

For a moment Hermione just gaped at him, unsure of how to explain to him that what he was suggesting was not part of the plan. Ironically it was Malfoy who helped her do so.

“I'M NOT RIDING WITH HIM!” he shouted as he pointed a finger in Harry's direction.

Before Hermione could yell at the prat for being such a childish oaf, Harry raised his own finger at him.

“HE'S NOT RIDING WITH ME!”

“Unless Potter here buys me dinner and takes me dancing first, none of my bits are rubbing up against any of his!”

“SHUT UP, MALFOY!” shouted the Trio in unison.

Malfoy was of course broomless. The night that Hogwarts was breached he didn't have time to retrieve his precious Nimbus. He probably assumed that he and the Death Eaters would have come out of the mêlée victorious so he didn't have to worry about it. Once aligning himself with the Order, he had the opportunity to use any one of the school issue brooms that Madame Hooch kept locked up, but when Hermione had once suggested this to him he sniffed scornfully at the suggestion. A Malfoy wouldn't be caught dead riding a Shooting Star, he arrogantly informed her.

Hermione rolled her eyes and huffed out a weary sigh.

“Look, if it's such a big deal, Malfoy can ride on Buckbeak,” she said as she gestured towards the hippogriff.

Malfoy balked at the suggestion.

“NOT ON YOUR LIFE! ARE YOU MAD?! THAT THING...”

He paused, realizing that his voice was carrying, and that Buckbeak had suddenly found him interesting again.

“That thing has already tried to kill me,” he spat in a hushed whisper. “If you think–”

“Buckbeak wouldn't try to kill me, would he?” she asked, cutting off the rest of his ceaseless whinging. He stopped short to look at her. “You'll be riding with me,” she said.

“Well I guess I can make the sacrifice,” he sniffed haughtily.

Harry and Ron, however, did not take this news as lightly as he did.

“Hell no!” Harry very firmly informed her.

Before she could respond to that, Ron got in on the act.

“There's no way I'm letting Malfoy get that close to you,” he said. “HE MIGHT TRY TO KNOCK YOU OFF!”

“HEY!” exclaimed an insulted Malfoy.

“I FORBID IT!” said Ron.

Hermione's eyes seemed to outgrow her face as she turned on him, hands placed firmly on her hips and seethed, “YOU...FORBID...IT?!”

She couldn't believe that Ron actually had the audacity to say such a thing to her! Just because they were together that didn't give him the right to order her to do anything. She was about to pull out her wand and show Ron just what she thought of him asserting his “manly” authority, when Harry grabbed one of her arms and pulled her a few steps away from the other two, nearer to Buckbeak.

“I think we're being grossly unfair to Granger here,” Malfoy called after them right before Ron stepped in front of him and began calling him every name in his arsenal. Malfoy matched him insult for insult.

Both boys were so wrapped up in their war of words that they completely ignored Harry and Hermione. Harry quickly bowed before Buckbeak and the hippogriff wasted no time bowing back. He and Harry were old friends after all. Harry approached the hippogriff and gave him an affectionate pat to the head. Buckbeak playfully nudged him. Harry continued to stroke the hippogriff as he focused his attention on Hermione.

“I don't like this at all,” Harry told her.

“And you think I do?” she asked.

When Harry didn't answer her, she changed tactics.

“Harry, if Malfoy and I ride along with you and Ron, where do we put Boadicea?”

He resolutely sighed signaling that she had got her point across.

“I have an idea,” Harry said loudly, drawing the attention of the other two boys back to him and Hermione. “Ron, you take my broom,” he said looking at his friend. “Malfoy can ride yours. I'll ride with Hermione.”

Hermione could only wonder at Harry's insistence that Malfoy get nowhere near her. Did he think she couldn't take care of herself? Although it warmed her at times to know that he was so protective of her, she couldn't help the irritation that bubbled up inside whenever he and Ron treated her like some...some...girl. Hermione also didn't care for the idea of being so close to Harry for what would be an extended period of time. Hermione didn't think her sanity could take it, much less her heart.

Like herself, Malfoy didn't seem too enamored of the plan. Then again he had totally different reasons why.

“A Malfoy wouldn't sully himself with an inferior broom bought secondhand,” he obnoxiously told them. Ron's ears went red at the slam.

Harry positioned himself right in front of the jerk. Their noses were almost touching.

“A Malfoy is going to be sitting in the dust alone in the dark if he doesn't shut the hell up!” he coldly informed the Slytherin. Before the two of them could come to blows, Ron spoke up.

“Don't...d-don't you th-think,” he began haltingly as Harry turned his green, lamp-like eyes on him, causing him to falter at first. He had to steel himself with nerve just to continue. “I mean, shouldn't I be the one to ride with Hermione, Harry?”

Hermione’s fuse was getting shorter and shorter by the second. Did these prats forget that she was standing right there? They were acting like she was some battered old quill that could be passed back and forth between them. Because she was too busy being huffy about the ill-treatment she felt she was receiving, she hardly noticed the peculiar expression that passed quickly over Harry's face.

“You're right, Ron,” Harry said calmly. “You are her boyfriend.”

Hermione pursed her lips at the sentiment.

“Be my guest,” Harry said as he looked between Ron and Buckbeak.

Ron's eyes left Harry's face and goggled at the hippogriff. Although he had helped feed and tend to the animal before, back when Sirius and Buckbeak were hiding out at number twelve, Ron had never considered actually riding the creature. He loved to fly, but racing brooms were more his speed. Brooms did not have the tendency to gut you if they were feeling fussy.

As the redhead took a timid step towards Buckbeak, he nervously swallowed and blinked. Buckbeak reared up on his hind legs and came crashing down hard with a thud. Ron scurried backwards to where Malfoy was standing.

“On second thought...” he managed to squeak out as he threw his Cleensweep at Malfoy and grabbed Harry's broom from him.

For once Malfoy couldn't muster a snide insult. Even he must have been aware of the hypocrite he would have looked like if he had.

“So what's the plan?” asked the blond instead. “Grab the barmy old crow and run?”

In answer, a dark figure stepped out from behind a wide oak tree nearby.

“Sounds like fun,” she said mirthfully. “Can anyone join?”

Nymphadora Tonks made her way from the edge of the woods that surrounded Hagrid's hut, dressed in her scarlet colored work robes. From the neck down she looked all business, an Auror who was not to be messed with. But the look of amusement on her heart shaped face, coupled with the peppermint green color of her hair, almost negated the fact.

“Tonks!” Hermione gasped.

“I've never met a witch who was more commitment-phobic about a hair color,” Malfoy drawled in disgust.

Tonks brought her delighted attention towards him and smiled jovially.

“Hi'ya, cuz!”

Malfoy snorted. He and Tonks had been at odds for the last few weeks. When he had first joined the Order he ignored her and acted as if they weren't related at all. He would constantly make comments about her appearance, her lack of coordination, and her boyfriend. In retaliation Tonks took great enjoyment out of publicly reminding him at every turn that their mothers were sisters, thus they both swam in the same genetic pool.

Then one night during an impromptu party to celebrate the Headmistress’ 72^nd birthday it looked like Malfoy had decided to make friends with his first cousin at last. They had been drinking out of two mysterious goblets and singing a few Weird Sisters’ songs together. No one really seemed to pay much attention to this odd occurrence. Just about everyone had been in a good mood that night actually, most of them coming to the conclusion that if this were going to be their last year on this planet, they wouldn't let a single occupant of the castle have a birthday without some fanfare.

That night in the Great Hall Hermione had been positioned in a corner with Ron's arms wrapped about her shoulders as he and Harry passed a bottle of Killerman's between them. She had wanted to scold them both soundly, but Harry's long face stopped any nagging words that might have come from her mouth. He must miss Ginny dreadfully, her melancholy thoughts told her. These same thoughts almost dulled her to the rest of the goings-ons of the room; McGonagall laughing flirtatiously at a joke Charlie was telling her, Professor Flitwick looking skeptically at a plate of treacle fudge that Hagrid was offering, and Ron whispering feverish pleas to go off somewhere, while hiccupping, in her ear.

But even Hermione couldn't miss it when Draco Malfoy jumped up on one of the long House tables and began performing a dance that looked rather like the Macarena, in Hermione's opinion, before their very startled eyes. What they wouldn't find out later until Tonks told them was that she had secretly slipped a bit of Scintallation Solution into Malfoy's goblet of mead. The brew caused the drinker to be the life of the party. And make an arse of themselves obviously, Hermione reckoned. Thinking that the grumpy Slytherin needed to loosen up, Tonks considered herself doing a kindness for a beloved family member. Malfoy tried to avoid her as much as he could after the incident.

“So, what are my little charges up to this fine evening, hmm?” she playfully asked as she looked back and forth between all of them.

“We...er...” sputtered Harry.

“Well Tonks, it’s like this...you see...” chimed in Ron.

Malfoy scoffed disgustedly at their attempts to try to get one over on the Auror.

“You lot can't lie for shite.”

Hermione, ignoring Malfoy's crack, stepped towards Tonks purposefully, shoulders set.

“I'm going to be straight with you, Tonks, because we've already lost enough time,” Hermione said to her. “Remember that thing Voldemort was looking for?”

Tonks nodded her head affirmatively and Hermione continued.

“Well it was actually a person and we think we know where she is.”

“Blimey!” was all that Tonks said in shocked answer.

“But the thing of it is, Voldemort might now know where she is too.”

Hermione then quickly filled her in on the whole Wormtail situation.

“We can't wait for the Order,” she explained as she tried her best to express to Tonks why the four of them had to make a move now. “We have got to get there first. And...” Hermione swallowed as she pulled her wand out of her jeans pocket and held it on Tonks in desperation. The three boys’ simultaneous intake of breath sounded like a bomb had gone off. “And I won't allow you to stop us,” Hermione continued, her brave words sounding false, even in her own ears. “I'll hex you if I have to.”

She stiffly lifted her chin.

Pleasedon'tcallmybluff. Pleasedon'tcallmybluff. Pleasedon'tcallmybluff.

Tonks eyed the young girl up and down, sizing up her supposed opponent. Although she could tell that Hermione didn't want to go to the extreme measure of threatening her, if push came to shove she wasn't so sure that the teen wouldn't actually follow through with her threat. Tonks couldn't help but admire that kind of pluck.

“I believe you,” she said, not even blinking an eye.

The simple statement seemed to rattle Hermione and for a moment her wand arm wavered. But the honesty in Tonks' words made her slip her wand back into her pocket.

“Besides, who said I was going to stop you?”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron looked between each other; shock registering on their faces.

“You're not?” Ron asked.

“But aren't you supposed to be spying on me?” Harry asked, his accusation coming off somewhat bitterly. “Making sure I don't do something brash and stupid, right?”

Tonks impishly grinned.

“I believe Remus' exact words were, 'keep an eye on him'. He never said where I was supposed to keep an eye on you, though. So I'm coming with.”

The Trio was completely bowled over by her announcement. Hermione tried to form several sentences and failed. By Ron's befuddled expression one would have thought he had entered his bedroom only to find the NEWTs examination board waiting. Poor Harry just seemed exhausted. Only Malfoy looked as though nothing his cousin could say would ever really surprise him.

“If you lot tell me this is important then I believe you,” Tonks clarified. “I recognize the fact that you aren't children anymore, and I don't think you deserve to be treated like you are. You're Order members. Merlin knows you all have gone through more than anyone your age has a right to. When I was 17 all I had to worry about was whether or not Charlie would ask me out for a Hogsmeade trip.”

Ron's mouth fell open at the admission.

“You fancied Charlie?”

“Madly!” Tonks exclaimed. “But he went for the pretty, witty types, while I had a hard enough time not tripping over my toes,” she chuckled. “Luckily Remus finds it cute.”

“The klutz and the lycanthrope; a fairytale love story for the ages,” Malfoy annoyingly grumbled.

Tonks heard him and sauntered over to where he was standing, a great big smile plastered on her face.

“Since I left my broom at the castle I guess I'll just have to ride along with you, Angelface.”

Malfoy grimaced.

“Goodie.”

“Y-yes...w-well...” stuttered Hermione trying her best to regain her composure, “now that we've settled the seating arrangements I think our best bet is to get on our way. It's going to be a long trip.”

Ron rubbed at his stomach forlornly.

“We're going to need to head south first and then...and then I guess once we get near Central France we could ask for directions.”

For the first time Hermione began to sound a little unsure about the project.

“I think if any Death Eaters were looking for us they would expect us to go that route,” Tonks said. “We might try going over the Atlantic and then hooking a left.”

Hermione's throat went dry at the thought of flying over all of that water. Maybe she could handle flying with Harry after all.

“I...I...I...”

“Granger, your yapping is wearing on me,” Malfoy said dismissively as he trudged up towards her, took a shiny gold object out of his pocket, and tossed it at her.

Hermione caught the object before it beaned her on the head, and took a good look at it.

“A compass?” she asked anemically. Then she opened the golden object and gasped.

“Gee Malfoy, there's a little spell called Point Me. Ever hear of it?” Ron smugly asked as he and Harry traded superior smiles.

“You idiots!” rebuked Malfoy harshly. “That is a Psychopompus.”

“The guider of the lost,” Hermione whispered in awe.

Inside of the compass-like casing, instead of the usual arrow and lettering, a tiny red ball of energy floated. The ball was no bigger than a large pebble, but it pulsed and throbbed like a living organism.

“It can find any thing, any one, any place; even if it's unplottable.”

Malfoy's little curio rendered Hermione speechless. She had read about the Psychopompus, but never dreamed that she would actually hold one in her hands one day.

Nearly 2000 years ago, in the ancient and doomed city of Pompeii lived a priestess of the fire God, Vulcan. Her name was Trivia and she was a witch. Trivia was also what was called an Imbuer. She had the ability to cull magical energy from its unknown source and infuse it into objects to create powerful relics. It was an incredible power that came with a huge cost. Each time she used it she took years off of her own life. But it was no matter to Trivia, she knew that her destiny would end in ashes.

Trivia had three sons; Evander, Latinus, and her favored child that was consecrated to her God, Mulciber. On the eve of her death she gave each young boy a Psychopompus she had fashioned for them. Inside the Psychopompi she placed what remained of her magical essence. She told them that they were to flee the city and that they should use the Psychopompi to take them wherever they most wanted to go. All they had to do was tell the ornament what they were looking for, and the Psychopompus would lead them straight to it.

Latinus chose to find power. He settled in Albion, what would one day be England, and became the lord of a great tribe. Evander chose to find his heart. He eventually wound up on an island in Oceania, the husband of many wives. Mulciber, however, refused to leave his mother's side. The next day was the Vulcanalia and he and his mother went to the temple to preside over the burnt sacrifices offered on the feast day as they normally did. However that year there would be no festival. Vulcan chose to claim all of Pompeii as his sacrifice instead.

Whatever became of Trivia and her son was never really known. Some say that Vulcan took pity on his beloved priestess and changed her and her son into cormorants. But others believed that Trivia and Mulciber used the last bit of her magic that she stashed in his Psychopompus and disappeared from this world, never to be seen again.

For years many a witch and wizard hoped to find one of the remaining two Psychopompi which had fallen into legend. Some said that Merlin had been in possession of one. Countless great explorers through out history were accused of using a Psychopompus to direct them to new lands and discoveries. Hermione had even read once that Albus Dumbledore was believed to have one hidden somewhere in Hogwarts. Then again Professor Dumbledore had also been rumored to have a scar above his knee that resembled a map of the Underground. Hermione used to think that story was as much twaddle as the Psychopompus, then Draco Malfoy practically dropped the magical object in her lap.

“You've had this all this time?” Harry tersely asked Malfoy.

The blond pompously lifted his chin in the air and sneered, “How do you think I found Durmstrang?”

“WE COULD HAVE USED THIS THING TO FIND ALL OF THE HORCRUXES BY NOW!”

Once again Hermione felt that pulse of energy coming from Harry. He was incensed!

“Couldn't have expected everything to be handed to you, now could you, Potter?”

Malfoy was sneering at the black haired boy contemptuously, but Hermione hadn't missed the first expression that had flickered over his face. Astonishment. Malfoy hadn't withheld the Psychopompus from them out of spite, he simply hadn't thought of using it for that purpose. And to think he had been a pretty good student in school! They should have thrown him back to the Death Eaters, let them suffer!

Harry seemed to bristle at the answer. But before he could start an argument with him, Malfoy walked over to Hermione and lifted the Psychopompus out of her hand.

“All you need to do is tell it who or where or what you are looking for. The more specific you are the better. Like this,” Malfoy said as he concentrated on the small ball of energy. “Regosi Rexia.”

At these words the little red ball turned blue.

“Take me to...” he said, pausing to look at the faces surrounding him. As his gaze settled on Harry, an evil and malicious smile coiled itself on his lips. “Take me to the nearest virgin.”

The blue ball of energy began to softly hum and sprang into life. But before it could get very far, Hermione snatched the Psychopompus out of Malfoy's hand and snapped the little ball back into its case. However it had been plainly obvious to all what direction the Psychopompus was heading in. If Malfoy's laughter hadn't given the fact away, Harry's very pink cheeks would have.

“Knew it,” the git smarmed.

“YOU ARE SUCH AN ODIOUS LITTLE PYGMY TROLL!” Hermione retorted as she restrained herself from slapping the bastard and stamped away from him instead. She tried to ignore the eyes on the back of her head that she somehow instinctually knew belonged to Harry.

She went to the rope that tethered Buckbeak to the fence and unknotted it. Next she untied the rope from Buckbeak's neck and was preparing to mount him when she suddenly saw his head snap back. The quick movement unsettled her at first until she realized that the hippogriff had the bloody carcass of a ferret in his beak. She couldn't stop herself from smirking at the image. As the hippogriff bent down to finish his snack, she turned around to find Harry standing close by. The smile slowly faded from her lips.

“I figured Buckbeak would like a treat before we got on our way,” was all he said. Hermione curtly nodded her head.

The air of awkwardness that lay between them was palpable. Malfoy's little prank had opened up a can of flobberworms that she preferred to not dwell on. She used to think that she didn't want Harry to know what all went on between her and Ron because she didn't want him to feel lonely and excluded. But now you know different don't you, she downheartedly told herself.

Hermione tried to focus her attention on anything but Harry's eyes. She glanced over to her right to see Ron and Malfoy bickering while an amused Tonks watched. Before she could walk over to see what the trouble was, she heard Harry softly call her name. She looked back to see that he had already mounted Buckbeak and was offering his hand to her to give her a lift up. Hermione tentatively took it and felt herself effortlessly raised up and placed in front of her best friend.

Once the other three members of their party realized that Harry and Hermione were ready to go, they all prepared to lift off on their respective brooms. Malfoy and Ron awaited the signal; Harry and Hermione were going to go in the lead. Harry gave a gentle nudge with his right foot to Buckbeak's hindquarters and the hippogriff unfurled his wings. It scratched at the ground for a moment before taking a running start, then soaring into the sky.

“Hermione?” she heard Harry's worried voice call to her. At the time it sounded a bit muffled, but that was only because she had her face pressed firmly into Buckbeak's feathers. Her eyes were closed, and she held the poor hippogriff in a death lock about the neck.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Harry asked; his question almost drowned out by the wind.

Hermione turned her head as much as she could and tried her best to look over her shoulder at Harry.

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“It's just that...well…you screamed.”

Hermione's cheeks would have turned pink if that weren't already that color due to the cold. She hadn't even been aware that she had made a sound.

“Force of habit I guess,” she sheepishly replied with a tiny smile.

She sat up as straight as she could muster and held the Psychopompus before her. She opened the clasp and watched as the little red ball hovered up.

“Regosi Rexia…”

The ball glowed blue.

“Take me to the Monastère Sainte Claire in Boussac,” she said to it as it began to hum and float off before them. Harry placed his hands around her so he could get a good hold on Buckbeak to steer him. Hermione sat up, steel spined, so that she wouldn't involuntarily brush up against him. Both of their eyes were focused on the blue orb in front of them. They flew like this through the night sky for a good length of time, neither saying anything to the other. Hermione had no clue as to what Harry's thoughts could be, but all she hoped was that he didn't ask her any questions about her and Ron that Malfoy's childish stunt might have brought up. By the way that Hermione's stomach was churning; she just didn't think she had the strength to handle it if he did. Not at this height at least.

“Uh, Hermione?” Harry's voice sounded nervous and uncertain in her ear.

Circe!

“Yes Harry?”

She figured that she sounded no better than him.

“You could...um...I mean, if you want, you can lean back against me. You know, so you aren't uncomfortable or anything.”

Thank Merlin!

“Oh. Ok then. Thank you, Harry.”

That hadn't been what she expected him to say, but for this she was thankful. Truth be told, Hermione had been feeling rather stiff and uncomfortable sitting so straight and upright for so long.

She cautiously lay back against Harry and he instantly guided one of his hands to her hip. A burst of warmth seemed to fill her through out. She sighed. Although she knew the move was done to keep a good and steady hold on her, she couldn't help the emotional flutterings in her stomach that it produced. Normally she would have chastised herself for being such a silly goose, but for once she decided to just live in the one moment. Harry was always being such a good friend to her; looking after her, protecting her, taking care of her. It wasn't his fault that she felt things for him that she shouldn't. He wasn't to blame for the complications that she was introducing into all of their lives. He couldn't help it if he would never look at her the way that she looked at him. But high up in the sky, amongst the clouds, she could pretend that none of that existed. Up here there was no boyfriend whose heart she could break. Up here there was no girl for him to go home to. Up here it was just Harry and Hermione.

And she could pretend.

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

“I still think we should have gone with the ones I transfigured.”

“Nuns don't dress like that anymore, Tonks.”

“But I saw it in a film once. There were nuns and Nazis, people dressed up in tacky curtains...and singing! Although that was the part that was confusing.”

“It was a musical and that film is over thirty years old, Tonks.”

“Well how was I supposed to know that?”

Hermione shook her head wearily. She was tired to the bone, they still hadn't found Boadicea, and Tonks was chatting and chirping away as though they were on a picnic instead of a grave, secret mission. Sometimes Hermione found it hard to believe that the woman was actually an Auror. Though her wand work couldn't be denied, Hermione had practiced dueling with her before and had received a nice set of boils on her forehead to prove it; she still wondered if Tonks ever took anything seriously. Besides Professor Lupin, that is.

Like when they first touched down in front of the cloister. It was decided that she and Tonks, being the women in the group, would sneak into the nunnery and look for DuManoir. The boys would stay outside and act as their look-outs. Before the dust had settled from that decision, Tonks had already pulled out her wand and transfigured her robes and Hermione's clothes into a proper nun's habit; a proper nun from the 1800's. The long black tunic, the scapular, the white bib, cap, and various veils and under veils; it had all been way too much. The boys had practically rolled around in the grass, laughing at the two of them when Tonks was done. Tonks seemed to think the whole thing jolly fun as well.

Hermione had threatened each boy that she would hex off something that they would be sure to miss if they didn't knock it off. She then promptly changed her and Tonks’ costumes into outfits that were more modern and serviceable. They were disguised as novitiates in simple black skirts and blouses with a white veil over their hair. She asked the boys how they looked. Malfoy told her that the skirt made her look fat. Harry and Ron had to physically restrain her when she made to tear him limb from limb.

After using her wand to get into the cloister, Hermione took out the Psychopompus and told it to lead them to DuManoir. Tonks carried Harry's invisibility cloak in her arms. As far as they knew, they had miraculously gotten there before the Death Eaters. Surely there would have been a dark mark above the monastery if they hadn't.

After descending a long flight of stairs that seemed to go on forever, they found themselves tip-toeing through what appeared to be a secretly hidden, underground chamber.

“Are you sure it was such a good idea giving your wand to Ron?”

“Yes, we needed a clear cover,” Tonks said from beside her. “We couldn't leave him out there defenseless. If something were to happen he would be a sitting duck other wise.”

Hermione guessed she could see the sense in that.

“Besides, I don't think I have much to worry about with you leading the way,” Tonks continued airily. “You're pretty sharp with a wand. I've seen the security crystal captures of that night at the Department of Mysteries. You'd make a pretty good Auror one day.”

Hermione's brow knitted as she turned to look at Tonks.

“But I got hit!”

“And?” asked Tonks. “I did too. It happens. I still think you would be brilliant. I could see you and Harry making quite the team.”

At the comment, Hermione bristled. What the hell was Tonks getting at? What was she trying to imply?

“Why me and Harry?” she asked a tad briskly. “Why not me and Ron?”

Tonks seemed to stew on the question for a bit before innocently saying, “Dunno. Ron wants to be an Auror?”

Hermione sighed. Of course Tonks wasn't trying to insinuate anything.

“No,” she simply said in answer.

As of late, Ron had been talking about his future plans, their future plans, a lot. He had already constructed huge castles in the sky for them where she was his wife and he was something amazing, he just hadn't quite figured out what yet. She did know that he had long ago put away any ideas about being an Auror. He often said that once the War was over all he wanted was his girl and his broom and he would be happy. His blue eyes would always take on a bright, giddy glow whenever he told her about these dreams of his. And her heart would always feel like someone was squeezing the pulp out of it.

“Well I see Ron going for something flashy. Something to make him stand out from the rest of the redheads,” Tonks said as they began to follow the little blue ball down a narrow hall. “Now that cousin of mines on the other hand...”

Tonks almost hooted at Hermione's stunned expression.

“Draco Malfoy? An Auror?”

“He has pretty good natural instincts.”

“Honestly,” Hermione dismissively said as she rolled her eyes. “Draco Malfoy would have to care about someone other than himself for that to ever happen.”

Tonks softly chuckled.

“Aww...Angelface can't help the way he was raised. I almost feel sorry for him in that regard.”

“Yes, but he can help the person he's going to become. You know the saying; the pumpkin doesn't roll far from the patch. All of his family members are monsters.”

Hermione paused to look at Tonks.

“Present company excluded, of course.”

Tonks laughed.

“Besides he can't be an Auror. He'd be a liability. Every dark wizard would smell all the product in his hair coming a mile away.”

Tonks nodded her head sadly. “True. And it would be such lovely hair without all of that goop,” she said fondly.

“You almost sound like you have a crush,” Hermione said wryly, looking at Tonks from out the corner of her eye. They had just made a sharp left only to end up in another narrow corridor.

“Well I'm not blind!” she exclaimed. “If I was a bit younger I wouldn't mind kissing that cousin. What about you?”

“Pardon me; I think I vomited a bit in my mouth.”

Tonks laughed outright at the comment and Hermione had to remind her to be quiet. She was acting as though they were at a sleepover giggling over which boy they fancied.

“What about Harry?”

Hermione's footsteps halted and she turned around to face Tonks fully. Tonks paused as well.

“What about Harry?” Hermione cautiously asked.

“You think he might become an Auror?”

Hermione mulled over the question for a moment before continuing on in the direction they had been going. Tonks followed suit. They were just in time to see the Psychompus make a right around a corner and hurried along after it.

“I don't know,” she finally said in answer, her voice sounding almost lifeless. “Harry used to talk about it, his future. But he doesn't much anymore.”

Hermione's eyes began to burn just thinking about this.

“He has these dreams you see. Sometimes I get the feeling that he doesn't even think he'll have a future.”

Tonks seemed oblivious to Hermione's misery.

“Well I bet there's a certain red haired girl who could convince him otherwise,” she said cheerily.

Hermione turned her sad brown eyes towards Tonks and frowned.

“What?”

Tonks smiled brightly.

“Ginny,” she replied as though it were the most obvious answer in the world. “I saw the way the two of them were huddled up at the funeral. Almost gave me the habdabs actually, thought that Lily and James were back from the dead.”

Tonks chuckled, but when she caught a glimpse of Hermione's mournful expression she muted her gaiety. The girl obviously didn't find the humor in what she said at all.

“Sorry,” she offered. “Tact was never my strong suit. As I was saying,” she continued, “all he has to remember is that he has that waiting for him and Harry should perk right up.”

Tonks then winked conspiratorially at Hermione. Hermione smiled back at her weakly. It was all she could do other than run her own head into the wall over and over again. Luckily, before she could give herself a nasty case of brain damage, they came before a door and the Psychopompus ceased humming and turned red again. Hermione took out its case and trapped it back inside of it.

“Oh look, we're here,” Hermione drolled as she placed her hand on the doorknob and gave it a turn.

It was locked so she pointed her wand at it and smiled when she heard the familiar click that meant she could go in. Once again she turned the knob, and as it gave way, she gently pushed open the door and made her way into the small, sparse room. It was almost like a cell. There was no hint of ornamentation anywhere, just a small cot and a stone floor. She'd expected it to be dark, but surprisingly enough the room was all aglow from the light of over a dozen lanterns. Hermione thought their presence was quite odd for such a late hour, but then she looked towards the window, at the room's only occupant, and all thoughts of what was odd and what was queer left her.

The girl looked to be about 17 or 18 years old and was dressed almost similarly as they were. Her long ebony hair hung well passed her shoulders in waves. She stared out at them with unblinking, violet colored eyes and seemed to tilt her head as if to test if they were really there or just figments of her imagination. A set of full, thick lips sat under a nose only Modigliani could have painted. She had a round face with dimpled cheeks. This, added with all of her other more mature features, would have given her appearance a certain little girl adorableness if only there had been some sort of expression on the face. Instead she was giving them her best impression of a blank slate and for what it was worth, it unnerved Hermione greatly.

“I think that thing is broken,” Tonks whispered near her ear, in reference to the Psychopompus.

Hermione never took her eyes off the girl.

“I don't think it is,” she whispered back as her eyes drifted upwards and settled on the hairpin fixed in the girl's hair.

Hermione took a few nervous steps forward and asked, “B-Boadicea?”

The sound of the name finally culled an emotion from the girl. Fear.

“Oui. Qui est vous? QU'EST-CE QUE VOUS VOULEZ?!” she screeched, her panicked eyes looking back and forth between Hermione and Tonks.

“Son of a bitch!” Tonks swore. “I thought this one was supposed to be Sinistra's age,” Tonks said as she came fully into the room and closed the door behind her.

Hermione turned to look at her companion.

“She is,” she answered her.

“SON OF A BITCH!” was all Tonks could manage again.

“QUI EST VOUS?! QUI EST VOUS?!” Boadicea demanded over and over again.

Her cries were so loud that Hermione quickly pointed her wand at the door and placed a silencing charm on it. Boadicea, who hadn't noticed the wand before, went wild eyed at the sight of it now.

“VOUS N'ÊTES PAS CENSÉES ÊTRE ICI!”

“Shouldn't she speak English? Didn't she go to Hogwarts?” Tonks bewilderedly asked. “What is she saying?”

“At first she wanted to know who we were and what we wanted,” Hermione said as she took a few cautious steps towards the girl. “Now she says we shouldn't be here. I don't think she speaks English anymore.”

But for some odd reason Hermione couldn't shake the feeling that DuManoir still understood it. Instead of thinking on that further, Hermione tried to calm Boadicea down.

“Je suis Hermione,” she said as she placed her hand on her chest. “Et voici Tonks .” She pointed back at the Auror, then turned back towards the young girl. “Nous sommes des amies. We're friends.” Hermione held a hand out slowly to her.

Boadicea looked at Hermione suspiciously before scurrying to her little cot in the corner of the room and sitting on it.

“QUE VOULEZ VOUS?!”

Hermione wracked her brain for the best way to explain to the girl what was going on.

“Nous allons vous porter d’ici,” answered Hermione slowly. “We've come to take you away from this place.”

At this statement Boadicea's alarm seemed to vanish and she slowly rose up from the cot. A ghost of a smile danced on her lips before she questioned sweetly, “Tom?”

Merlin! Sweet Circe! Dear merciful God in Heaven!

“Est-il venu pour moi?” asked Boadicea.

She wanted to know if Tom had finally come for her. All these years she must have stood at that window and waited for the day when Tom Riddle would come and take her away, Hermione achingly thought. Boadicea was still in love with him. Even after everything he had done to her, she still loved him. Even after he had cast her aside. To her mind she still belonged to Tom Riddle, time had changed nothing for DuManoir. In fact, it would seem that time had somehow managed to stand still for her. Now she was prepared to go back to the love of her life, and Hermione could not allow that to happen.

“Tom?” she asked again, hope brimming in her eyes.

Hermione nodded her head bravely and smiled kindly at the girl.

“Oui. Nous te conduirons à lui,” Hermione told her.

Boadicea let out a jubilant cry before pitching herself into Hermione's arms and hugging her tightly. She began spinning the both of them around like they were children. Her laughter filled the room.

“What just happened here? What did you say to her?” asked Tonks. She couldn't make heads or tails of the situation.

“It doesn't matter,” Hermione said assertively.

She pulled Boadicea along with her towards the door.

“We just need to get out of here now!”

Just one lie; that was all it was. Just one lie. It was a lie for a good reason. That's all it was. It was for a good reason. That's all it was!

Hermione's hand was on the door knob when all of a sudden she heard a loud thud coming from outside. It sounded like someone was stumbling their way down the hall towards them. If she was hearing correctly, it sounded like it was more than one of them.

“I still thin' we took too long interroga'in tha' wi'ness, luv,” she heard a high pitched, female voice say from outside.

A slurred, baritone voice answered her back in the same Cockney accent the woman used.

“Master said we were to get 'is toy by any means, Sissy. And the Mummy Superior wasn' bein' 'elpful. I 'ad to find some way to convince 'er, I did.”

The female must have found what her friend said extremely funny because she let loose a cackle that set Hermione's teeth on edge.

“I don't thin' Master 'ad tha' in mind,” the high pitched voice said back.

“But she 'ad such a pret'y mauf. Seemed a waste not to use it,” came the reply.

Once again that bone chilling cackle rended the air.

“Oh shite!”

Hermione turned towards Tonks and nearly went white at the expression on the older woman's face. Tonks was sweating bullets, despite the cold bite of the air, and she looked absolutely scared shitless.

“What's wrong?” Hermione worriedly asked her.

Tonks glanced at Hermione, then back at the door.

“Death Eaters. And from the sound of that laugh it could only be Alecto and Amycus Carrows. Sid and Nancy look like the Weasleys compared to them.”

Hermione looked fearfully at the door and then towards Boadicea who had a far off, dreamy expression on her face. It couldn't end like this, Hermione's racing mind shouted out again and again. It just can't end like this!

“But I read about the Carrows. They helped butcher a whole family once, or something. I thought they were siblings, a brother and a sister act.”

Tonks and Hermione's eyes locked.

“They are,” answered Tonks in a voice laced with dread.

This was bad. This was very bad. With no time to digest what Tonks could possibly mean by that, Hermione walked closer to the door and contemplated putting a locking spell on it. She was just about to do so when Tonks swore loudly again.

“WHAT?” Hermione nearly cried; her heart in her throat.

“We have more problems,” Tonks responded. “Anti-Apparition ward.”

“FUCK!”

It had just gotten worse.

Hermione had often heard the saying “blood ran cold”, but until that very moment she never knew that it was an actual scientific phenomena. She was sure she could feel the jagged edges of little icy chips floating through out her blood stream. They couldn't Apparate out. Tonks didn't have a wand. They were all as good as dead.

“Thin' Master will whip us?” By now Hermione could only assume that the female voice belonged to Alecto Carrows.

“'Ere's 'oping.”

Hermione saw the doorknob begin to slowly turn. Without very much thought, Hermione did the first thing that came to her mind. She grabbed the invisibility cloak, pushed Boadicea into Tonks' arms, and before the Auror could offer any protest, Hermione threw the enchanted material over the two of them. They disappeared before her eyes. Thinking fast, Hermione dropped her wand down the front of her blouse. She might have been able to stun one of them, but she was never going to be able to take both out single handedly without some sort of miracle being involved. Hermione quickly made the decision that maybe, just maybe she could bluff her way out of the door. Right now anything was worth a try.

“Well, well, well,” said a squat, rolly polly man dressed in soiled black robes from the doorway, a stubby wand in his hands. “What do we 'ave 'ere?”

Hermione suspected that she was going to lose her lunch soon if the man kept leering at her the way he was. But she called upon every bit of her Gryffindor courage she could muster and innocently turned large, round eyes on him.

“Que voulez vous?”

“Vu, vu wha'?"

“Pardonnez-moi,” she said as she gave the man a small bow of her head. “Je pense que je vais y aller maintenant. Je dois bientot commencez mon priere du matin.”

After effortlessly lying about having to rush off to go pray Hermione tried to nonchalantly walk by the dangerous looking Death Eater. She bravely tried to maintain her composure though she found herself nearly gagging at the smell of the male Carrows' body stench and the scent of stale ale that clung to him.

“Not so fas',” Alecto Carrows said as she stepped fully into the room and into Hermione's path.

Alecto was about her brother's size and was dressed in robes that matched his, only hers were slightly cleaner. But not by much. The siblings' resemblance to each other was so strong that Hermione had to wonder if they were twins. Neither masculine nor feminine; the pair seemed to revel in their androgyny. If not for their voices, she wasn't sure if she would have been able to tell them apart. Both of them had chin length gray hair that was dirty and stringy, as well as harshly lined faces. A bulbous nose only a mother could love sat in the middle of both faces. Two sets of dark brown eyes roved every hill and valley of her body, and when she shuddered involuntarily at their perusal, she was greeted by identical thin lipped sneers.

Hermione quickly backed away from them, but gave no hint that there were two other people in the room with her.

“I know you,” Alecto said as she eyed Hermione from head to foot. “I've read abou' you in the paper once. You're famous.”

Alecto then smiled proudly displaying five missing teeth.

“Still Potter's li’l Mudblood 'hore?” she snidely asked.

Although Hermione tried not to show any emotion, she couldn't control the rage that swirled through her at those words. Her nostrils flared. Her eyes narrowed.

“Is tha' a no?” the wench taunted. “Got tired of you, did 'e?”

Hermione's eyes burned furiously in the woman's direction, but she refused to give her any satisfaction.

“Where's the other Mudblood?” Carrows' brother asked casually as he came further in the room.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” said Hermione stubbornly.

“I thin' she's lyin', Ahmy.”

Amycus smiled at Hermione, menacingly, as he twirled his wand in his fingers.

“Naugh'y li’l girl. Workin' your way to a spanked bot'om, you are.”

“No fair, Ahmy,” chided Alecto as she pouted in her brother's direction. “You got to 'ave fun with the las' one.”

An annoyed, belligerent look flickered upon Amycus' face. This was sibling rivalry at its best.

“But remember, Sissy, you got to kill the nun.”

Apparently Alecto didn't find her act of cold blooded murder quite fulfilling enough. She stuck out her bottom lip so far that Hermione was shocked it wasn't actually gathering dust from the floor. This seemed to be Amycus' undoing. He pulled his sister into a quick hug and gave her a loud smacking kiss on her forehead. He then turned to Hermione and leered at her menacingly.

“I jus' can' deny my Sissy anythin’.”

His yellowish, canine-like teeth almost made Hermione, beloved daughter of two dental practitioners, weep.

“Come now poppet, you don' really expec' us to believe tha' you're 'ere all by your lonesome. Tell us wha' your frien' is usin'?” the disgusting man asked as he took a step closer to her and swayed on his feet. That brief mistep awakened a well of hope so deep in Hermione that she almost did a cartwheel.

The man was drunk! The sister didn't seem to be, but the fact that he was intoxicated was all she needed to know.

“A disillusionmen'? Transfigure themselves?”

“Uh, uh,” answered Alecto for her. Her eyes were glued near the floor.

Hermione's head turned to see what she was looking at and nearly cried out at the sight of Tonks and Boadicea's feet fully unveiled for all to see. From what she could tell someone, more than likely DuManoir, had been trying to lift the cloak off of them.

“Come ou', come ou' wherever you are,” Alecto sing songed as she took out her stubby little wand and waved it like a conductor leading an orchestra. “There you are!” she shouted as she pointed the wand at them. “Accio invisibility cloak.”

The cloak went flying off of Tonks and Boadicea. Tonks, Merlin bless her, tried to catch it and pull it back, but it was no good. The cloak landed in Alecto's outstretched hand. The sight of that...that...woman touching Harry's cloak, the cloak that he treasured, the cloak that had belonged to his father, sent such a lightning bolt of hatred and wrath through Hermione that she was almost made sick by it. Suddenly all of the lanterns in the room dimmed and everything seemed to go still.

“You give that back!” she growled as she reached her hand down her blouse and yanked out her wand.

“I don' thin' I wan' to,” the bitch said.

She then turned to her brother.

“Jus' thin' Ahmy, we could fuck righ' under this with other people in the room and no one would ever know the difference.” She gave her brother a sickening grin as she wrapped her arms around him.

“Like tha' ever stopped us,” he cheekily responded, then let out a wheezy, drunken chortle.

His sister joined him with her own cackling laugh. She then pressed her lips onto his and the two commenced to eat each others' faces before their very disgusted captive audience. At least that's what it looked like to Hermione. Even Boadicea seemed to be disturbed by the vulgar demonstration.

“Ugh!” groaned Tonks as she looked at the pair, revulsion radiating from her eyes.

Alecto paused mid-snog to spare a glance at Tonks.

“You're a Black,” she stated.

Tonks, gaze never wavering, answered, “Yes.”

Alecto's face frowned in distaste.

“I don' like you Blacks.”

“I'm broken up inside over the fact.”

“Bunch of fuckin' poncies,” she snarled as she disentangled herself from her brother's embrace. “First Regulus, then Narcissa and 'er li’l pup. An' tha' Bellatrix thin' she's too good for the res' of us. I'm gonna enjoy killin' you.”

Tonks merely smiled coolly and calmly at the threat.

“You can try.”

And for the first time, Hermione understood clearly why Nymphadora Tonks was an Auror.

“Listen my li’l lovelies,” Amycus cut in, seemingly growing tired of Tonks and his sister's battle of wills, “you two 'ave somethin' that we wan'.”

He looked at Boadicea and the girl slowly backed herself into the wall by the window to get away from his lecherous leer. She slid down the wall and brought her chin to her knees. She began rocking back and forth silently mouthing the same thing over and over. Tom. Tonks went over to the girl, sat down on the floor next to her, and tried to comfort her.

“Me an' Sissy aren' let'in’ you out the room ‘til we get it. Now it can either be easy or it could be 'ard.”

He started that wheezy laugh of his. His sister started clapping her hands merrily as though he had told the funniest joke.

“Personally, I like it 'ard,” he finished.

“EMPTY THREATS, CARROWS!” Tonks shouted back at him confidently.

“Wha'? Thin' the cavalry is goin' to ride in?” asked Amycus mockingly. “If you had any frien's out there, le' me assure you, they ‘ave been picked off one by one by one.”

Amycus seemed almost saddened that he would miss out on such carnage.

“It's only fair,” chirped up Alecto. “Our back-up deserved some en’ertainmen'. I'm afraid tha' me an' Ahmy got...detain'd a bi'.”

She and Amycus looked at each other and both burst into laughter. If anything, Hermione wanted to hex the two of them for the annoying sound of it alone.

“Your frien's are dead,” said Amycus.

“An' soon you will be too,” added his sister.

“You can kill us, but Harry will not rest until that soulless monster that you call master is dead,” Hermione said in a steady voice, eyes unblinking. “And that is a promise.”

Her wand was pointed at Amycus, awaiting the perfect shot. Hermione's and Amycus' eyes then locked as they each sized the other up.

“This one 'as spunk,” said Amycus.

Alecto gave her a disdainful once over and sniffed.

“I 'ate spunk,” he said.

The comment caused a smirk worthy of a Malfoy to alight Hermione's face.

Amycus pointed his wand at Hermione, his hand wavering slightly, and opened his mouth to speak. Before he could utter a word Alecto placed a halting hand on her brother's arm and looked at him wondrously.

“But Ahmy,” Alecto gasped, “aren' we going to play with ‘em firs'?”

Amycus' eyes darted towards his sister and smiled wickedly.

“After.”

And that was just the moment Hermione needed.

“Accio wand!”

Amycus' wand sailed out of his hand and Hermione plucked it from the air. The Carrows looked quite frankly shocked for a second, but before either could compose themselves Hermione turned her wand on Alecto.

“Conjunctivitus!”

“ARGH!” screamed Alecto in pain as she dropped the invisibility cloak and a hand went up to her eyes.

She still held her hornbeam wand on them.

“YOU BITCH! I CAN' SEE! I CAN' SEE!” she shouted as she stumbled backwards.

Amycus looked at his sister, then turned vengeful eyes towards Hermione. He let out an unearthly, almost animalistic scream before he went charging at her.

Hermione flicked her wand at him.

“IMPEDIMENTA!”

The spell knocked him back to the far wall giving Hermione just enough time to turn to Tonks and throw his wand towards her.

Alecto started yelling, “I'M GONNA GE' YOU! I'M GONNA GE' YOU, JUS' YOU WAI'!”

“HERE!” Hermione shouted over her shoulders as Tonks lept from the floor and dived forward to catch the wand. As Hermione turned back around, she saw Alecto still stumbling about, waving the wand furiously every which way.

“AVADA−”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

The spell could have hit anyone of them. Hermione had no time to make a judgment call. She just sent out silently the first spell that entered her head.

Alecto staggered back as though an invisible hand had pushed her. Her eyes enlarged. She looked down at her chest to find the fabric of her robes ripped in shreds and a wide red gash across her bosom. She pressed a hand to the wound and let out a blood curdling cry when she turned it up to see it painted red. If she could have seen what Hermione could, she would have found similar cuts on her face as well as her neck. Blood seeped out of all of them.”

“AHMY!” she wailed, the voice of a frightened little girl. She wilted to the floor onto her hands and knees. She dropped her wand and didn't seem to notice it as the crooked piece of wood rolled away from her. Hermione never looked to see where it went.

Tonks came up beside Hermione and looked on the scene.

“What the hell kind of spell was that?” she asked in awe. She had already changed back into her Auror robes.

“Sectusempra.”

“I've never seen anything like it.”

“Neither have I,” Hermione droned mechanically.

“AHMY!” the blood soaked woman wailed again from the floor. By now she had turned on her back. “AHMY, WHERE ARE YOU? I can' see you Ahmy, it's so dark.” Hermione, however, had already ended the jinx on her.

By this time Amycus had regained consciousness, and when he saw his sister lying in a bloody heap, he ignored the other three witches and crawled across the floor to get to Alecto. He gathered his sister in his arms and ran a loving hand over her cheek, smearing his hand and the side of her face with her blood.

“Wha' happen' to your pret'y face, luv?” he sobbed as tears worked their way down his grimy cheeks. “Who did this to you?”

“The Mudblood, Ahmy. She didn' play fair,” she sniffed. “It hurts. Ahmy, make it stop.”

The siblings' cries and wails were almost maddening.

“Take Boadicea, and as soon as you can Apparate outside, do it. Get her as far away from here as you can.” Hermione told Tonks, eyes never wavering from the Carrows.

“Hermione–” Tonks began in protest.

“He doesn't have a wand,” she said as she looked over at the older woman. “He can't do anything to me. Get her out of here,” she said firmly.

Tonks, seeing the hard, unwavering look in Hermione's eyes let any objections she might have raised, fall. She went to Boadicea and pulled the girl up by the arms. The two of them ran out of the door, and as soon as Tonks reached the hallway, they disappeared in a loud pop.

Hermione slowly inched her way forward and dropped down on her heels to retrieve Harry's cloak. As she was rising up, Alecto's whole body began to convulse. Her eyes closed and her mouth contorted in a silent scream of anguish. Her whole body shook as though electricity was surging through it. Amycus called out her name over and over again. And then just as suddenly as it began it stopped.

Alecto Carrows never opened her eyes again.

“Is she dead?” Hermione asked wearily, praying that she didn't lose it at that very moment. Amycus didn't hear her, or if he did he ignored her as though she was of no significance.

“I-I...” Hermione stammered haltingly. “I didn't mean for...I mean...I didn't want to...”

Hermione searched for the best way to apologize for accidentally killing her own would be murderer. Killing Alecto had never been Hermione's intention. But the Death Eater had been about to cast the Killing Curse at them. She had to defend Tonks, Boadicea, and herself. She had just used the first spell her mind hit upon; Sectusempra, the Half-Blood Prince's very own creation.

The spell that Harry had used on Malfoy.

The very spell that Hermione had berated Harry over and over again for using.

The spell that even he regretted turning on the Slytherin.

And here she had used it on another human being.

But she shouldn't have died, Hermione's tortured thoughts told her.

What Hermione didn't know was that Alecto Carrows had a bad heart. The shock of her attack had killed her.

Giving up on trying to offer any condolence to Amycus, Hermione quickly made for the door. But before she could cross the threshold, Carrows' low, deep voice stopped her in her tracks.

“Everythin' you ever love, you Mudblood bitch...” he said as casually as though he were telling her directions.

Hermione turned around to face him, but he kept his back to her.

“Anyone you ever care abou', anyone who ever loves you, I'm goin' to destroy.”

He then tossed her a look over his shoulder.

“An' then I'm gonna sit back an' drin' your tears.”

It was a promise.

“Yes...well...good luck on that,” she replied with as much fortitude as she could manage. She then turned around, exited into the hall, and Apparated outside.

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

The scene behind the cloister of the Poor Clares was a madhouse. Everywhere Hermione looked she saw wizards and witches dueling; wands pointed in battle. Or she saw bodies scuffling in hand to hand combat. Chants and incantations filled the air, as well as dense breathing, anguished grunts, and earsplitting screams. The battle was fierce. As much as she didn't want to, she couldn't help but notice the motionless bodies that were strewn across the clover field.

And somewhere in the middle of all of this is Harry, Hermione worriedly thought as her teeth began to gnaw away madly at the corner of her bottom lip.

There were men and women dressed in Auror uniforms as well as mundane everyday robes. Hermione easily recognized the various members of the Order of the Phoenix. There were also several dark cloaked, hooded figures running about. In fact she saw one chasing after Tonks and Boadicea as the two of them fled in the direction of the woods in back of the nunnery.

Buckbeak and the boy's brooms were in those woods. She saw the hooded figure raise a wand towards Tonks, but instantly the Death Eater went down. His knees had been tuned backward. Hermione swung her head to the right in time to see that Ron was the one who had jinxed the Death Eater so expertly. She couldn't stop her squeal of triumph, nor could she control the gigantic grin that came along with it. However before she could call out Ron's name, she saw him begin to duel with a reedy looking fellow who was hoodless. Hermione was almost certain the man had been one of the Death Eaters who participated in the battle at the Department of Mysteries almost two years ago. Ron and the man circled each other for what seemed like ages before the man sent a spell at Ron's head. Ron dropped to the ground, rolled, and pointed his wand at his opponent, setting the man's robes on fire. As the wizard ran off in a panic, Ron turned back to the battle and headed straight in again.

Hermione heard a noise in the sky and turned her face upwards. She saw a red blur fly from out of the trees. It looked like Tonks and Boadicea, but from the distance she was at Hermione couldn't be sure. What Hermione did see was the pink, rosy hue of dawn breaking across the sky. It almost surprised her that it could actually be a new day. She felt certain that their nightmare night would play endlessly on loop, but so far they had actually lived to see another morning. So far, at least. Hermione almost gave into the giddy sensation of accomplishment before she looked behind her and saw the dazzling green skull with its serpent tongue hanging in the air over the monastery.

Hermione turned around just in time to see the crowd clear and got a good view of Harry chasing down Walden Macnair. Macnair appeared to be wandless. Macnair also appeared to be terrified of the young wizard who was stalking him as if the older man were a gazelle and his pursuer a mighty lion. Harry flicked his wand out at him and shouted, “Encapsilaria”. The Mime Spell effectively trapped its victim in an invisible cage. Macnair pitched forward and hit an invisible wall causing him to bounce back. He soon found himself trapped in on all sides. He turned towards Harry and shouted soundless curses at him. Harry reached him and was staring admiringly at his work, when suddenly his head swiveled around in her direction.

“HERMIONE!” he shouted frantically as his hand rose up quickly before him.

Hermione felt some form of heat or energy pass by her quickly over her shoulders, and when she turned around she saw the body of a female Death Eater fly through the air and hit the wall of the building. It made a loud thud before falling down to the ground. Hermione took a shaky step backwards as she realized that she knew the black robed woman...more like girl; Carmen Calatrava. The gangly brunette had been a Prefect in Ravenclaw House. Calatrava had just left Hogwarts two years ago. She had asked to borrow a quill from Hermione once. What kind of madness is this, Hermione's over taxed brain seemed to scream. She then anxiously turned around and saw a sight that nearly stopped her heart from beating.

Off in the distance Harry had been preparing to run to her when Peter Pettigrew snuck up behind him and bashed the side of his head with his silver fist. Harry, surprised by the sneak attack, barely made a sound as his body crumpled to the ground like he was made of sticks.

“HARRY!” Hermione screamed with all her might. She screamed so hard she felt the inside of her throat go raw.

She tossed the invisibility cloak over her and took off running through the endless sea of bodies that battled it out on the small stretch of field behind the nunnery. Hermione didn't care about all that now. She hardly noticed Mr. Shacklebolt holding off two enormous sized Death Eaters at once; a fellow who looked like an even larger version of Gregory Goyle and a big blond whose face looked like it had been bludgeoned by the ugly stick. She barely took note of Charlie limping away off the field. When she tripped and fell and found herself looking into the sightless gaze of poor Old Mr. Doge, she only took a moment to close his eyes before springing to her feet again. She just had to get to Harry. She needed to save Harry!

She was almost near him when she saw Wormtail straddle the unconscious boy. The foul little man had Ron's wand in his hand and had its tip pressed forcefully into the flesh of Harry's throat.

“Think Master will think kindly on poor Wormtail if I kill you for him, little Harry?” the pale faced, beady eyed rat asked Harry in his frail, squeaky voice.

As if hearing the answer he wanted, Wormtail jammed the wand into Harry's neck even more forcefully and opened his mouth to speak.

“Avada…umph!”

Draco Malfoy had come out of nowhere and had thrown himself at Pettigrew, knocking the man off of Harry. The two of them rolled around on the grass before coming to a stop, Draco on top of the balding little man. Draco began to pummel the man's rat-like face over and over again until he pulled back his fist and suddenly grabbed his arm in pain. By this point Hermione had reached Harry and had him safely in her arms. She threw the invisibility cloak over them to hide their presence. Hermione looked in the direction the spell that hit Draco had come from and saw a simply gorgeous specimen of man saunter up. With his long dark hair and bedroom eyes he looked like he had stepped off the front cover of a romance novel. Draco, still sitting on Petter turned to address his attacker.

“Uncle.”

“Draco.”

“Aunt Bella here?”

“No, she finds such outings beneath her. How's your mother?”

“In hiding.”

Hermione dazedly wondered if she had somehow wandered into some urbane melodrama. Draco and the Death Eater, his uncle apparently, were acting as though it was the most natural thing in the world for them to have a family chat while people lay dying near them.

Draco's uncle still held his wand out on him.

“Oh nephew, what would your father say if he saw the riffraff you've aligned yourself with?” the handsome stranger tsked.

“Not sure; would be a pretty good trick, though. You see, my father is dead. Your master killed him, remember?”

For his impertinence, Draco's uncle hexed his nephew's other arm. Draco fell off of Pettigrew and clutched at the injured bicep. His face was a sickish gray hue. Wormtail took this as an opportunity to revert to his Animagus form. The nebbish, little man transformed himself into a rat with a tiny silver paw and scurried away across the field and into the direction of the woods. That's when Hermione saw her chance, while Draco's uncle's attention was diverted, to reach for Ron's wand that lay in the grass near where she lay crouched and concealed.

As she was reaching her hand out though she heard Draco's agitated voice call out the word “no”. Hermione's eyes swiftly looked to where Draco was, still clutching at his arm, and saw that he was looking right at her! Actually it was her hand that he was staring at. She had stretched her hand out so far that it had come from under the invisibility cloak, and unlike the rest of her body, could be seen. Draco's uncle, who had been watching Wormtail scamper off, was just about to turn around to face her when he heard Draco's cry.

“No?” the man asked with a hateful sneer. “'No'....what, little dragon?” he condescendingly asked again as he brought his attention back to the teenager.

Hermione quickly grabbed the wand.

Draco looked his uncle in the eyes and said slyly, “Know what my father would say to me?”

Though Draco appeared to be in a great deal of pain, he still seemed to hold his own against his elder kinsman.

“I await it with bated breath.”

“In the end,” the young Slytherin began confidently, “Malfoys always come out on top!”

The man chuckled wickedly.

“So much arrogance for one so young,” he snidely said. “I love it in comrades, absolutely abhor it in enemies. I guess it can't be helped, though. Humility was never a dominant trait on either side of your family tree. But take heart, little dragon. Because you're family, I'll kill you last,” the dark eyed man magnanimously said as he turned his back on Draco. That was when Draco took out his wand from his pocket.

“Incarcerous!”

Thick ropes suddenly appeared from out of nowhere and wrapped themselves around the Death Eater, all the way to his feet. The man fell forward cursing Draco's name.

“Because you’re family, Uncle Rodolphus, I won't kill you,” Draco said as he shakily stood to his feet and stumbled over to the fallen man.

He slowly turned Rodolphus Lestrange over, conjured a single silk dress sock, and stuffed it in the man's mouth. Draco then made his way close to where Hermione and Harry were and dropped to his knees on the grass nearby.

Hermione pulled the cloak off of them.

“You ok?” he tersely asked her.

She nodded her head.

“You?”

“My hair hurts,” he muttered.

Hermione timidly reached out a hand towards Malfoy. She had barely touched his shoulder when he suddenly reared back in pain.

“AND MY ARM! AND MY ARM!” he yelped through clenched teeth.

“What happened out here?” she asked him.

“Not too long after you and that lunatic cousin of mines went in, the mark went up,” he said glancing up at the sky as the last traces of the hateful calling card began to fade. “Your two wankers nearly lost their shite and tried to run in after you, but we got ambushed. If it wasn't for the Werewolf and the others we would have been flobberworm meal. Who was the bird Nympho-dora came running out with?”

“Later. I promise. You're going to want to be at full strength to hear this,” she told him.

Hermione positioned Harry so that he could be comfortable and she could inspect him to ensure he wasn't too badly injured. His head lay in her lap. There was a painful looking red wand imprint where Pettigrew had practically punctured Harry's throat, and one of the arms of his coat was tearing at the seam. Other than that Harry looked none the worse for wear. She stroked his hair lovingly as she looked about her. The battle was over and it looked like the Order of the Phoenix had come out on top. She saw Aurors Proudfoot and Savage collecting the Death Eaters who hadn't managed to escape, Lestrange included. She saw the able-bodied helping assist the wounded. She saw the dead being floated away. The sky was dotted with Order members flying away. The one thing she did not see was Carrows.

“You saved Harry's life,” Hermione remarked as she turned to face Draco again.

Although she tried to disguise the shock in her voice, it was there as plain as day.

“Why did you save Harry's life?” she asked him.

Draco held her gaze for a moment, searching for something clever to say, before drawling, “I have a bet on Potter winning Witch Weekly's Most Charming Smile next month. I plan on collecting.”

Hermione quirked a half-smile.

“Malfoy, I guess I was wrong about you. I'm sorry,” she said sincerely. “I've never been so happy to be wrong about something in all my life!”

Malfoy looked gobsmacked by the declaration. She could practically see the gears turn in his head as he searched for some kind of reply to give her. Finding none, he settled on stubbornly huffing, “Well...I wasn't wrong about the skirt. I still think it makes you look fat!”

Maybe it was because she was tired, maybe it was because she had almost lost her life several times that day, or perhaps it was simply because she found the joke funny; whichever the case, Malfoy's snide comment elicited a belly laugh from Hermione so deep and powerful she felt she had to hold her stomach to keep it from tearing her in two. In fact she laughed so hard that Harry stirred to consciousness in her lap.

“Hermione?” he said weakly as he opened his eyes and looked up at her.

She smiled down at him.

“Uh huh.”

Harry smiled back at her.

“You’re alive,” he said in rapt wonder and joy.

“I am,” she said as she smiled sunnily at him. “And thanks to Malfoy, so are you.”

The smile that had been playing at Harry's lips suddenly fell, and he looked towards Malfoy as if to hear him deny Hermione's obvious delusions.

Instead Malfoy paid him a Cheshire-like grin. Harry turned his head back and glumly said, “I think I would have preferred the Avada.”

Hermione giggled.

“HERMIONE! HARRY!”

Hermione looked up to see Ron bounding towards them. His face was smudged with dirt, his jumper appeared to have been fed through a shredder, but he looked bright eyed and exhilarated. He dropped down to the ground beside Hermione, grabbed her shoulders, and pulled her in for a deep kiss. Hermione was just so relieved to see that he was whole and not in pieces, that she tolerated the very public affectionate display.

Malfoy made a gagging sound. Harry jumped off her lap with lightning speed.

“Were you hurt?” Ron asked.

She shook her head as she handed him back his wand. He cried out in delight, then turned to his friend.

“Alright, Harry?” asked Ron.

Harry slowly nodded his head as he pushed his glasses back up on his nose.

“Yeah.”

Ron smiled happily at both of them before Malfoy made a huffy noise that brought their attention to him.

“FINE! Just don't ask about me then.”

Ron's lips curled in distaste.

“I wasn't planning on it.”

Ron then began to excitedly babble on about the battle they had just participated in. Harry indulgently listened to the redhead brag on and on about his part in it, with a huge grin on his face. Neither saw it when Hermione mouthed the words “thank you” to Malfoy. They both missed it when Malfoy tersely nodded his head to her.

Auror Shacklebolt and Professor Lupin soon found them and examined each of them to make sure that they were alright. Instead of receiving the tongue lashing she knew they all probably deserved, Shacklebolt commended them on a job well done. He informed them, however, that they needed to get out of there quick before Ministry officials showed up to Obliviate any poor nuns who happened to see the early morning skirmish. Also the Muggle authorities had been notified and were on their way to collect the Mother Superior who had the misfortune of meeting the Carrows. Shacklebolt made no mention of Alecto's body however, and although it made Hermione's stomach nearly wretch from guilt, she didn't either.

Hermione helped Harry up and Ron floated Malfoy in front of them. They headed back into the wooded area where Buckbeak and Harry's broom was. Ron took every opportunity he could to knock Malfoy into every tree they passed. Both looked displeased that they would have to share a broom, but since neither found the prospect of riding Buckbeak palatable, they both curbed their tongues over the matter.

Once they had gotten high up enough in the sky, Hermione pulled out the Psychopompus. She was just about to say the incantation that activated it when Tonks and Boadicea appeared seemingly out of thin air. The two of them had been flying around under a cloaking spell, waiting...hoping for the four of them to show up. The Auror's sudden appearance however spooked the hippogriff so badly that Buckbeak started flying erratically sending the Psychopompus falling out of Hermione's hands. Unthinkingly, she dove after it as it went hurtling to the ground. She would have followed after it too if Harry hadn’t caught her about the waist and pulled her back firmly on the hippogriff.

“DAMMIT, HARRY!” she wrathfully yelled at him as she turned as far sideways as she could. The wind whipped her hair into her eyes, though it was her rage that nearly made it impossible for her to see him. “HOW COULD YOU DO THAT?!”

“Do what?” Harry bewilderedly asked.

She stared at him reproachfully.

“YOU'RE A SEEKER, HARRY! YOU COULD HAVE EASILY CAUGHT IT!”

Harry looked at her as though she had gone mad.

“But who was going to catch you?!” he asked.

“I'M EXPENDABLE! YOU MIGHT HAVE FOUND THE REST OF THE MISSING HORCRUXES!”

“AND WE WILL!” he plaintively yelled, the wind drowning out their voices to everyone but the two of them, “BUT NOT WITHOUT YOU!”

The statement seemed to shake some sense into Hermione and make her aware all at once just where she was. High up. In the sky. On a hippogriff.

“I almost fell,” Hermione said as her throat constricted at the very thought.

Harry's lips twitched almost into a smile.

“Yes, you did.”

Her head swam momentarily and she had to fight off a bad case of nausea and dizziness. She just reminded herself that if she fainted up there it would not help matters. It was a long way down, and from their height she wouldn't look too good once she hit the ground.

Harry, sensing Hermione's distress pulled her back so she rested against him, rubbed her arms reassuringly and whispered in her ear, “Don't worry, I've got you. I've got you. I'll always catch you.”

The little group eventually made it back to Hogwarts some time after that.

The dead body of Alecto Carrows was never found when the Ministry and the Muggle authorities searched through the Monastère Sainte Claire. Her brother Amycus vanished as well. The rumor that circulated was that the siblings had went into hiding, in fear of Lord Voldemort's wrath, because of their botched handling of the Boussac assignment. Stories popped up all over of the two being seen in the most unusual of places; sunning in Monaco, hiding out in a missionary in Manila, leading boat tours in St. Kitts, to name just a few.

Hermione, however, knew the truth. She knew that Alecto no longer existed; she had watched the woman die, she had played a part in her death. And Hermione knew that for whatever reasons that were his own, her brother had spirited his sister's body away.

Hermione told only two souls about the incident in Boussac; Harry and Ron. The night she sobbed the story out to them they both told her, without hesitation, that she had done what she'd had to do; that they didn't think any less of her.

Of course you didn't mean to murder her, Hermione...

It was either Carrows or you, Hermione...

After a while their reassurances made her feel better and she began to believe them. This was after all a war, casualties happened. What was just one more death in the scheme of things? After that none of them ever brought up the name Carrows again, it was anathema. Of course she had left out Amycus' threats, but she did so only because she didn't want to worry Harry and Ron over her any further. She was starting to become an old hand at keeping things from her boys by that point. Besides it was only an empty threat. She was sure of it. She tried to put the whole ordeal out of her head. Hermione had almost accomplished it too.

Then her parents' brand new car plunged off a simple country bridge on a cloudless, perfect day. And Hermione knew. If she needed any further proof, a few months after the double funeral she received a note written in a straight, no nonsense hand that confirmed it for her.

Everything you ever love.

“I never heard from him again after that,” said Hermione as she looked sadly at her old house. “I don't know if he died or if he just got bored toying with me but...there you have it.”

She turned to look at Harry.

“I'm a right Lizzie Borden, I am.”

Harry's brow furrowed in confusion.

“Who?”

He then shook his head.

“Never mind that. Hermione, when your parents died the Ministry did a thorough investigation, remember? It was found that their accident wasn't caused by any magical means. Arthur looked into it for you specifically.”

“Wrong. Although no magical means could be determined, it could not, however, be ruled out. The findings were inconclusive.”

Hermione looked directly at him.

“I saw every memo, Harry. I read every piece of paperwork that was filed. Don't you get it? He wanted me to know. Carrows wanted to make sure I knew exactly why my parents were dead. To everyone else it would just look like some poor Muggle bastard drove him and his wife off a bridge. But I knew. I would always know.”

“I remember Carrows from the night Dumbledore died,” Harry said absentmindedly. “Him, and that face ache of a sister of his. Hermione, why didn't you ever tell me all of this before?”

“I didn't want to be a burd–”

“If you say the word burden again, so help me...”

Hermione only sighed as she looked down at the ground.

“So I'm the only person who knows about this?” Harry asked.

Hermione didn't say anything, but the way her teeth started working on her lip told him the answer.

“Who did you tell? Ron?”

She was going to draw blood soon.

“MALFOY?!” Harry could barely contain his outrage.

She dismissively waved her hand.

“I didn't tell Draco anything. He forced it out of me, the prat!” she grumbled. “Draco was there in my office when I got that last note. I tried to burn it, but he snatched it out of my hands before I could.”

Although the idea that Draco Malfoy could ever know something about Hermione that he didn't, made Harry want to drown the wanker in a shallow pool, he chose to be a bigger person and not dwell on it. For now, anyhow.

“Ok, I still don't get why you would think that you were somehow accountable for your parents' death? Carrows would be the sick fuck responsible, not you.”

Hermione regarded Harry for a moment before taking the conversation in a completely different direction.

“I almost went to a different school,” Hermione told him in a false, cheery voice. “Did you know that?”

Harry sent Hermione a baffled look, but chose not to interrupt her.

“École La Découverte de Mme Dupont; that's the school I would have went to instead of Hogwarts. Madame Dupont's School of Discovery; 'Where young girls become young ladies'. It was in Zürich. Ever hear of it?”

Harry shook his head.

“It should have been called Mrs. Dupont's Holding Cell for Crazy Rich Girls,” Hermione said as she mirthlessly smiled. “Because that is what it was. It's where the wealthy sent their daughters when they didn't know what else to do with them. Drug addicts, girls who were a little too fast and loose with the boys, and the insane ones. Guess which group I was?”

Harry shook his head disbelievingly at her.

“Why would your parents ever send you to a place like that?”

“Because they were at their wits end, Harry,” Hermione explained. “They didn't know what else to do. They felt like they had no choice in the matter.”

Seeing Harry's mystified expression, Hermione tried to explain things the best she could.

“I still remember that story you told us, me and Ron, about you ending up on the roof when those Muggle hooligans chased after you.”

A small smile grew on Harry's lips. He always thought of those times as the BTMs, the days before the magic. The days before he knew that he had a gift and that he wasn't a weirdo or a psycho like his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon tried to browbeat him into believing.

“Once when I was 9 or 10, both my parents had to go into the office so they sent for a sitter. Usually one of them always tried to be home with me when I came home from school, but this day I guess it couldn't be helped. Usually when this happened they got Old Mrs. Crittenden from a few houses down to look after me. I liked her,” Hermione said with a smile. “She made good biscuits. Whenever Mrs. Crittenden stayed with me she would take me for a walk to Holland Park just to go look at the peacocks.”

Harry sniggered. For some reason he found the idea of Hermione bird watching humorous.

She cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Sue me, I was a child. I liked to look at the peacocks. So,” she continued ignoring the grin on Harry’s face, “this one particular day it was bucketing down out real hard so she told me that until it stopped we couldn't go. I must have sat at my window for ages, wishing over and over again that it would just stop raining outside. And then just like that it did.”

“Okay,” Harry said warily, “that doesn't sound so fantastic. So it stopped raining outside.”

“Exactly,” she replied. “It stopped raining outside and instead started raining in my bedroom. The whole place was flooded. Of course by time my parents had come home it had stopped, but the damage had already been done.”

Hermione shook her head ruefully.

“I was always doing things like that. I had no way to control it. And worse, my parents knew I was doing these things but had no idea just how.”

“So they thought you were mad?” he asked incredulously.

“It's not like they wanted to,” she defended, “but it was the easy answer. It may be wrong most times, but the easy answer is easy for a reason. See mum had this friend, Janice.” As Hermione said the name her words practically oozed disgust. “They went to uni together. Janice was a psychotherapist. Janice was also a cow!” Hermione added nastily for good measure. “She somehow convinced my parents that all of these so-called stunts I was pulling were cries for attention, and that since I was such a loner I was destined to become some social deviant.”

Harry gaped at her in disbelief.

“I know!” she said in answer to him. “I told you she was a cow! She's the one who convinced my parents to send me to that school. To this day I'm convinced she was getting kickbacks from Madame Dupont.”

“My opinion of therapy isn't that high,” Harry told her. “I wouldn't be surprised.”

Hermione didn't seem to hear him, though. Her eyes were focused completely on her house. Her home.

“My parents loved me. They wanted the best for me. If sending me away to that school would help, they would do it. But then my Hogwarts letter arrived and everything was explained. I wasn't crazy, I was a witch!”

She smiled sadly.

“We were so happy! Now all these years later all I can think is if I had just attended that damned school my parents would still be alive. If I wasn't a witch, if I didn't go to Hogwarts, if...”

“You hadn't met me,” Harry finished for her.

Hermione turned her big, sorrowful eyes towards Harry. She looked at him as though he were babbling gibberish.

“That's not what I was going to say,” she stated.

“But if you had never been my friend the War might have never touched you. You would have never run up against Carrows and his sister.”

“But then I wouldn't have gotten to know you...” and love you, she said only to herself. “Then where would I be? I don't blame you for my parents' death, Harry,” she told him honestly.

Harry took her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him.

“Good. Then you shouldn't blame yourself either. Your parents loved you, were so proud of you. I remember that year we ran into you and them in Diagon. They stuck out like sore thumbs.”

Hermione softly chuckled at the memory.

“But the way they looked at you...It was like you were their whole world, especially your dad.”

He slid one of his hands down her arm and took one of her hands in his. He playfully swung it back and forth.

“Did Ron ever tell you about that night we had to get you out of there?” he said motioning towards her old house with his head. She told him, "no".

“So your parents show up, days before you told us they were due. Everyone was already at Hogwarts by then. Me and Ron were still at your place because we hadn't decided on a way to move you yet. We were still hoping you would wake-up because the prospect of getting you up on one of our brooms and you coming to up there...”

“Jesus!” Hermione exclaimed, the very thought of it turning her stomach.

“Exactly,” he smirked. “Merlin only knows why we didn't just Apparate you out.”

“Trying to Apparate an unconscious person is risky. It's virtually impossible,” the know-it-all in her replied.

He quirked a smile at her and she bashfully smiled as well.

“Well there you go. Only a certain sleepyhead wasn't around to tell us this. Guess you were too busy dreaming.”

The smile slowly faded away.

“I guess.”

Harry's smile faltered too. He was about to ask her what he had said wrong when she asked a question of her own.

“So what did you two end up doing?”

Harry's smile came back even larger than before.

“Well I wrapped you up in my dad's cloak and Ron threw you over his shoulder.”

“Brilliant thinking,” she mockingly said as she laughed.

“It was a good plan,” he insisted, tongue planted firmly in his cheek. “It worked. Or at least it almost did. When your mum asked where you were, Ron told her that you had gone off to school ahead of us, but had left some things and sent us for them.”

She turned to walk back in the direction of the truck and he followed. They were still holding hands.

“Let me guess, both your arms looked completely empty.”

He boyishly smiled down at her from her side.

“Of course. By the way Ron was holding you it looked like he had a herniated disk.”

Hermione laughed outright at that.

“We were almost out the door when your father asked to speak to me for just a moment. Ron, the wanker, kept going.”

Hermione gave him a playful shove for that.

“So I turn to look at your dad and he has the strangest expression ever on his face. I then turn to see what he's looking at and it's your feet sticking out from under the cloak.”

“Goodness,” said Hermione stopping to look at Harry. Her eyes were filled with laughter.

“It wasn't funny!” Harry protested though his own smile told her it was. “Your father was a pretty imposing bloke. I never imagined a dentist could be so intimidating outside of his chair. I was convinced he was going to give me a good thrashing.”

The image that Harry was painting was absolutely hysterical to her. She was practically crying with laughter.

“But all he said was, 'take care of my little girl'.”

And just like that, Hermione began to cry.

Harry pulled her into a deep hug and comfortingly rubbed her back. He murmured nonsense words in her hair that might have had no technical meaning, but made all the sense in the world to her. He also ignored the mess she had made of his shirt.

“Now what do you think your parents would say if they knew that you had carried this guilt inside you all this time?” he whispered near her ear.

She sniffed as she pulled back from him and opened her purse to look for her handkerchief.

“Dad would tell me to stop being a goose,” she said as she found it and rubbed it against her red, raw nose.

Harry looked her in the eye and in all serious said, “Stop being a goose.”

His solemn order only made her laugh as she dabbed at her red rimmed eyes and returned her hanky to her purse.

Hermione had lived with her guilt for so long that it would take some time for her to let it go. She would always think to herself, “what if”. What if she hadn't gone along to Boussac that fateful night? What if they had just waited on the Order before they went? What if she had simply used a disarming spell?

Deep down Hermione knew that Harry was right, though. Her parents would want her to find some measure of peace, not continuously blame herself for something she couldn't have controlled. They would want her to live, not live under the shadow of what a mad wizard had done. As Harry tenderly looked down into her face, she had to wonder why she hadn't just told him all of this in the first place. It might have saved her a lot of heartache if she had.

“You were a daddy's girl, weren't you?” he asked.

“Terribly so,” she admitted. “Mum used to joke that I had an Electra complex. I was 10 before I found a book that told me what that was and instantly wanted to scrub my eyes out for ever reading it.”

“I'm more than half that age and have no clue.”

She held back a giggle.

“But I tell you what, if you don't start smiling more I'll have Ron read to you from his journal.”

“Are you trying to cheer me up or torture me?”

Harry grinned.

“He's writing his own vows for the wedding, you know. Told me so himself. Quite proud of the fact.”

Hermione bit down on the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

“You've accomplished the unimaginable. You've made me feel something other than contempt for Lavender Brown. Poor woman.

“Ah...ah...ah, that's Lavender Brown-Pye soon to be Weasley.”

“Woman has more surnames than a bloody directory,” Hermione muttered archly.

That got a belly laugh out of Harry and she finally released her own smile.

“But at least she has a place to live,” Hermione said forlornly. “This whole day has been a waste.”

Harry grabbed at his chest as if in pain. “Like a knife to the heart,” he joked.

“Well not a total waste,” she giggled as they continued on their way. “But I still need a place of my own,” she stated. “Don't get me wrong, Molly and Arthur are sweet for letting me stay, but the Burrow is just too cramped what with Bill and Fleur, the children...Charlie. Just this morning I accidentally walked in on him in the shower.”

Harry's stopped his tread and swung around to look at her.

“YOU WHAT?!!”

She nodded her head innocently.

“And let me tell you, I now know for a fact that no two Weasley men are created equal.”

Harry grabbed her arm and hooked it through his own as he abruptly started marching away. Hermione helplessly got pulled along.

“Yes, we do need to find you a new place,” he said tersely. “In fact...”

Harry stopped again and Hermione looked at him curiously. A delighted smile slowly worked itself on his face and Hermione couldn't help but think how adorable it was; like a little boy trying to please his mum.

“I can't believe that I didn't think about this before,” Harry said to her. “I know the perfect place for you! All the room you need.”

“Sounds good so far.”

“It's a bit out the way, though.”

She chuckled.

“I can afford the petrol. How's the rent?” she asked.

“I'm sure the land lord would be more than willing to cut you a deal,” he said, practically bouncing on his toes.

The more Harry talked this place up, the more she liked the sound of it.

“I'm intrigued. How does he feel about house pets?”

Harry naughtily grinned.

“Surprisingly enough, he has no problem with them. In fact he might even be willing to throw in a wide, open back yard for that Shetland pony of yours to run around in.”

She playfully swatted him for disparaging a lady's weight.

“Lizzie is just big boned!”

Harry laughed.

“I don't know, Potter,” Hermione said, feigning distrust. “Place sounds too good to be true. Why hasn't it been snapped up before now?”

Harry's huge grin tapered down to a small smile at the question, but he never took his eyes off of her.

“Waiting for you, I guess.”

Hermione tried to ignore the faint heat that warmed her cheeks at his words. She was just being foolish. She bent her head over her purse, trying to hide her face, and pulled her keys out.

“Well, why are we still standing here?” she airily asked, looking back at him. “Let's go.”

She began to walk towards the direction of her truck. He grabbed her arm to stop her.

“No, not that way,” he said as color slowly rose in his cheeks as well. “I-I can get us there quicker. I can have us there in the blink of an eye.”

He held out a hand to her.

“Trust me don't you?”

Hermione ruefully smiled at the query. What kind of question was that to ask?

“Of course,” she replied.

He looked around to make sure no one was looking and said, “Then let's go.”

She stepped closer to Harry and placed her hand effortlessly in his. It was warm, and he gave her fingers a squeeze as he winked at her.

And then they were gone.

A/N: Next up is Harry's POV. Things to look forward to: a housewarming party, a telephone call, and a water fight gets out of hand.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Trivia, Evander, Latinus, Mulciber, Carmen Calatrava, Madame Dupont, Old Mrs. Crittenden, and Janice are canon.

2) A pyschopomp is a term used for a spirit, angel, deity, or what have you that guides souls through the Afterlife; Anubis, Hermes, Charon, Micheal the Archangel to name just a few.

3) The Malfoy/Buckbeak chicken line might be similar to one in the movie POA.

4) Regosi Rexia is derived from the Latin. rego rexi= to guide, direct.

5) The Poor Clares of the Monastère Sainte Claire are situated in Quebec and were borrowed for the story.

6) Carrows' line about hating Hermione’s spunk is a well known Mary Tyler Moore reference.

7) The idea of drinking someones tears I fully cop to borrowing from the classic and bestest episode of SouthPark of all time Scott Tenorman Must Die. Yes, Eric Cartmen would make a hell of a Death Eater.

8) The psychoanalytic theory called the Electra complex is according to Freud, “the feminine Oedipus complex”. In Greek mythology Electra convinced her brother Orestes to avenge their father's death by murdering his killer, their mother.

9) I tried to make the French understandable in the text bust just in case it wasn't clear....

Oui. Qui est vous? Qu’est-ce que vous voulez?=Yes. Who are you? What do you want?

Vous n'êtes pas censées être ici!=You aren't supposed to be here!

Je m’appelle Hermione et voici Tonks. Nous sommes des amies.= My name is Hermione and she is Tonks. We're friends.

Nous allons vous porter d’ici.= We're taking you away from here.

Est-il venu pour moi?=He's come for me?

Oui. Nous te conduirons à lui.= Yes. We'll take you to him.

Pardonnez-moi.=Pardon me.

Je pense que je vais y aller maintenant.=I have to go now.

Je dois bientot commencez mon priere du matin.=I have morning prayers to go to.

10) The concept of an Imbuer, the Mime Spell(Encapsilaria), École La Découverte de Mme Dupont(Madame Dupont's School of Discovery), and the concept of a Psychopompus are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

15. Chapter 13

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 35,047

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: Other than the fact that it's hella long, none. This chapter is full of fluff-tastic fun!

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.

Tuesday, 05/31/05

“So then she makes her eyes all big like this,” Ron said as he gave his best impression of Hermione's sometime wide eyed expression, “and goes, 'Oh Harry, we have to tell her, we have to tell her.'”

Ron had Glinda, Fred, George, Charlie, and Hermione in stitches. For the last half-hour or so he had been plying them all with tales of the Trio's formative years at Hogwarts, mainly for the benefit of Charlie and Glinda. As Ron went into his over exaggerated impersonation of the embarrassed yet highly amused woman sitting on the couch, all five of them laughed uproariously. It was a pretty good imitation. Judging by Hermione's ringing laughter, she thought so as well.

Harry, however, barely glanced at Ron. His field of vision was too preoccupied by the sight of ten little toes with nails the color of candy floss. Merlin, what they must taste like, he wondered. The two tanned limbs that they were attached to weren't half-bad at all either, in his estimation. Poor Ron! He could have very well been Professor Binns, with the amount of attention that Harry was giving him.

“Not a tear in her eyes mind you, but that old bag Umbridge hardly seemed to care.”

“Hermione, I'm shocked,” scolded Glinda from her seat next to the brunette. “Pulling the poor helpless female routine?”

Despite what she was saying, she was giggling madly.

“Well, what else was I supposed to do?” Hermione asked, trying to hold back her own laughter. “That ghastly woman was about to Crucio Harry. I couldn't very well allow that to happen!

“No she couldn't,” continued Ron as everyone's focus shifted back to him. He was still standing as he finished his story. “So what she does is make up this cock and bull story about Dumbledore having some secret weapon in the forest, and the toad faced hag actually falls for it!”

Although Fred and George had heard this story dozens of times, they still laughed the hardest, especially at any insult directed at their one time Headmistress. If anyone had hated Dolores Jane Umbridge as much as Harry, it was the twins.

“I knew from the moment I laid eyes on Um-bitch that she was as stupid as she was ugly,” George said with a snigger. He was stretched out on the floor next to the big squashy leather recliner that Charlie was seated in. Lizzie was obediently lying down next to him. He had been sneaking her bits of food and the two of them had become friends for life.

“Cor! That sure is a lot of stupid in’ it?” Fred joked. He was sitting on the arm of the couch next to his wife.

A poor, lonely love seat sat to the far left of all of them.

As Ron fell back on to the couch on the other side of Hermione, he looked as if he was still too tickled over the story he was recounting.

“Fred, you've never spoken truer words,” Ron said as he chuckled. “Regrettably, I didn't get to witness the centaurs carry her off, but I'm sure it was brilliant,” he said as he looked down at Harry who was on the floor near Hermione. Harry, however, missed what Ron said because he was too busy being distracted by Hermione’s bare legs that were dangling enticingly beside him.

Oh look, she just uncrossed them again.

“Well Harry, wasn't it brilliant?”

“Oh y-yes,” stammered Harry quickly as he turned his attention towards Ron. “Quite brilliant,” he added with a strained smile. He prayed that no one could tell that he didn't have a clue what he was agreeing to.

The small party of seven was all seated inside the newly refurnished living room of the Potter cottage in Godric's Hollow. Half-eaten bowls of melting ice cream lay scattered across the floor and the coffee table, along with empty take-away cartons and empty bottles of butterbeer. The mood was cheerful and merry as they all celebrated Hermione moving into her new home.

Every time Harry thought those words to himself he couldn't help the giddy little smile that covered his lips.

When the idea to bring Hermione to the Hollow and have her live in his family's cottage first came to Harry it seemed truly inspired. She needed somewhere to stay and he had an empty house that was begging and wanting to be filled. What better place for Hermione to live? She loved the old house as much, maybe even more than he did if he remembered correctly.

When Harry first Apparated them over to the house Hermione's eyes had been closed. It was almost as if she had known somehow where Harry was taking her, and she wanted to hold off the big moment of reveal to savor it. Then again she probably hadn't Apparated in years, and the sensation of being transported side-along made her dizzy and she was only trying to get her bearings. Still, Harry preferred the first explanation the best. Especially when he saw the awe-struck look of wonderment and joy that was on Hermione's face at the discovery. The look nearly took Harry's breath away.

Since the cottage was way at the edge of town, and the villagers still thought the place was haunted, he wasted no time pulling out his wand and saying the incantation that would break the SnowGlobe over the house. Once that was done, he slipped the wand back in its holster and looked at her. As she turned to face him, tears of happiness glistening in her eyes, she worked her mouth open and closed but no words came out. Harry tried to tell her that it was alright, that she didn't have to say anything, but before he could get those words passed his lips 145 lbs of soft, trembling, wonderfully fragrant female flesh threw itself into his arms. Her arms latched around his neck to pull him into a hug. His arms found themselves wound around her waist tugging her closer. And dear Merlin, did it feel good! This by itself would have been amazing, but coupled with the dizzying feel of her breasts pressed firmly into his chest tantalizingly moving up...and then down as she bounced in excitement, all thought quickly left his head.

Before Harry knew what was what, he had bent down, lifted her up, and had her cradled in his arms. She could say nothing to halt or hinder him because her mouth was too busy being suckled, massaged, and nibbled on by his own. Any doubt that she didn't want this too was squelched once her tongue shyly flickered against his lips. Taking this as a good sign, his tongue sought hers, swirling and dancing with it. Someone moaned, and he wasn't too sure that it wasn't him, but Hermione didn't seem to care.

Using the arm that she still had around his neck, she placed her hand on the back of his head, threaded her fingers in his hair, and roughly held his head in place. As if he needed the encouragement. Ha! Her other hand then began to gently caress his cheek, and that tender action was all that was needed to give him the impetus to swiftly make his way over the threshold of the door, cross quickly to the foot of the stairs, and taking two steps at a time, make his way up.

Without breaking his stride, he turned towards the nearest bedroom; the room that had once been his. He had long ago placed all of the old house furniture in the basement so there was nothing in the room but the bluish gray plush carpeting. But that should be enough, he assured himself.

He was just about to lower himself and Hermione onto the floor when she pantingly pulled her lips away from his, looked desirously into his eyes, and spoke the words he longed to hear from her.

“Harry...need...air...”

Well, not exactly the words he had been longing to hear.

“Harry,” she said again in a belabored voice, “you're crushing me. And I kind of miss breathing.”

Harry took a step back and shockingly realized that he was still standing outside of the cottage. Hermione was still in his arms but only wrapped in an overly friendly hug and not in the passionate clinch that he had been imagining. He instantly understood that what he had just experienced had only been some fucked up delusion worked up to obviously drive him insane! As he slowly loosened his hold on her, Harry had to wonder just what the hell he was thinking. It was almost as if he had tried to make one of his crazed dreams come true. What happened to all his good sense?

It went straight out the window once you thought about shagging her on the shag carpet, said the little voice coming from his head. Sadly it wasn't the one attached to his neck.

Shut it you! Hermione would probably sock me for thinking such things.

You never know unless you try mate, it answered back. Such a helpful little fiend it was.

And what do we tell the Missus later?

Bugger! Forgot about her.

Exactly.

If Harry hadn’t already been in such an anxious state, he would have realized that he had now graduated from conversations with abstract beings to having chats with his own dick.

“Sorry, Hermione,” he said with chagrin as his arms dropped to his side.

She skittishly smiled back at him.

“Quite alright. I guess we both just got caught up in the moment.”

Harry wished fervently then that he still had his Auror robes on. Surely they would have hid the fact that he was sporting a rather impressive semi. Maybe she won't have noticed, he fervidly hoped.

That wish was dashed as soon as he saw Hermione's saucer-like eyes glance down at the tented material of his slacks and quickly look away.

“Let's go inside,” she said, voice somewhat higher than normal. She walked quickly towards the house as if to hide her crimson cheeks from him.

Sorry, said the little criminal in Harry’s pants.

Duly fucking noted, he disgustedly thought to himself.

That brief moment of awkwardness was glossed over once he and Hermione stepped into the house. As soon as she got inside, she started running around the place like a kid on Christmas morning. She didn't even care that the place was empty. She sprinted up the stairs and back down. She twirled around the wide living room to the point that she collapsed, drunk-like, onto the carpeting. This only made her laugh, and Harry laughed right along as he helped her back up.

She then headed towards the patio, practically yanking the sliding glass door off its tracks, and made a bee-line for the tree. The tree swing was still there and this seemed to please her greatly. She daintily seated herself on it, and using her own feet to give herself the momentum she needed, pushed from the ground and began to lazily swing back and forth. As Harry watched her big, glowing smile that grew larger by the second, he felt some of the anxiety that he had been struggling with from the moment he had been left alone in Hermione’s presence weaken. It was a welcome change. With all of the conflicting emotions inside of his head, it was starting to sound like a cacophony in there.

First there was the undeniable chemical reaction his body seemed to have whenever Hermione looked at him, smiled at him, or even so much as touched his hand. What to call it? Was it desire? Passion? Need? That morning, when she had cheerfully greeted him while walking down the Burrow’s stairs dressed in a simple, yet very snugly fitting jog suit, all he had wanted to do was take her hand, walk her right back up those steps, and convince her that she would feel so much better if she took the suit off. He knew he would feel much better. It would definitely give her something to smile about.

Harry loved sex just as much as the next warm blooded male of his species, but there was just something about this woman that turned him into some kind of raving, lust crazed maniac. Randy? It was more like he was ravenous for her. Forget having a monster in his chest, the one in his pants seemed to now be working independently from the rest of him these days. Was it any wonder he had chosen to block out these feelings for her all those years ago? If he hadn't, how would he have ever passed Transfiguration back then? Or Potions, for that matter? He would have spent every waking hour he could trying to figure out how to get around the damned enchantment that turned the stairway to the girls' dorms into an indoor slip and slide just to get at her. That wouldn't have been very conducive to his studies, now would it?

These thoughts were usually followed closely by shame. If what he harbored for Hermione was some sweet, innocent, “never meant to be” kind of love, Harry was sure he would have been able to endure that. Probably. Maybe. After all wasn't that basically what he had unwittingly endured all these years in the first place? He had always loved Hermione for the person who she was; her giving nature, her fierce mama bear tendencies, her stubbornness to usually look for the good in others as well as a million plus one other amazing qualities that she possessed. But now all of that, coupled with the acute awareness that he also physically desired her, made him feel guilty over his failure to control his raging libido. It was one thing to deal with a dream Hermione (Merlin, how many ways had he dealt with the dream Hermione in the last few months). But it was a completely different matter to have these desires running rampant through him now that the flesh and blood version was here. Harry was pretty sure that she wouldn't appreciate all of the things they had been doing together, so to speak, in his head. Hermione would probably be disgusted and worse, disappointed in him.

The guilt, however, was being drowned out by a stronger emotion; grief. Grief for what could have been. Grief for what could never be. Through the dreams he had gotten just a taste of what being with Hermione might have been like. But that was just it, they weren't real. It was never going to happen. Hermione didn't see him that way; had never seen him that way, would never see him that way. If Harry thought there was a chance other wise...who knows what he would have done. But Harry knew that trying to hold on to that kind of pipe dream was futile. In fact, if Harry's suspicions were true, Hermione was probably still in love with her best friend, the one with the red hair. Oh, there was also that sticky little matter he called his marriage to consider.

The emotion that outweighed them all was fear, sadly. Now that Hermione was home, Harry had to make sure she stayed here. He couldn't allow her to leave again. He wasn't sure he could stand it if she did, either by her own will or by that of some outside menace. The information she had told him about Carrows was distressing enough, and as soon as he got the chance Harry planned to use all the pull in the Department he had to see if Amycus could be tracked down and put away for good. If they could never prove that he had something to do with the Grangers' deaths, he would still have to answer for all of his years in service to Riddle. No matter what, Harry would never allow Carrows to ever hurt his Hermione again. But truthfully it was a different madman that was Harry's main concern. There was a picture of a dead girl, still sitting on his desk at the Ministry, which just couldn't be ignored.

And what of Mrs. Potter? Oh, Harry was quite disgusted with himself as well. None of this was fair to Ginny. She was his wife, he had pledged a vow to her. He had promised her forever. Of course he was stupid enough to do all of this without the benefit of actually loving her; that still didn't mean that he could just toss her to the side as though she were rubbish, just a bit of chaff. He couldn't cast her off like she was some albatross around his neck.

Could he?

Of course not. There was nothing he could do to put an end to his marriage.

Wasn't there?

Of course there wasn't. There was no way to overturn the Rites. None.

But Merlin help him, Harry could no more stop how he felt for Hermione than he could make the tides turn direction. Actually he probably had a better shot at the latter. So where did all of this leave him?

Nowhere.

As Hermione swayed back and forth in the swing, all of these crazy, jumbled up, mixed about thoughts that plagued him thankfully tapered down to a dull roar. He simply became just another love sick fool with a goofy grin on his face watching a pretty girl...no...an attractive woman, gliding through the air. It was a perfectly innocent picture, sweet even. He just wondered what it would look like if she was wearing a skirt instead. It was with that thought that Harry excused himself to the bathroom. If you wanted to be technical about it, he ran like the wind for the downstairs loo as Hermione's concerned voice called after him.

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

Early the next morning Harry stopped by Ron's to fill him in on Hermione's new living situation. She had been so excited about living in the Hollow that she wanted to move in that very night. After collecting her vehicle, the two of them went straight to the Burrow so she could get her trunk and dog. He suggested just letting Molly pack up her trunk for her and send it later, but Hermione seemed pretty adamant that no one touch her things. Although Harry found that odd, he let it go for the time being.

When they got back to the Hollow Harry immediately set about putting up several protective wards around the house. He put up restrictions for Polyjuice, burglary, and Apparition among others. He also put up a ward that prevented anyone who intended harm to Hermione from getting within twenty feet of the place. Such a spell was only used to protect witnesses who testified in high profile cases brought before the Wizengamot, but Harry didn't bother telling Hermione that. She would probably yell at him for treating her like some fragile invalid.

Truth be told, if Harry could have put her under the Fidelius he would have; he was determined to make sure that she was safe all the way out here by herself, but he knew that would never fly with Hermione. So he did the next best thing, he asked her if it was alright for him to be her FailSafe. For emergency purposes of course, he strongly reminded himself. He alone could bypass the wards and Apparate in and Disapparate out. She told him that she had just assumed that he would have set it up that way. Who else did she trust as much as she trusted him, she asked. Harry felt as though he were walking on air after that.

Harry came by to see if Ron would help him get Hermione's old things out of storage. When Hermione took off she originally left all of her parents’ old furniture behind. Ever the overachiever, her rent had already been paid up for the next couple of months so her things just remained where they were. Once that ran out, Harry, convinced that she would come back any day, continued to pay the monthly. He wanted to make sure she was able to pick right back up where she left off when she returned. It took a year for everyone to convince him that all of this was for naught. Harry still couldn't bear the idea of anything happening to her beloved possessions. So one afternoon he and Ron spent the day shrinking the furniture and other knickknacks, and boxing them up. Harry then stored the boxes away in the cottage's basement where they remained, untouched, for years.

When Harry informed Hermione of all of this she was so moved that she thankfully forgot the awkwardness from earlier, and gave him a huge kiss on the cheek. It took all of Harry's strength of will not to turn his head. Instead he decided to put all of his frustrated energy to good use and set up her bed and other furnishings in the master bedroom. Once that was done they both collapsed onto the mahogany bed, side by side, and chatted away about nothing and everything for hours. After they ran out of words they still remained next to each other, content to just be in the other's presence. Harry would have been perfectly fine remaining right where he was forever, but the she yawned and suggested that they call it a night since it was nearing three in the morning. She wanted to go to bed and didn't feel like sharing the covers, she joked. Besides he had a wife to go home to, she reminded him.

At first Ron seemed to be in a daze as Harry told him everything. It was nine in the morning and the redhead had just rolled out of bed to answer the door. Harry hardly noticed the time, he had already been up for hours. He had gone to work early to handle some matters with the Cadmus case, make some inquiries about Carrows, and to see about hooking up the fireplace in the cottage to the Floo Network so Hermione could floo back and forth between the Hollow, the Burrow, Fred and Glinda's, or any place else she wanted to go. He also took it upon himself to put a restriction on who could floo into the house; only Ron and Glinda for now. Although he was sure Hermione would probably be more than a little peeved by his forwardness, Harry told himself that he was simply doing it for her safety.

Once he had about two large cups of coffee in him, a toothy grin spread on Ron's face. The caffeine started to kick in and Harry could tell that his best mate thought that both Hermione's new place of residence and the suggestion of stopping in were smashing ideas. Just the day before Ron and the rest of the Wasps had managed to convince their crazed captain that if he didn't lay off the intense training, they all would be useless by time it came to face Appleby for the Cup. This put the fear of Hades into Talbot and he forbade all of them to even go near their brooms for at least three days. He also ordered them to get some much needed relaxation. In Ron's opinion spending the day with Harry and Hermione, two of his favorite people in the world, was just what the Healer ordered.

Harry also looked forward to spending quality time with his two best friends, but if he was being honest, he did have a few ulterior motives behind the outing. Mainly he wanted to be near Hermione as much as he could, but the problem was that Harry simply did not trust himself alone with her. He might foolishly stare at her like a lost puppy or spend too long sniffing at her. Just what was that new smell that clung to her, he wondered. It was nice. Different, but nice. He might even get so wrapped up in one of his little fantasies that he would forget himself again and...who knows...ravish her or something. How does one “ravish” someone anyway, Harry absentmindedly wondered.

No matter, he could not allow this to happen. So he needed Ron to act as a buffer between Hermione and himself. Plus there were those suspicions that Harry had, a few unsavory misgivings on what truly brought Hermione racing back home only a few weeks before the wedding of one Ronald Bilius Weasley. Harry wanted to closely observe the two of them interact with one another. He needed to see if any of that legendary sexual tension that he used to hear so much about, but truthfully never noticed or cared to, still simmered between the two ex-lovers. Why? Because Harry Potter is a masochistic son of a bitch, he sullenly told himself.

Once Ron showered and dressed, they were both about to Apparate to the village when George suddenly came home early from the shop. He had left the WWW in care of the store manager so he could go over to Hogsmeade and spend the day with his other half. Fred, who took the day off from his own store as well, was staying home with Glinda and Charlie. George had originally planned to go over to his twin's house to have breakfast and had come home to see if Ron wanted to join them, but when he heard where Harry and his brother were headed he instantly wanted to tag along.

Harry tried to make it sound very dull and boring so George wouldn't be interested in coming. Harry had already suggested throwing a Welcome Home party or get-together for her, but Hermione had strongly declined. She wanted some privacy for a while, she told him. That answer actually relieved Harry. The less notice Hermione's homecoming garnered the better, he believed. Harry tried his best to explain to George that Hermione just wasn't up to seeing too many visitors. Ron chose to convey the situation succinctly to his brother.

“No gits allowed.”

Harry rolled his eyes towards the havens at the remark. Ron might as well have rolled out the Welcome mat for George Weasley.

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

It was somewhere between the fourth and fifth time he knocked urgently on the door and didn't get a response, that Harry went into a blind panic. When he knocked a sixth time and still received no answer, Harry Apparated directly into the house frantically calling out Hermione's name. He was so distressed that he ended up on the bottom of the stairs instead of the foyer as he had planned, running smack dab into Hermione who had been charging down the staircase to see to the maniac banging at her door. They collided with one another and both went tumbling to the floor, Hermione on top of him.

Harry’s body immediately reacted to the feel of her pressed up against just about all of the places a bloke liked to be pressed up against. She was wearing the barest scrap of some silky turquoise material that sent all of his blood rushing in a downward direction. In some circles the tiny article of clothing might have even be considered a dressing gown. It did cover up the most important, vital areas. Drat! But Harry had seen just enough of golden colored thighs, arms, and the barest sliver of breast to almost send him into a tailspin. Hermione scrambled off of him, plopped herself on the bottom step of the stairs, and demurely adjusted the top of her dressing gown. As Harry sat up from the floor he could only thank the stars that this time he was mercifully wearing his thick work robes.

Oh yes, because when she was just straddling you she didn't feel a thing right, he could practically hear his little Harry tell him.

Wait 'til I get my hands on you, he thought crossly.

Flirt!

Hermione eyes went wide in shock. It was an almost comical expression, and Harry would have laughed at it if he hadn't realized just what caused her to jump off of him. The bugger in his pants had obviously been right. Harry ashamedly tried to apologize to her when a wild and crazy thought suddenly struck him. Hermione almost seemed to be as affected...hell, aroused by this little encounter as he was. Her pink cheeks, rattled countenance, and rapid, shallow breathing almost seemed to attest to this observance. And Harry couldn't be sure, but he almost thought he saw the faint impression of her nipples through the flimsy material of her dressing gown. It was almost as if they beckoned him and Harry couldn't stop himself from heeding the call.

He slowly stood up from the floor and crossed the short distance that separated the two of them. There was no thought in his action; it was as simplistic as some heretofore undetected magnetic force drawing him to her. As he stopped before her, his eyes never leaving her own, Harry wasn't sure what he was about to do. He wasn't even certain if this was actually happening, but as his right hand tentatively left his side, he just knew he had to touch her. Somewhere. Everywhere. Or die. And the fact that she looked as though she were making no move to stop him only spurred him on. The tips of his fingers had barely touched the surface of her cheek, when a loud, pounding noise startled them and they both turned in the direction it came from.

“Are you guys alright in there?” came the muffled sound of Ron's voice through the front door.

He pounded on it again.

“I heard a noise. Is everything ok?” he asked worriedly.

Who the hell invited Ron?!

The sound of Ron's voice produced a quick intake of breath from Hermione. This caused Harry to look back towards her and see a befuddled and panicked expression cross her face as she looked between the door and him. Before Harry could say a word, Hermione sprung up and ran back up the stairs. That's when Harry cursed himself. He was a married man who had almost made an inappropriate pass at his childhood friend. She hadn't been turned on just then; she had obviously been shocked at his brazenness. That was the only way to explain it. Now she was probably trying to get as far from him as she could. Hermione was barely settled back home and already, in the space of two days, her best mate, who was supposed to be happily married, had practically jumped her. She must think the worse of me, a gloomy voice said in his head; the one up top this time.

When Hermione finally came back downstairs Harry's fears were confirmed. Her face was pinched and she looked put out. She had changed into a pair of lounge shorts and a bulky orange sweatshirt that had the picture of what looked like a cow in gray silhouette. Under the picture, written in block letters, were the words, “Longhorns Do It Better”.

Her face looked freshly scrubbed and he noted that it was devoid of all of the goop she seemed to be so fond of putting on it these days. He liked this version better. She looked more like the girl he had fallen in love with. The hair was still highly distracting however, but since it was pulled away from her face in a no-frills ponytail he didn't focus too long on it.

Lizzie had come running down the stairs behind Hermione and headed straight towards him. Harry bent down to pet the dog and let her playfully lick at his face. He tried to use the poor thing as a shield to protect himself from her master's wrath, but when he took a peek from behind the animal he found that Hermione wasn't even looking at him. She kept her eyes on Ron as she told them that she didn't feel much like entertaining company. She had just come in from an early morning run through the village, and when the two of them showed up she was just getting out of the bathtub. She had hoped to spend the day alone. To Harry’s dismay she didn't even spare him a glance as she said all of this.

It looked like Hermione was trying to very politely, yet firmly, kick them out of the house and Harry couldn't help but think that he was the reason why. This was no great surprise, but what happened next certainly was. When she headed towards the front door and opened it, the three of them were not prepared to see the four grinning faces of Mr. And Mrs. Fred Weasley, as well as George and Charlie standing on the other side, arms filled with packages.

Their appearance only seemed to heighten Hermione's irritation, but before she could slam the door on her guests' faces (and Harry believed that she was close to doing it), Glinda decided to play her trump card. When George mentioned that Harry, Hermione, and Ron were all goofing off at the Hollow, and suggested that they go crash the party, Glinda knew that it would take some pretty big guns to get them through the door.

Remembering Hermione's love of the Chinese restaurant around the corner from the old flat in Brixton, she made sure that their little group stopped in at Mister Chopsticks and picked up some vital bargaining chips; spring rolls, shrimp dumplings, lo mein and just about all of Hermione's favorites. They even stopped at a market to get a few cases of Neapolitan ice cream to scoop up with the fortune cookies, a long held tradition in the former Granger/Vengadasalaam household. When Glinda told Hermione what was in the bags she grudgingly let them in the cottage.

After about ten minutes the tense air that hung about the house dissipated and the day turned into a fun gathering of good food, friends, and memories. First things first, the men set up the rest of Hermione's furniture. She and Glinda directed them from the couch while sampling all of the food. Ron let them know that if there were no potstickers left when the slaves got done with all of the grunt work there surely would be hell to pay. After that was taken care of, everyone settled down in the lounge and began passing back and forth various take-away cartons as they all ate a little bit of every dish, and laughed and gossiped about everything under the sun.

George filled them all in on why Charlie had suddenly decided to bunk at Fred's the night before. When George stopped in to have dinner at the Burrow he discovered his big brother laid out on the couch asleep looking like a five knut Knockturn Alley whore. It turned out that Violet and Rosemary had “borrowed” some of their Aunt Hermione's make-up from her room, and the little girls had taken it upon themselves to make their uncle look pretty. Charlie took the ribbing from everyone well, and told Hermione as she tried to apologize through tears and laughter that there was no need to. George let them all know that as soon as he got the pictures he took developed he would let them all have copies. Ron told him to make sure he got him wallet sized ones. Charlie told them all that he preferred the calm and quiet of a dragon preserve to a household filled with five children. Since Fred and Glinda only had the one little one, Charlie figured it was safer to just stay with them.

Glinda shared some of her horror stories concerning her one man startup company. She ran a Muggle matchmaking service where she set up young London singles on lunch dates all from the comfort of her home. Of course the use of two desk top computers, a laptop, a Blackberry, and two separate mobile phones also helped lighten the load. Their Hogsmeade home contained so much electronic gadgetry that Fred hardly was allowed to use any magic in it. Too much magical energy caused the Muggle technology to go haywire. When Felicity's accidental magic started to increase they had to start sending her to the Hogsmeade Little School in town to help keep Glinda's business from exploding, literally, around her.

For three years she had practically run Out to Lunch as a lark, what better way to be in everybody's business? But the last six months of success and financial solvency had been a nice surprise. She was even starting to look at the prospects of crossing over and working with witches and wizards. Her only misstep was accidentally making mention of these plans in front of Pansy McLaggen at a social gathering one night. The blonde harridan got it into her head that she would make an excellent partner in the venture, even if Glinda was (regrettably) a Muggle. Pansy hadn't left Glinda alone since.

Ron gabbed on about the upcoming British Cup, Fred and George entertained them with tales about the stores, and Charlie told them some amusing anecdotes about his time in Sweden. When most of them tried to fish information out of Hermione about her years in Texas she looked uncomfortable, but ended up telling them funny stories involving her former flat mates, Amelia Calhoun and Benitez Cohen, as well as the daycare center where the three of them had all worked together.

The talk of kids led Fred and Ron to pulling out photos of their beautiful daughters. This time it was Harry's turn to get cagey as once again his family badgered him over when he and Ginny were going to start popping out babies. Mercifully Hermione told them that Harry would have kids when he was good and ready, and to just leave him alone until then. He wanted to kiss her for saying it, but then remembered that he was in a room with four of his six brother-in-laws and decided that it probably wouldn't be a good idea. Harry then expertly switched the topic to their years spent at Hogwarts.

It was as if they had all found a Time-Turner and stepped back into the past. The series of memories that they began to share were so palpable that Harry felt as though he could almost hold them tightly in his arms. The Weasley twins nearly flooding the castle, Bill almost losing his Head Boy badge and Charlie almost getting thrown off the house team when the two of them and Tonks threw a wild party in the Forbidden forest, the Trio's experiences with the little baby dragon Norbert; although all of these stories had been told and told again through out the years, they still felt fresh and still made all of them laugh.

Glinda also loved to hear about all of their old adventures. When Glinda first discovered Hermione's little secret it always amazed Harry how well she took the news. Hermione later told him that one of Glinda's favorite books as a kid was all about good and bad wizards, elves, magical rings, and dark overlords. The woman was simply ecstatic to grow-up and find out that magic really did exist in the world. Glinda also off-handedly mentioned to him once that she used to belong to some club called the D&D where she was a Dungeon Master in her wild and misspent youth. Since it sounded kind of kinky Harry had chosen not to press for further details.

It was a lovely day. The only sore spot for Harry was that he couldn't help the feeling that Hermione was purposefully ignoring him. Of course no one else would have thought so; she talked to him easily and answered his questions as well as asked him some of her own. However Harry felt that she seemed distant. When they first all sat down to eat she didn't save him the other place on the couch next to her. Instead she grinned gaily at Ron when he plopped down where Harry felt he should have been sitting. Git! Of course this did afford Harry the prime location to look at her legs to his heart's content and not be caught at it; still the whole thing rankled him.

Then there was the fact that she would barely look him in the eyes, but every now and then he would catch her staring at him. She would always turn her head quickly and act as if she had been listening to Ron or the twins and found whatever they were saying particularly funny, but Harry knew that she had been looking at him beforehand. He figured that she was probably still put off by the run in they'd had earlier. Either that or she was still annoyed that he and Ron had intruded on her day of rest. But that hasn't stopped her from laughing at every word that's comes out of Ron's big mouth, he grumpily thought.

In fact she had nearly laughed herself into a stupor when Ron began to tell them all about the time that he and Hermione were caught snogging away in a broom closet near the Infirmary when they were supposed to be at an Order meeting. Peeves discovered them, and was on his way to rat them out, when Hermione and Ron offered to get the Bloody Baron off his back for him if he didn't say a peep. Hermione, thinking that appealing to the Baron's intellectual leanings was the best route to go, tried to have a meaningful conversation with the blood stained ghost about the castle's rich history and offered to read to him from her many books if he liked. The Baron merely looked at her grimly. When it became obvious that her tactics weren't going to work, Ron introduced the terrifying spook to the wonders of wizarding porn magazines and their very animated pictures. The Baron forgot all about Peeves, and Ron and Hermione were safe to snog in any broom closet of their choosing from then on.

As Ron told the colorful yarn and the rest of the group laughed, Harry had to actually sit on his wand hand; the need to hex Ron was just that strong. Harry felt almost nauseous with jealousy. And the worst part was that instead of smacking Ron, or at least berating him for sharing such a thing, Hermione only smiled brighter at her ex-boyfriend and girlishly giggled as he tickled her on her side and she poked right back at him. When she still won't look me in the eye, a sad little voice in Harry's head sighed. Harry almost wanted to run from the room and hide his face.

But then Hermione did something miraculous that nearly made his heart dance inside his chest. She reached into one of the bags nearest her, pulled out a fortune cookie, and absentmindedly cracked it open in her hand. She then removed the little paper, tore up the printed words in tiny pieces, and gave the two broken halves of the cookie to Harry. It was a routine they had developed long ago. Whenever they would go to a Chinese restaurant or get take-away, Hermione would always remove the fortunes from the fortune cookies for him. Although he loved the little crunchy biscuits themselves, any talk of future telling reminded him of being told over and over again in Trelawney's class that he was going to die any day, or brought up unpleasant reminders that his whole life had been dictated by a prophesy. As usual, being sensitive to his needs, Hermione would get rid of the offending strips of paper before he could even look at them.

Their friends all thought it was just another one of those “weird Harry and Hermione things”, but after a while they hardly noticed it much. When Hermione left, he no longer wanted anyone to break open his fortune cookies for him, not even Ginny. In truth he had almost forgotten that Hermione used to do this, but as soon as she placed the crisp, sugary shells in his palm he was so overcome with emotion that he clasped her hand in his own and held onto it. Although that panicked look flickered in her eyes again for a second, when it faded away she smiled down at him tenderly before gently removing her hand from his. Harry hoped that no one looked too closely at him because if they did they couldn't help but notice his flushed cheeks and gleeful smile. Ron could keep his closet snogs, Harry had his own precious memories of Hermione too! Although he had to concede that a closet snog would be nice.

Once the fortune cookies started being handed out Hermione excused herself to the bathroom. She also promised to get the ice cream out of the freezer when she was done. After she was gone for a good length of time Harry went towards the kitchen to see if she needed any help. When he discovered that she wasn't there he opened the patio door to see if she was outside. Not finding her there, he walked back out into the living room. He was about to head up the stairs when he heard a curious sound coming from the bathroom nearby. Had she been in there all of this time?

Creeping closer to the door, Harry tried to figure out what the noise was. What he heard was Hermione's faint voice arguing with someone, but Harry couldn't detect a second voice and knew that there could be no one in there with her. Although Harry knew he shouldn't, he was actually surprised that she hadn't knocked him silly for reading her mind the other day, he still pulled his wand out of his robes and cast a charm on the door so he could hear what was being said.

“Exaudio.”

“I don't give a damn how you got this number! You're not allowed to call me again, am I making myself clear?!” he heard Hermione's agitated voice shrill. It was almost reminiscent of the way she would talk to him and Ron when they were being particularly thickheaded about something. But Harry also detected a pleading note to her voice.

“Don't call me again. NEVER! JUST LEAVE ME BE!”

Whoa! What was this all about, Harry wondered. Who was she talking to?

“Lose my phone number! Pretend you never knew it. ARE WE UNDERSTOOD?!”

And then there was silence.

Harry pressed himself closer in hopes to hear more. But all of a sudden the knob was being turned, the door was yanked open, and before him stood Hermione. She had her mobile in her hand. She obviously hadn't been prepared to see him standing there because she actually jumped back at the sight of him.

“H-Harry?” she barely choked out. “Um...did you need to use the loo?”

He answered the question the only way he knew how.

“Erm...yes!”

She tried to casually hide the phone behind her back, but Harry still noticed.

“Oh.”

For a few moments neither of them said anything, just watched the other. The air between them however felt thick with a myriad of unsaid words and actions. As though both of them were waiting, almost impatiently, to see what the other one would do; who would make the first move. It was a feeling almost akin to holding your palm over a lighted candle and seeing how close you could get your fingers to the flame before scorching yourself. And then doing it again. It felt reckless. It felt tempestuous. It felt willful; as though possessing a mind of its own and Merlin help him, did he love it! In fact he could almost see himself giving into it, pulling her into the bathroom with him and closing the door just so he could see what her response would then be. The way she was looking at him from beneath heavy lids made him wonder if she felt the same taught energy that was longing to be unleashed. Instead of giving into the temptation though, Harry tried his best to push past it. He also was curious about the yelling.

“Is everything alright, Hermione?”

“Of course it is. Why wouldn't it be?”

“Oh, no reason.”

He didn't want her to know that he had been listening at the door a minute ago. He feared that she would think he was either a prat for being so nosy or a perv. Probably both. More than likely she had gotten another one of those wrong number calls again, he figured. If something was really wrong he felt certain that she would tell him now, especially after they had cleared the air between them the day before.

Having gotten that out the way, he smiled shyly at her and she blushed prettily, returning his smile with a timid one of her own as she cast her eyes to the floor. But when she glanced back up at him and their eyes met, that mind drugging tension soon seeped in once again. It practically begged to be unleashed. Harry's eyes even drifted from Hermione's face to the door behind her again as he wondered...

“The bathroom...” she mumbled in a thick voice

Harry quickly shifted his eyes towards her again.

“Huh?”

“Didn't you need to use the bathroom?”

Dammit! His desire for this woman was obviously making him lose his marbles.

“Um, yes. Bathroom.”

“You could have used any of the ones upstairs, you know.”

“I didn't want to be rude.”

“Silly,” she playfully chided him. “This is your house. Everything in it is at your disposal.”

Harry had to stop his mind from going to a very bad place at those words. Well actually it was a nice place, but still...

“...since I'm all done in here you can use this one. Too bad though, you just missed your opportunity to rifle through my knickers or something,” she said tartly with a naughty smile. And then, as though realizing what she had said, her face blanched.

Harry's eyes widened at the quip. Did she...did Hermione just...flirt with me? As Harry watched Hermione's teasing smile suddenly falter, and he heard her squeak out an apology as she rushed past him, Harry realized that it was just too hard to tell. But the thought of what her knickers might look like did fill his mind with some lovely little images as he walked into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. Hell, he told her he was going in there anyways. He just made sure that he took the listening charm off the door.

When he was done and joined the others back in the lounge Ron was just beginning the highlights of Dolores Umbridge's greatest hits at Hogwarts. Everyone had bowls of ice cream, but Harry didn't feel left out. As soon as he sat back down on the floor Hermione handed him a bowl of strawberry, his favorite flavor. She then promptly returned to half-ignoring, half-stealing covert peeks at him. It was all very confusing for Harry. That's why he decided to focus on her legs instead. The legs were safe, even if he did long to run his index finger down the length of her left calf muscle. He was curious to see if it was as hard as it looked or as soft as he hoped. Thankfully Ron asked him another question before he decided to test it out for himself.

“Come again?” Harry asked dazedly as he looked over at Ron.

“Mate, what the hell is wrong with you? You've been out of it for the last hour,” his oh so helpful friend pointed out.

Harry‘s eyes narrowed and the redhead actually reared back from the annoyed look Harry gave him. Ron's puzzled face showed clearly that he had no idea what he could have said to make Harry that aggravated with him.

“Probably having flashbacks of all the horrible things that toad woman did to him,” said George.

Harry smiled at the man. He always knew that George was his favorite Weasley twin.

“I mean taking away Quidditch from a bloke was just a low blow,” George complained.

“My hand still stings a bit when it rains,” Harry added as he held his right hand up for all to see.

“Oh Harry,” sighed Hermione as she reached out and grabbed the hand. She held it in both of hers, and inspected the skin as if to see if she could make out the faint tracing of “I must not tell lies”, still imprinted there and somehow make it go away.

As Harry watched her work her bottom lip between her teeth, her soft warm hands holding on to him tightly, he felt a calming, soothing sensation move through him. This was his Hermione; always worried about him, always looking for someway to take care of him...protect him. It almost boggled his mind to think that she had been this way with him since he was 13 years old and got his brand new Firebolt confiscated. For his own good, she told him then. Why had it taken all these years for him to see what he had in her? Never mind Ron, or Ginny, or Cho, or even Riddle. Why was he destined to be a dumb, clueless git for the rest of his life? It was so unfair!

“It's alright, Hermione. It feels just fine now,” Harry said as he placed his other hand on top of hers. At the contact she blushed, and withdrew her hands from his.

Well that was interesting, he thought to himself.

“Whatever happened to the woman?” Charlie asked, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

“Centaur stampede,” Harry answered as indifferently as if he was describing paint drying.

Charlie wrinkled his brow. “But...centaurs don't stampede.”

“Precisely,” said Fred and George at exactly the same time as they raised their butterbeers in a toast, huge grins plastering both of their faces.

“Somehow Bane and the rest of the Forbidden Forest crowd found out that she was organizing a protest rally in Hogsmeade,” began Harry as he explained the circumstances surrounding Umbridge's death barely a year ago.

“What was that shite organization called again?” asked Ron.

“People for the Unethical Treatment of the Four Legged,” replied Fred.

“In her later years she just became an out and out bigot,” chimed George.

Ron shook his head in disgust.

“Completely barmy.”

“So a handful of people show up to the rally, but before she could even begin her speech, about twenty centaurs galloped through the town and...uh...” Harry faltered, looking for a delicate way to describe the woman's body after the attack.

“Flattened her like a pancake,” Fred finished for him. Since that was about right, Harry really saw no need to argue it.

“Merlin! What a way to go,” replied Charlie.

“I just hope that the hag has beach front property in Hell right now, and that there is sand up the crotch of her thong currently.”

“OI!” shouted Ron as he threw both of hands over his eyes. “Thanks a lot for the hysterical blindness Fred!”

Fred chuckled at his little brother's discomfort.

“Well, although I can't say that I take any particular joy out of another's suffering, I'm not too saddened to hear that Umbridge is no longer able to cause havoc and ruin lives,” said Hermione. “I think I'll hate that woman forever for what she did to Harry,” she said primly.

Harry smiled adoringly at her.

“You did take care of her for me, though. The look on her face when Grawp came bursting through the trees is still one of my favorite memories.”

Once again her cheeks were tinged pink and Harry had to wonder if he was really seeing this or if it all was just a figment of his very frustrated imagination.

“Well that was our Hermione for you,” said Ron mirthfully. “She always came through for you in a pinch. Isn't that right, Harry?”

Harry tried to sneak a peek at her again, but to his dismay her eyes were steadily focused on Ron.

“Yeah,” he answered with a touch of misery in his voice.

“Even right from the start,” continued Ron, totally unaware of his best friend's inner turmoil. “Take the troll for instance. Glinda, you should have seen this beast,” said Ron as he turned to face his sister-in-law. “He had to have been twenty feet at the least. And he was a mean looking bastard too! The blood lust shone clear in his eyes...”

“Brother,” George said to Fred as he interrupted Ron's tale, “ever notice that every time he tells this story something else changes?”

Ron gave them each a scathing look which the two of them ignored.

“I reckon the next telling will have the troll doing the Can-can through the Great Hall,” answered Fred with a smirk.

“SHUT IT YOU TWO!” snapped Ron amidst the laughter from the others. “As I was saying,” he muttered, trying to continue his story. “Hermione told McGonagall, Quirrell, and Snape the sweetest little lie right on the spot. She didn't even blink. Saved Harry and my arse, for sure!”

Harry chuckled at the memory. He could still see Ron's stunned expression when Hermione told her tall tale. Truthfully, the look on his own face couldn't have been much different, thought Harry.

“Ya know, I think I might have even fallen in love with you that very night!” continued Ron.

Harry's smile fell. Just like that the story wasn't as fun anymore.

Hermione giggled and playfully swatted Ron on the arm.

“Flattery gets you everywhere,” she teased him.

Although it was obvious that Hermione and Ron were just joking with one another, Harry was just this close to resentfully telling them to go get a room. His two friends had never had this easy-going rapport with one another, even back when they dated. So what made now so different? Harry could still remember Hermione telling him once, ages ago it seemed that loving someone completely could be difficult. Since her relationship with Ron always appeared so angst ridden and stormy, Harry figured that was what she meant. He assumed that whatever difficulties Hermione had with Ron was what kept her from staying with him. Had Hermione finally made peace with whatever it was that made her break it off with Ron in the first place? Was this the reason behind her return?

Harry shook his head as if to free himself from these horrible thoughts. If I think about this too long I'll go spare, he told himself. Besides, he shouldn't worry about them being all gooey with each other. It was when they argued that the so-called “sexual tension” was at work, right? This teasing thing they were doing wasn't so bad. He could handle this.

Although if she puts her hand on his thigh just one more time...

“Listen, Blondie,” George said as he fixed Hermione with a rueful eye, “just because you were all hot an bothered for this one,” he said as he jerked his thumb in Ron's direction, making Harry now decide that Fred was actually his favorite Weasley twin instead, “I still don't think it's fair that you let these two get away with murder when you were always coming down so hard on me and my poor, innocent brother.”

“Yeah! No fair Blondie! No fair!”

Charlie had begun laughing at the word “innocent”, so hard that tears actually sprang to his eyes.

A small smile played at Hermione's lips, but she valiantly fought it.

“That's because most times I didn't have to worry about these two exploding the castle,” she said as she looked at Harry and then at Ron. “Well, most times at least.”

“HEY!” Harry and Ron exclaimed with equal amounts of amusement and scorn.

Glinda and Charlie laughed along with her, but Fred and George seemed unwilling to let the argument go for the moment.

“It was always 'George, you can't make the ickle firsties drink that green goop, it'll burn holes straight through their tongues',” said Fred in a mocking, shrill voice that made Ron roar with laughter.

“Or ‘Fred, I'm taking five points from Gryffindor if I catch you and Angelina in the Astronomy Tower one more time’,” George said as Glinda snickered.

“'Stop sending Moaning Myrtle Valentine cards addressed from Harry. It only encourages her'.”

“'If you think I won't tell Professor McGonagall that you broke the window trying to fly into the girls' dorms again, you're mad'.”

“'And I won't stop Filch from hanging you up by your thumbs either'.”

Ron found the twins banter hilarious. He practically bounced on the edge of his seat as he raised his hand excitedly.

“Ooh, ooh, I've got one! I've got one! ‘I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could have been killed, or worse, expelled’.”

“No! No!” Hermione protested as she hid her face behind her hands and shook her head. Everyone laughed. “I was never that bad! Never!”

Ron poked her in the side as he chuckled at her mock mortification.

“I'm afraid dearest that you were.”

“Thank God you lost that stick up your arse by time I met you, Ducks,” Glinda kidded. “I mean sure you were uptight a bit, but you must have been a monster back then.”

“Ron called me a nightmare,” she said in a feigned accusatory voice as she smacked Ron's thigh...AGAIN!

“But I meant it as a compliment,” he replied as he threw his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in for a friendly squeeze.

Harry practically felt his blood boil under his skin.

“I don't recall that one,” Fred said to Ron.

“That's because it happened in our first year,” Harry said, dragging his eyes from his two best friends who were making him increasingly annoyed. Ron still had his arm hanging around her!

“If I recall correctly, we had just had our first brush with Hagrid's sweet puppy,” Ron told Fred.

“You lot were scared of a puppy?” asked Glinda in puzzlement.

“Well Fluffy was quite special you see,” Harry explained. “Fluffy was guarding the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Glinda, however, still looked unimpressed.

“Oh, did we neglect to mention that Fluffy was nearly twenty-five feet tall and had three heads?” Ron asked her cheekily.

“Blimey!” yelped Glinda who turned on Fred. “And I'm actually supposed to send my daughter to this school?” she asked him.

“Oh don't worry, Glinda,” said Ron leisurely. “What doesn't kill Felicity will only make her stronger.”

“How reassuring,” she drolled.

“RON!” admonished Hermione as she pulled away from him (finally), and pinched his arm causing Ron to holler.

The rest of the group laughed at this, Harry the loudest.

“Tell her you were joking,” she ordered him.

She then turned towards Glinda.

“He's joking,” she reassured her friend. “Besides, Fluffy doesn't even live in the castle anymore. Felicity will never see him.”

“Like there's a Weasley worth their salt who's going to stay out of the Forbidden Forest,” said George.

“I don't think Perce has ever gone in,” Charlie mentioned.

“I rest my case.”

Glinda chuffed loudly.

“So Percy was a wanker even then?” she bitingly asked.

“You and Percy don't get along?” Hermione questioned.

“Not since the day that his precious heirs Philmore, Kentmore, and Barrymore,” Fred said pronouncing the names in a snooty tone, “set fire to Glinda's mum's antique Persian rug,” he answered for her.

“You mean the one she got from Korea?” George jokingly asked and ducked when Glinda tried to bean him with a spare fortune cookie. He then picked it up, cracked it, and shared half of it with the dog, totally ignoring Hermione's protests.

“Aren't the triplets too young to be doing any magic?” Hermione asked, turning to her.

“Of course,” replied Fred. “That's why one of them got a hold of Glinda's lighter instead.”

Hermione gave Glinda a disappointed look.

“Right before I left you quit.”

“I didn't quit, I got pregnant. Big difference,” Glinda easily said. “And I only have a fag or two on occasion now. But that wanker of a brother of Fred's tried to blame the whole thing on me. Said that my disgusting Muggle habit could have killed his beloved brats, the git,” she seethed. “Before that I had no problem watching the terrors for Penny so she could go to work, but now I refuse to!”

“Did you ever find out which one did it?” Ron queried.

“No,” she gruffly answered. “The little bastards dummied up when I tried to get it out of them.”

“The trick is to get Kentmore by himself,” George said. “He's the one most like Perce. He'll squeal on the other two in a heartbeat.”

“You know, I kind of feel sorry for Percy,” Charlie generously said which was met with boos and hisses from the twins, Glinda, and Ron. “No, seriously,” he continued. “From Bill's letters I kind of get the impression that none of Percy's dreams and goals ever worked out for him.”

“Well that's what he gets for selling out his family to the Ministry,” said Ron indignantly. “He even tried to turn me against Harry at one point. As if there was anything that could have ever made that happen.”

Hermione looked pointedly at him.

“Well,” he sheepishly mumbled, “not after that last time.”

“Yes, well...regardless of the fact, it didn't work out for him. He's still just the Minister's errand boy and it's been what, nine years? They don't seem to have much faith in him over at the Ministry.”

Fred didn't appear to have as much sympathy for Percy as Charlie did.

“Well the idiot was taking orders from a man under Imperio for almost a whole year. Can you blame them?”

“That's just what you call plain incompetence,” snickered George. “Bloke couldn't organize a piss-up in a brewery.”

“Well with Scrimgeour bringing Adair in from Burkina Faso and promoting him over Percy, I can only imagine that our brother probably feels a tad abused and looked over.”

“Then he should leave the Ministry,” Fred stated. “It's not like George and I haven't offered him a job before.”

Harry looked at him in disbelief.

“You told him that he could sweep up the back storeroom two nights a week.”

“See!” said Fred as he looked back towards Charlie. “I was even willing to overlook the fact that he's gloriously under-qualified!”

“Listen,” said Glinda interrupting the Weasley brothers’ debate, “since Percy Weasley isn't my husband it really isn't my problem if he feels inadequate, now is it? I just feel sorry for poor Penny.”

Harry and George both howled with laughter at the zinger, while Hermione and Charlie tried hard not to go along with them. Ron looked at his sister-in-law in wide eyed amazement, mouth wide open. Fred bent over and lovingly smacked a kiss on her forehead.

“I don't want to talk about him anymore,” she continued as her eyes merrily landed on Hermione. “I rather talk about Ducks, here.”

She leaned back into the armrest on the couch and laid her head against Fred's chest.

“Yes, let's talk about Hermione...and her lovely blonde hair she brought all the way from the States for us to play with.”

Fred and George sniggered.

“Bother,” said Hermione. “Should have seen that one coming.”

“So what's with the hair?” Glinda asked.

“What,” answered Hermione, “you don't like it? I haven't had it too long.”

She self-consciously smoothed her hand over the top of her head.

“I like it,” said Ron supportively earning a smile from Hermione.

Dear Merlin, did she actually dye her hair that way for Ron?! Everyone knew that Ron had a thing for blondes. The very idea did not sit well with Harry. At all!

“You would,” Harry grumpily mumbled which made Hermione look at him with an almost hurt expression and caused Harry to want to evaporate into the carpeting.

“Good one, Harry!” cheered George. “Ron would marry a screech owl if it had blonde hair.”

“Low blow, brother. No need bringing Lavender into this,” quipped Fred with a smirk.

Although Charlie had the good grace to avert his head so Ron couldn't see his grin, Glinda and Hermione nearly collapsed on each other with their outburst. Harry even cracked a smile himself until he realized that Hermione was laughing a bit too hard at poor Lavender's expense. This in turn made him frown. Ron, however, looked like he was ready to murder Fred. He jumped to his feet, but Hermione just yanked him back down again.

“THAT'S NOT FUNNY!” Ron shouted at his brother. He then looked at Hermione. “It's not funny, Hermione!”

“Well it is a bit,” Hermione said as she tried to stop her giggles. At the sight of Ron's pained expression she contritely mumbled, “Sorry.”

“So why did you change your hair?” Glinda asked again. “It's a bit dramatic for you, isn't it?”

“What, a little hair coloring? It's not drastic at all like…like…Harry's,” Hermione said bringing the focus of the conversation and her attention to him. “I mean...look at him,” she said as she started to run her fingers through his long locks. The sensation made him want to nuzzle her. “He looks like a Beatle.”

Harry raised an eyebrow at Hermione.

“Oh don't worry Harry,” Glinda said as she spied his clueless expression. “I'm sure she means one of the cute ones. Ringo.”

Glinda winked at Hermione.

“Stop it,” Hermione barely giggled out. “Harry is a Paul. A John, at the least.”

George turned to Charlie and asked, “Do you know what these two are going on about?”

“Not a clue.”

Fred simply smiled.

“Welcome to my world.”

“Well there's no need to insult Harry like that. He's a good enough looking bloke,” said George in defense of Harry's honor. “I mean, sure the hair's a bit girlie...”

“Thank you George,” said Harry dryly.

“Welcome mate,” he replied. “But I don't see why you have to go and say he looks like some bug.”

Glinda turned fully to face Hermione.

“I blame you for making me marry into this family.”

Hermione scoffed at the comment.

“It's a band,” Ron said as everyone turned towards him. “The Beatles, they were an old Muggle musical act known for their long hair and some bonkers bird who broke them up.”

George threw Glinda an exasperated look.

“Well why didn't you just say that?!”

“Wow,” said Hermione to Ron, “I'm really impressed. How did you know that, Ron?”

Ron, puffed up with pride by Hermione's compliment said, “Well see, Lavender has this book–”

“And suddenly I'm not that interested anymore,” said Hermione as she feigned a yawn and turned from him. All Ron could do was huff at the dismissal.

“Well back to the hair...” Glinda tried again.

“Hair, hair, hair...it's like you are obsessed, Glinda Weasley. And what do you find so funny, George?” Hermione asked as she dodged the question once again and looked down at the young man.

“Oh nothing,” he said with an enthused grin. “Just thinking about all the dumb Blonde jokes me and Fred are going to get to use on you.”

“You mean you lot actually have some new material other than the same tired jokes you've been using over and over again on Lav and Fleur?” Ron bitingly asked.

“Say Brother, he has a point,” said Fred to George.

“Yeah, on his head!”

Ron muttered a nasty retort under his breath. It was drowned out by Glinda's aggravated growl.

“I'm starting to think that you are purposely avoiding the topic,” she said to Hermione.

Harry inwardly agreed with Glinda.

“So what?! I'm blonde now, who cares?” Hermione asked in a highly nettled voice. “It's no big deal. I just wanted a change. People do change, you know. Am I not allowed to change?”

“Of course you are,” said Glinda.

She didn't look fazed by Hermione's argumentative demeanor, but Harry was a bit taken aback at it. She seemed a bit too riled up over a simple matter of hair dye.

“I like the color on you, actually. Just takes a bit to get used to. I mean, you hardly look like yourself. People probably won't even recognize you at the V-Ball.”

Glinda’s eyes then lit up and she clapped her hands excitedly.

“Ooh! I can't wait 'til the reactions!”

Shite! Harry hadn't even considered the idea that Hermione might actually want to go to the Victory Day Ball, he realized.

“The V-Ball,” Hermione said, almost to herself. “I had almost forgotten about it.”

Harry couldn't of course. He was basically the guest of honor every year.

The Ministry hosted the Victory Ball at Hogwarts each June to celebrate the end of the Second War and Voldemort's reign of terror. Technically the War had been over since April, but when Harry and Hermione went missing for weeks after the final defeat the wizarding society in the UK...hell, the wizarding world as a whole, all went to a crawl waiting for their boy hero to return to them.

Once he and Hermione reappeared at the Burrow near the end of May and the Ministry got word of this, plans were put into motion immediately to celebrate the return of the Chosen One, the Man Who Triumphed. On the 13th of June Scrimgeour hosted a gala at Hogwarts to bestow the Order of Merlin, First Class on Harry, as well as hand out other commendations and awards to Hermione, Ron, Remus, and many of the other Order of the Phoenix members. Harry didn't really want to go. In fact he wanted nothing to remind him of the ordeal he had just gone through. He was ready to have a normal existence that had nothing to do with Tom Riddle. As far as Harry was concerned that chapter of his life was over. But he couldn't turn down the chance to see his friends get recognition for all of their hard work and sacrifice. They deserved the honor, far more than he did in his opinion, so he agreed to go along with it. Ron in particular seemed quite excited at the prospect of such a grand party, but he kept mum over why. He just said that he had big plans. Harry shrugged the cryptic comment off.

The night of the ceremony he had been terribly proud of his two best friends as he watched them both receive medals for their heroics. Harry had also been so preoccupied by the way the soft glow from the oil lamps dotting the platform seemed to dance across Hermione's mass of curls, that he barely heard the Minister droning on and on at the lectern. But as he noticed Hermione's lovely face go from confusion, to disbelief, and then to out and out shock, he knew something big had happened. Harry, however, hadn't been prepared for Scrimgeour's little ambush as he tried to declare July 31^st Harry Potter Day.

He had been incensed! He threw the medal on the ground, stormed off the dais, and marched right out of the Great Hall. Ginny, his date, had tried to get his attention as he crossed the floor, but he only wanted to be left alone.

He ended up hiding out in the Room of Requirement. When he had walked back and forth before the door he had no idea what he would find on the other side, but he honestly hadn't been expecting his nursery from the Hollow. Like a zombie, he walked inside the blue and yellow wallpapered room with its teddy bears dancing and frolicking about, and plopped himself on the blue-gray carpet. His head lolled back onto the wooden crib, and he waited for Hermione to come find him. She would come, he knew she would. She alone would understand why he was so upset.

Riddle had already taken so much away from him. Now it was expected for his birthday to be forever linked with that demon too? Instead of quiet little gatherings with Hermione, Ron, Ginny and the rest of his make-shift family, he was supposed to endure ticker tape parades and long boring speeches about how wonderful he was for all eternity? Like hell he was! Harry wasn't going to stand for it! As soon as Hermione came through the door he was going to tell her that too.

But hours seemed to pass and Hermione didn't show.

Harry was starting to drift off to sleep when the door finally opened. Well it's about time, he nearly said before biting down on his tongue. There was no need to wind her up; he was just relieved that she had finally come for him. But when the door fully opened and the other person walked into the room, it wasn't quite who Harry had been expecting.

“MALFOY?!”

Harry jumped up from the floor and his hands automatically clenched into fists.

“Well if it isn't the Git Who Hid,” Malfoy's oily voice drawled. “I figured you would come here to sulk. What happened, Potter,” he said as he leaned against the closed door, “not enough toadies fawning over you downstairs?”

“Malfoy, you don't know shite about me so get the fuck out!”

Malfoy's lips curled into a smug smile as he crossed his arms in front of him.

“I don't think I want to.”

“Why don't you just go back to the Great Hall,” Harry said gruffly. “That is if the party is still going on.”

“Oh, it's just breaking up.”

Harry flinched. It was as if they didn't even care that he was upset.

“What? Thought that the world would come to a screeching halt just because you threw a hissy?”

“Go to Hell!” Harry said through gritted teeth.

“Been there,” the blond said as he pushed off from the wall and walked arrogantly towards Harry. “The room service was dreadful and they forgot my complimentary mint on the pillow.

Harry wanted to break every bone in the git's body, but he was trying to control his temper. Hermione would be quite peeved if he physically attacked the wanker.

“You know, Azkaban would be well worth the trip if I could just make your ugly face disappear. PERMANENTLY!”

He could still threaten the hell out of Malfoy's life, though! But the Slytherin only laughed at what he perceived as merely an empty threat.

“Ah, but you see Potter, you can't kill me. You won't. You have too much 'honor',” his lips curled scornfully on the word, “in you to do a thing like that. Besides, you owe me.”

Harry disgustedly snorted.

“And to think, Hermione actually believes you've changed.”

Malfoy's superior smile dropped. Struck a nerve did we, Harry smirked.

“LIKE YOU KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT IT!” Malfoy angrily said as he stuck out his chin towards Harry.

He then decided to change his assault.

“I got to dance with the Littlest Weasley,” he said slyly.

“Thanks for telling me, I'll make sure Ginny gets sanitized.”

“Prattles on and on about you, you know. She's quite annoying. The two of you are perfect for one another.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

Draco moved closer to Harry and glided his fingertips across the top of the crib. The seemingly innocent gesture made Harry want to rearrange Malfoy's face.

“Danced with Hermione too,” he said nonchalantly.

Harry stepped so close to Malfoy, that if someone had walked into the room at that exact moment, they would have thought they were interrupting a very intimate moment.

“You are nothing to her,” Harry said in a low, deadly calm voice as he grabbed onto the fabric of Malfoy's dress robes and pulled the other young man towards him. “You will never be anything to her. Don't ever forget it.”

“AND WHO ARE YOU?!” he spat in Harry's face.

“I'M HER BEST FRIEND!” Harry said as he shoved Malfoy back from him.

Malfoy scoffed. “Then why don't you go and be her best friend.”

Harry gave Malfoy a blank look that made the blond roll his eyes and curse under his breath.

“I don't even know why I bothered,” Malfoy muttered as he turned on his heel, crossed to the door, and pulled it open.

“FINALLY!” Harry said as he turned his back on him. Apparently that was the wrong thing to say if he wanted Malfoy to leave.

“You missed quite the floor show, Potter,” Harry heard him say.

Harry didn't bother to look at him. He figured that if he ignored Malfoy long enough, the arse would eventually go away.

“Yes, it was quite the spectacle. The Red Menace actually got down on one knee and proposed to Hermione.”

Harry's head snapped around.

“R-Ron asked Hermione to m-marry him?” he somehow asked although he had to wonder how he even managed it as there was currently no air in the room.

“He did indeed. A pretty impressive ring too. Can't imagine how he could afford it. But you sound shocked Potter. Don't tell me you didn't know about this.”

Harry actually had no clue. Ron hadn't mentioned it to him. Of course to be fair he didn't like discussing Hermione much with Ron these days and Ron seemed to notice the fact. Still...this was the kind of thing you tell a best mate! Didn't Ron think that Harry might have liked to know about it?

“Of course I knew,” Harry said as he looked at Malfoy dismissively. “It's a given that the two of them are going to get married sooner or later.”

Malfoy snorted.

“So what did she say?” Harry tried to casually ask although his voice wavered. Anyone with even a drop of sensitivity to them would have noted his discomfort, but this was Malfoy after all. The jerk only shook his head and turned to the door again as if to leave without answering.

Harry felt an intense wave of anger burst forth from him, and suddenly the door swung closed and locked. Malfoy stepped back from it and turned rebellious eyes towards Harry.

“WHAT. DID. SHE. SAY?!”

Malfoy studied Harry's belligerent expression. Harry could see the conflict on the other man's face. It was obvious that Malfoy wanted to tell Harry something, but the need to aggravate him was almost as powerful. In the end the former purpose won out.

“You should go see about you friend,” was his reply.

For a second Harry's heart seized in his chest and he stared helplessly at his nemesis.

“Is Hermione hurt? Is she alright?!”

“No,” began Malfoy, “she isn't alright. Probably won't be for a long while.”

He sighed.

“The party ended because...a messenger arrived. There was an accident. The Grangers’ car...the Grangers are dead. Hermione...”

Harry didn't stay to hear the rest. The door to the Room of Requirement blew wide open as Harry went careening into the hall. He needed to find Hermione. He needed to talk to her. Comfort her. He had to be there for her like she had been there for him all these years.

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

He found her sitting by the lake, her back resting against a tree. As he walked up she gave no hint that she noticed him even being there. Her eyes were looking at the surface of the water, but by the dreary, listless look to them Harry had to wonder if she even saw anything before her.

She had taken off the fancy blueberry robes that were sitting next to her and was dressed simply in an ivory blouse with tiny delicate buttons, and a calf length black skirt. Her legs and feet were bare; her shoes and hose were nowhere to be seen. Harry could almost imagine that he felt the sorrow coming from her in waves, but her face was for the most part expressionless. Her face was still blank when she finally looked up at him, reached for his hand, and placed an object in it.

“Here, you should have this,” she said in a low, hollow tone.

Harry practically goggled at her. Of all of the things he had been expecting her to say, that wasn't one of them. He was so shocked at her odd behavior that it took him a moment to realize what she had placed in his hand. It was the Order of Merlin pin that he had thrown at Scrimgeour's feet. Harry distractedly put it in his pocket.

“I got it for you. I know you don't care anything about it, but one day your children might.”

Harry didn't want to talk about the stupid medal.

“Hermione...”

Harry paused to think of something to say. What could he say to her? Sorry?

“Where's Ron, Hermione?” Harry asked as he slowly sunk down to the grass next to her.

“I think he went home,” she murmured.

Her eyes still were looking ahead of her. A large tentacle broke the surface of the water and crashed back down, but Hermione didn't seem to notice the frolicking of the giant squid.

“I said some things that he wasn't too happy to hear,” she absently continued.

Her words baffled him. He figured that she must still be in shock and was babbling nonsense.

“You shouldn't be out here by yourself,” he said as he took one of her cold hands in his.

Hermione turned her head and the smallest trace of a smile emerged on her lips and lit up her eyes before she turned back to the lake. She squeezed his hand.

“I'm not.”

He waited a moment, expecting her to say more, but she seemed perfectly fine to just sit quietly with him and just hold hands. Truthfully Harry would have been fine with this too.

“You should go find Ginny,” she finally said after a few minutes. “She's worried about you. She was going to try and look for you, but Molly figured you just needed time by yourself to cool off.”

She looked at him again.

“Your girlfriend could use some reassurance right now. She needs you.”

“You need me right now.”

Once again Harry thought he saw a bittersweet smile before it faded away.

“What happened, Hermione?”

“A car accident,” she mumbled before chuckling darkly. “A car accident,” she said again, bitterly this time.

“Hermione–”

“I don't want to talk about it right now, Harry. I just want to sit here.”

“Alright,” he said. “Then we'll just sit.”

How long they sat beside the lake was anyone's guess. Eventually the giant squid grew weary of performing for them. But Harry was willing to sit there next to Hermione for as long as she needed him. He held onto her hand and tried to convey to her in that single act how much she meant to him, how much he cared for her, and how much he knew just how she felt. Dawn was just beginning to break across the sky when Hermione finally released her grasp.

“I should go,” she said as she gathered her robes from the grass and began to stand up. “I need to go back to the Burrow and take care of a few things, make some arrangements, rent a car…” she said lethargically. “Nan is flying in later. I called her. She wants to be with me when I go to the m-mor...the m-morg…”

Hermione's whole body lurched forward as if the words were too heavy and caused her to lose her footing. Harry reached out to steady her, but she had already straightened herself and was standing firmly upright.

“She wants to be there when I go to collect my parents.”

Her voice was so icy that Harry had to stave off the shiver it produced within him.

“I'll go with you.”

She shook her head.

“That's sweet, but not necessary. Although Ron was quite furious with me, he offered as well. But I'll be fine.”

She turned as if to go.

“Hermione–”

“I'll be fine!” she said again and began to walk away.

She had only gotten a few steps away when suddenly she turned back to Harry, a determined look sitting on her face.

“Can I ask you for a favor, though?”

He quickly advanced towards her.

“Anything! You know I'd do anything for you,” he said and hoped that she believed how heartfelt the sentiment was.

“Reconsider what Scrimgeour was offering.”

Anything but that! Harry’s jaw actually dropped in shock at the suggestion. She couldn't be serious! He knew that she was grieving, but to actually ask that of him...

“Hermione...”

“Hear me out. I know that you just want to go on with your life and forget all that you have suffered because of that...that...”

Her face scrunched in disgust as she searched for the right word.

When she wasn't able to find it she morosely sighed and said, “Because of Voldemort. But you have to realize Harry that you aren't the only one who has suffered. All of us have lost...something because of the War.”

She looked directly in his eyes and grabbed him by the shoulders.

“When you took down that bastard that wasn't just for you, Harry. It wasn't just your victory. All of us won! All of us won and the world must always remember that! Because there is always going to be another dark lord to fill the place of the last. It will never stop! Dumbledore killed Grindelwald and Voldemort followed right on his heels. Why? Because people became complacent, because people forgot what it was like to live in fear because of whom or what they are. They forgot what it was like to see loved ones killed for senseless reasons. They forgot because there was no reason to remember. But no one should ever forget what you did for our world.”

Although her eyes were red and her face was splotchy and her eyes were pooled with tears, Hermione fiercely restrained herself from giving in to the misery and pain that was so intense her body shook from it. It was almost like she was forcing herself not to cry. But in a way it was alright. Harry's own face was wet with the tears that he'd shed for her.

“Please Harry, don't let them forget! Because then all of this would have been for n-nothing! And I have to b-believe th-that it was for s-something!”

Hermione threw her arms around Harry and clung to him desperately. He had to step his foot out behind him so as not to teeter back from the force of her embrace. His arms came around her to bring her closer as he tried to comfort her.

“Please, Harry! I have to believe that,” he heard her whisper into his robes. Then she pulled away from him and ran across the lawn towards the castle.

Later that week, though his head was mostly filled with concern for his friend, Harry went to the Ministry to see Scrimgeour. Although he had behaved badly the night before, the Minister was more than happy to see him. Harry thanked him for his award and explained the reason for his visit; a proposition. More like a compromise. Although he was flattered that Scrimgeour would bestow upon his birthday the honor of a National holiday (Harry had nearly choked on the ridiculous lie), he felt that he was undeserving of such accolades, especially when he had had so much help defeating Voldemort. In fact, Harry said conspiratorially to the Minister, through out the whole ordeal and months of trying to bring down the evil wizard, it had almost felt like he'd had the power of the Ministry backing him all the way. Harry honestly didn't know how he kept a straight face through the conversation, but somehow he managed it. It was important that he get across to Scrimgeour that all of magical kind should feel responsible for Riddle's end, that he couldn't have done it with out everyone believing in him. It was bullshit, but it was good bullshit.

Of course Scrimgeour was too savvy to fall for Harry's spiel, but there was just enough of the politician in him to see how well such tripe would go over with the wizarding populace as a whole. Two days later Harry read in the Prophet the Ministry's plan to make the second Saturday in June Victory Day, a day of celebration for magical people all across the United Kingdom. Scrimgeour took the credit for the idea, but Harry didn't mind. Hermione actually smiled for the first time in days the morning the article was printed. Ginny playfully teased him at the Burrow's breakfast table that “Harry Potter Day” had a nicer ring to it, but seeing how proud he was of his accomplishment, she didn't tease him for too long.

“I haven't gone to a Victory Ball in ages,” said Hermione. As a highly acclaimed War hero, she had a longstanding invitation to attend each year.

“And you're not going to this one!” shrieked Harry, voice nearly screeching with dread.

Everyone in the room looked at him as though he had gone mad. Harry didn't care, though. The idea of Hermione going out in public stirred up warning signals in his fevered head.

Glinda arched a dark eyebrow in his direction as she tossed her long, ink black hair over her shoulder.

“And what's to stop her? Planning on locking her in her room and tying her to the bed, Harry?”

The effect of such naughty imagery wasn't lost on him. It almost wasn't lost on the rest of the company in the room either, but Harry delicately shifted his position on the floor. It didn't help matters though that Hermione's cheeks turned pink as she looked at him and then quickly looked away again. Isn't that just great?! Now she didn't just think he was a pervert, she had actual proof of it.

“Er...um...It's just...you know...the papers…”

And the people who read papers…

“The media was always so harsh with Hermione.”

“Oh fuck the Prophet,” Glinda said, tossing off the curse word as though it were part of her normal day vocabulary, which it was. Woman had a mouth like a bloody dockworker.

As usual Fred was amused by just about every word his wife uttered.

“Here, here!” he said as he clapped his hands. George and Charlie joined in as well. One would have thought that they were at a Quidditch match, the way they were carrying on.

“In fact, fuck Bitch Weekly too! That's the problem with you magic people; so goddamned old-fashioned! So what if Hermione dated a bit?! She fooled around with a few men; big deal! I've done more!”

Ron's mouth popped open. He was completely scandalized.

“And a girl or two at uni!”

Even Charlie's eyebrows rose up on that one. Ron gulped, too mortified to speak. George and Fred only grinned. It was their regular entertainment to see Glinda on a tear. Sometimes they would set her off just to see what new combination of swear words she would invent. It looked like Hermione was also enjoying Glinda's rant and the discomfort that it produced in Ron, as well as Harry.

“That's what I've never gotten about your little insular world. Everyone acts as though you're supposed to marry the first bloke you ever kiss and have a house full of kidlets by time you turn 23. Sometimes life just doesn't work out that way. Sometimes you make a few wrong turns before you end up where you're actually supposed to be. Why those two bitches that are friends with Angelina act like I'm the one responsible for her and Freddie not working out when she's the one that slept around on him!”

Fred rubbed at Glinda's shoulder reassuringly, but she was warming up to her subject now.

“Every time they see me it's the same look in their eyes; usurper.”

“Oh, you get usurper?” asked Hermione. “I used to get 'interloper' and 'social climbing Muggle-born',” she said with a mirthful glint in her eye.

“That's not funny, Hermione,” Ron said sourly. “Don't make a joke of it! It's all that no-good Skeeter woman's fault. Making it out like Hermione was some...some...flirty floozy only out to date purebloods.”

“But you, Wood, and Davies are purebloods,” George said innocently. He jumped back when both Ron and Harry growled at him. Poor Lizzie went running from the room and into the kitchen.

“Skeeter made it into a bigger deal than it was,” Harry muttered. “You know how much she hated Hermione since our Fourth Year. As soon as she became editor at the Prophet she used it as her personal pulpit to attack Hermione. When it started to turn profitable all the other papers jumped on the bandwagon.”

Harry turned towards his best friend, trying his best to sway her from the idea of making such a public splash so soon.

“If you go it's just going to start up again.”

He remembered well how many of those stories used to hurt Hermione, even though she tried her best to act as though they didn't. Harry, however, was shocked by her response.

“Let it,” she said. “Glinda's right, to Hell with the press! I don't care what they say about me any more! The only people's opinions that really count know who I am, so it doesn't matter. Besides with all of those people who were at the Burrow after the party, I'm sure my reappearance has already made the rounds.

Harry didn't make a peep. He didn't share with them the fact that just the other day, right before he stopped in at the Burrow to talk with Charlie (and steal a few peeks at Hermione), he had paid a few visits to the guests who were the last to leave the Commencement. For a wizard as skilled as Harry it was really quite easy to erase just one small memory from a person's mind. They wouldn't even miss it. Of course Harry regretted taking such extreme measures, but really how else was he going to keep Marietta Edgecombe and her like from blabbing the news that Hermione was back all over town?

When he got to Neville's house however, Harry couldn't bring himself to callously take advantage of his old friend like that.

He had actually been surprised to find Neville still at home so late; Harry figured that he would probably have to stop at the store to catch him. But when Neville's house guest came down to the kitchen wearing only one of Neville's t-shirts and a smile, then ran right back up again at the sight of him, Harry grinningly understood the reason behind the late start to the brown haired wizard's day. Ten minutes later Candide came back downstairs looking very wrinkled, but gorgeous still in the same floral print sundress she had worn to Ron's engagement party. She apologized to Harry, gave Neville a long and passionate kiss goodbye, and strolled out the house.

Neville tried to play the whole thing off with as much modesty as he could, but Harry only laughed and gave him a congratulatory clap to the back. Once the male bonding was done, he told Neville that he needed him to keep mum on the fact that Hermione was back in England again. Harry was a bit unnerved when Neville guardedly asked him why, but Harry easily told him that it was because of a case he was working on that somewhat concerned their mutual friend. In a way it wasn't that much of a lie.

“Anyway, once I go to Ron's game everyone will know I'm back,” added Hermione.

Ron practically jumped on her.

“You're coming to my game?!” he asked excitedly.

“Of course I am,” she said as she smiled obligingly at him.

Just great, thought Harry irritably. She might as well call a press conference. He was almost disconsolate. What could he do, forbid her from going to both the Ball and the game? That was like asking if he wanted a black eye with his split lip.

“Good, it's all settled then,” said Glinda. “Hermione goes to Ron's little thing–”

“LITTLE?!”

“...and the Victory Ball. And I get to buy a new gown.”

Fred pulled Glinda back so he could look in her face.

“But you just bought a frock.”

“Yes, luv, but Hermione's back now. I simply must get a new one!”

She turned back to Hermione as a huge smile spread across her face.

“We'll go into London, yes?”

Glinda's excitement was rubbing off on Hermione because her smile was just as gay.

“That sounds do-able.”

“And,” Glinda said as her eyes took on a sly glint, “you can let me drive Big Ben out there,” she said nodding her head in the direction Hermione's truck was parked outside.

Hermione laughed at her shamelessness.

“I thought Muggles gave their motor vehicles female names?” Charlie asked as he chuckled.

Glinda smiled cheekily at her brother-in-law.

“I'm a feminist.”

“And I'm the Maharajah,” Hermione cracked.

“Well I'm the best friend,” said Ron. “So if Glinda gets to drive Ben so do I.”

Harry's ears perked up. He had been hoping to ask Hermione to let him take the truck out for a spin ever since he rode in it the day before.

“If Ron gets to drive it, I get to drive it.”

Fred and George both sat up straight.

“OI!” they shouted in unison.

Hermione laughed at their jockeying for her favor.

“Who among you has a driver’s license?” she asked in a professor-like tone.

Harry and Glinda both raised their hands cooperatively...like idiots. Harry had to laugh. He was starting to see that Hermione might have made a good kiddie teacher after all. However the joke was lost on Ron as he glared at both of them and scowled.

“Bloody tests!”

On a whim Ron had tried to get a license the same time that Harry did. He failed the exam brilliantly!

“You drive, Harry?” Hermione asked in a surprised voice.

“It was required for the Department. Sometimes we have to drive Muggle cars when we're undercover.”

“Oh,” she remarked. “Do you like it much? Being an Auror, that is?”

Harry hesitated for a moment. He wanted to tell her about the Defense professorship that was awaiting him in September. He could just picture her amazement and the proud look that would be on her face. But he wanted to do it when it was just the two of them. He didn't want to share that moment with anyone else.

“It's alright, I guess,” he said noncommittally. “For now, I mean.”

Hermione, looking dissatisfied with the answer, tried to press him further but Charlie cut her off.

“Stop being so modest, Harry. According to Ginny we are all sitting in the presence of the future Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

What the hell was Charlie talking about?!

“When did Ginny say that to you?” Harry asked, appalled. Charlie had to have it wrong. Why on Earth would Ginny tell her brother something as ridiculous as that?

“She sent me a letter just last week. She's very proud of you, mate. Bragged on and on for pages about you.”

“Ginny brags when Harry ties his laces correctly,” Ron leaned over and stage whispered to George causing him to chortle loudly.

Ignoring Ron's remark, Hermione briskly said, “Well she's his wife, isn't she? Ginny should be proud of Harry!”

Hermione gave him a big smile that made him feel sick to the gills. Harry just hoped that he didn't visibly wince every time Hermione spoke the words “his wife.” That would be just perfect...only not.

“Congratulations, Harry,” she said. “That's wonderful news!”

Harry tried to correct her, tried to tell her that Ginny made the whole thing up, but she cut him off before he could.

“So how is Draco?”

Malfoy?! Why the hell did she have to bring him up?! Oh that's right, to drive you bat shite insane, he told himself.

“Is he even still with the Department? You all haven't mentioned him. Do you ever work together? Do you get to see him around the office much?”

Charlie, Fred, and George burst into laughter. George actually laughed so hard that he threw himself across the floor and practically rolled around on the carpet. The only comfort Harry found was that Ron at least looked as displeased as he felt.

“Oh, they work together...much,” chuckled George.

Fred concurred.

“You could even say that they work side by side.”

“They're quite the pair.”

“Each other's better half.”

“WOULD YOU TWO IDIOTS JUST SHUT UP, PLEASE?!” Ron looked between his two brothers and rolled his eyes. He then said to Hermione, “The Great Albino Ferret is Harry's partner.”

Hermione laughed. Madly. She laughed so hard that she threw her head back and her arms wrapped around her as she fell against the frame of the couch. She laughed so hard that eventually she began gasping for air. But slowly the awareness that no one else was laughing along with her at the joke began to sink in. Her laughter began to peter out, her grin began to fade. She searched the faces of all those around her before shrilly saying, “BUT THEY WOULD KILL EACH OTHER!”

George picked up Harry's arm near him and pretended to feel for a pulse.

“Well he is a bit pale but...”

“Prat!” Harry snatched his arm away. “Yes, Malfoy and I are indeed partners.”

Hermione's baffled expression was adorable.

“And...And you two get along?”

“Define get along?” asked Harry only half-jokingly.

“HARRY!”

“We get along well enough. We've never hexed each other in the line of duty,” he said proudly as though that made all the difference. “He's still an arse, but Luna has been a calming influence on him, thankfully.”

“Luna?”

Now Hermione looked completely perplexed.

“But what does Luna Lovegood have to do with Draco?”

Glinda grabbed Hermione's arm to turn her around. Her grin was nothing short of colossal.

“Oh ducky, have I a story to tell you.”

And Glinda told it. Everything, warts and all! Harry watched Hermione's face intently as she was told that Malfoy and Luna was now an item. Harry was curious as to how she would take this news. He was rewarded with a non-reaction. Hermione gave no outward sign one way or another on how she felt about the pair. This didn't give Harry much comfort, though. It was beginning to dawn on Harry that somewhere along the way Hermione had become quite adept at hiding her true thoughts and emotions from him. He had to wonder just how long such had been the case. But Harry didn't have time to think on this long because Glinda reached the part in her tale where she explained just how Luna and Malfoy actually got together.

“YOU LEFT POOR LUNA AT THE ALTAR FOR LAVENDER?!” Hermione thundered as she whipped her head around towards Ron. “LAVENDER?!”

“What's wrong with Lav? She's a good sort!”

Hermione scoffed derisively at Ron.

“C'mon Blondie, don't be so hard on her,” said Fred good-naturedly. “To tell you the truth, I can't help but admire any bird that was willing to take you on when it came to these two wankers,” he said as he gestured to Harry and Ron.

“Lavender Brown? Take me on?” Hermione raised her nose arrogantly in the air. “Honestly.”

“Now you must admit that sweet little jinx she hit you with at Ron's party was a winner.”

Hermione was facing Fred therefore didn't see the frantic hand signals that Ron was making, trying in vain to get his brother's attention.

“Almost didn't think those ears were going to come off of you. It was brilliant!”

George looked questioningly at Ron.

“But I thought that you told me that you were the one that hexed Hermione that night?”

“WHAT?!”

Ron's eyes bugged out in terror as he looked first to George then towards Hermione.

“Dear merciful Merlin,” he whimpered weakly.

Harry sighed resignedly. Batten down the hatches boys, Hurricane Hermione was about to roar through.

The incident Fred was referring to was one that Harry didn't actually get to witness for himself, but he had heard enough accounts of it to get a good idea of what actually took place. He had even heard a dramatic retelling of it on the wireless one evening as read from the Daily Prophet not too long after.

According to all the reliable (and some not too reliable) eyewitnesses, one evening, at a party to celebrate Ron finally making it onto the starting line up for the Cannons, Lavender jinxed Hermione with a pair of long, brown donkey ears that replaced her own. The spell had been so powerful that no one at the party could manage to get the ears off Hermione, not even the talented witch herself. Harry missed the whole thing, he had been...busy...in a corner with Ginny at the time, but as soon as they heard the ruckus coming from outside of the house, Harry ran out to investigate.

He found the crowd electrified by the scene they had just witnessed. Apparently Hermione and Oliver had been on a bench, sucking each others faces off, when Lavender approached Hermione to take her to task for throwing her relationship with Wood in poor Ron's face, especially at a party thrown in Ron's honor! Hermione tried to ignore the other young woman, but Lavender wasn't having it. She began to insult Hermione, calling her all sorts of names. Still Hermione ignored her and even tried to leave the party with Oliver before things got out of hand. Hermione would have gone quietly too if Lavender hadn't accused her of using Ron. It was that accusation alone that made Hermione come out swinging. She began to verbally spar with Lavender like a champ. Although Lavender was no slouch when it came to these sorts of catty confrontations, Hermione could get vicious with her own stinging barbs and jibes when pushed to it. And according to most there that night she put on an excellent show. Eventually Ron and Oliver entered the fray, and as a matter of course, wands came out and Hermione ended up with the ears.

When Harry reached the scene Hermione had already Disapparated away, Oliver and Ron were trading blows, and just about everyone was pulling out two-way mirrors or looking for the nearest floo grate so they could spread the gossip along. Once Harry got a grasp of the situation he told Ginny that he was going to go look for Hermione and quickly Disapparated on the spot. After checking her flat, his, the Burrow, and a few more places he eventually found her in a private room on the fourth floor at St. Mungo's.

As soon as Harry walked through the door his footsteps faltered and his eyes were drawn to the hairy ears. She was sitting up in a bed reading from a book about animal transfigurations that was in her lap. She looked up as soon as he opened the door and closed the book.

“I look like an arse.”

Harry paused for a moment, somewhat unsure of what to say to that.

“But a very cute one,” he finally settled on. He even added a surely goofy looking smile for good measure.

Hermione puckered up her face, determined not to smile at the remark.

“You will not make me laugh, Harry Potter. I'm quite alright stewing in my righteous indignation, thank you very much.”

Harry chuckled. He approached the bed and sat down on the chair next to it, leaning in towards her.

“What happened?” he asked.

“What, Ron had nothing to say?”

“He...uh...Ron and Oliver were still...discussing matters when I left.”

“Figures,” she said with distaste. “I reckon one or both of them will show up here before long. I need to get the hell out of here before that happens.”

“Sure. Right after you tell me your side of the story.”

“What's to tell? Lavender just decided that I would look better with a set of ass' ears. Oh, that's right after telling me that I was acting like a tart.”

“Were you?”

Hermione's eyes narrowed at him and Harry sat back in his chair.

“Don't you start with me! Maybe I shouldn't have been so...forward with Olie like that in front of Ron. But I honestly didn't know he was out there in the backyard. Plus I've had a few so I can't be blamed entirely for my actions."

Harry now understood how all of this confusion could have happened. Hermione was a lightweight when it came to alcohol. She couldn't handle the stuff. A single glass of champagne or wine made her giggly and loopy. A shot or two and she was just this side of dancing on tables. Half a flagon of Ogden's and either he or Ron was carrying her home over their shoulders. The next day she would hide her face in shame over her antics from the previous night. It was for this reason that she rarely drank. It was very hard for her to act all superior and high minded with him and Ron after one of their pub crawls if she could barely stand up or remember her name. She once told him that she didn't seem capable of making good decisions when in that condition. Bad things tended to happen. In fact, the last time, Wood happened.

But there was something that bothered Harry. He didn't recall Hermione drinking that night. When Hermione and Oliver first showed up at the party she and Harry had settled down on a worn couch and chatted away for hours. He had been keeping his distance from her for the last few weeks, due to Wood, but as soon as she appeared at the party Harry realized just how much he had missed her; her company, her laughter, the way the corners of her eyes would crinkle when she smiled just so. He didn't even mind that she babbled on and on about her work or the really cute thing that Crookshanks had done the other day.

In fact he missed her so much that he tried to convince her to move back in with him and Ron. He had never really gotten over her moving out. Just one day everything was happy in their little household, excluding a tense moment here and there between her and Ron, and the next her things were packed up and she was living in Brixton with Glinda whom she barely even knew at the time.

When Harry asked her about it she said that she needed to learn how to live without him and Ron always being there. The answer was painful to hear, but in a way he understood it. Hermione and Ron had been permanent fixtures in his world for nearly half of his life. They all were closer than close. Some even said too close. Harry knew that there were whispers about what went on behind their closed door...but that kind of thing didn't concern him. Just like it still didn't concern him. He wanted Hermione back with him...and Ron where she belonged.

He told her as much while the party raged on around them. She laughingly told him that she would have no place to sleep since Ron had turned her old room into a game room. Harry joked that she had to come back since he and Ron were just two helpless wankers who needed her to clean up after them and pay a third of the rent. She teased that he should have his girlfriend move in and do that for him. Harry rolled his eyes mirthfully. Ginny had told him very firmly that she would live with him only when she was Mrs. Harry Potter. Harry said this to Hermione. At that exact moment Ginny, who had been gossiping away with a few acquaintances, showed up and plopped herself in Harry's lap. Hermione told Ginny that her ears must have been burning, then timidly excused herself to go find her date. Thirty minutes later the drama started.

“You seemed alright when we were talking. I didn't notice that you were tipsy.”

Hermione gave him a rather patronizing smile.

“Harry, and I mean this in the nicest possible way, you wouldn't notice it if a kelpie roller skated through the door and kicked you in the balls.”

Harry's jaw dropped at the insinuation and at her language. As if he was really that thick!

“You know how Olie loves his whiskey. Well I took a sip out of his cup and...whoops...there went the world.”

Harry glowered at Hermione. He was tired of hearing about Olie this and Olie that, thank you. If only she would stop this foolishness and go back to Ron...

“So what's going to happen with,” he eyed the troubling appendages, “those?”

Hermione frowned and distractedly began nibbling on her lip.

“Nothing. For at least three days. Something must have gone wrong with Lavender's spell. Healer Wilkie thinks that she got the incantation mixed up in her head...the cow. The ears don't want to budge now. He gave me a potion, but it's going to take three whole days before they fall off and my own ears grow back in. THREE WHOLE DAYS! I'm absolutely mortified by the whole thing! I can just imagine tomorrow's headlines. And when I was filling out my paperwork in the waiting room everyone was looking and pointing at me.”

Harry reached out and took a hand in his. He knew just what it felt like to have people look at him like he was a circus freak. He could sense that she appreciated the comforting gesture.

“Oh by the way, when I was filling out the forms I had to put down someone as my Medical Guardian. I chose you. You don't mind, do you? It's just...well...it would have been my parents but...or Ron...well...”

She sighed sadly.

“At any rate, if it's too much of a hassle...”

“Hermione, you know I'd do whatever you asked of me.”

“I know.”

She gave him a small smile as she removed his hand from hers.

“So what exactly do I have to do?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she stated. “Harry you won't even have to worry about it. Trust me. The Guardian is just in place to make decisions for you in case something happens. But really it's just a formality, just a name to put on a blank line. I mean, I'm not like you and Ron, flying all about the place willing to break my neck for Quidditch.”

The way she wrinkled her nose as she said the word so disdainfully made Harry snicker.

“Nothing ever happens to me,” she said.

Harry folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Hermione, you've been turned into a cat, petrified by a basilisk, and you stayed in a coma for nearly a month...and that's just the highlight reel.”

“Know-all prat!” she huffed as she fell back on the bed.

“Takes one to know one.”

It was a good thing that he was already at a hospital. If the book she threw at him had actually connected with his skull, Harry would have had one monster of a headache.

“RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY, YOU HEXED ME?!”

Hermione was standing over Ron, arms planted on her hips, feet spread wide apart. She was gloriously enraged! Harry almost imagined he could feel the air crackle with electricity. Everyone was simply riveted by her fury. George even conjured up a bag of popcorn that he and Charlie passed back and forth between them. They munched away as they enjoyed the floor show.

“Just a little,” Ron squeaked. He looked as though he were trying to make his large frame squeeze between the cushions of the sofa in order to get away from her.

“AND YOU JUST LET LAVENDER TAKE THE BLAME FOR IT ALL THIS TIME?!”

“She wanted to! She knew you'd kill me then if you knew that it was me that did it.”

“I'M IN A MIND TO KILL YOU NOW!”

“It's not like I was aiming for you. You just got in the way,” he foolishly tried to explain. “I wanted that git Wood! I bet you didn't even hear the things he was saying to me. He had the nerve to call Lav a substitute shag!”

“WELL IF THE BED SHEETS FIT!”

Ron jumped up from the couch and nearly dwarfed her. His eyes burned furiously.

“NOW YOU WAIT ONE MINUTE, MISS! DON'T YOU GO SAYING THAT ABOUT LAV! YOU WERE JUST AS RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT FIGHT.”

“AND HOW DO YOU FIGURE THAT?!”

“IF YOU HADN'T ACTED LIKE A...LIKE A...A SCARL–”

Hermione rolled up the long sleeves of her sweatshirt. She fixed Ron with a determined glare.

“SAY IT AND YOU WALK DOWN THE AISLE WITH A LIMP, WEASLEY!”

By the look of her, Harry figured that she meant business. Ron must have thought so too because he actually paused to rethink his next words.

“You were trying to make me jealous!” he accused her.

Hermione laughed mockingly.

“Jealous? JEALOUS?! HA! Must have been a Thursday if I was trying to make you jealous.”

Glinda giggled.

“Well you must admit Ducks; you did tend to turn into the kissing bandit as soon as you had a pint or two in you.”

George began to choke on his popcorn. Charlie slapped him on the back helpfully. Hard.

Hermione's eyes fleetingly glanced at them before she turned her murderous gaze on Glinda.

“Oh please, that shite doesn't work on me and you know it,” Glinda dismissively said with a smirk.

“Listen Hermione,” interjected Ron, hands raised before him in surrender. “It was an honest accident. I didn't mean to hurt you. I swear,” he said sincerely.

And then he grinned.

“Besides, it could have been much worse. I actually meant to turn Wood into a horse's ass. Who knew that Equusesco Asinusaugeo would do that?”

Harry dropped his head into his hands. Ron really could be an idiot at times.

Hermione made a sound that was a cross between a lion being bitch slapped and an elephant being circumcised. In other words, it was inhuman. She threw her hands in the air and seethingly stamped her way out of the room and into the kitchen.

“And they said those two crazy kids would never make it work. Oh wait...”

Glinda pinched Fred hard on his arm causing him to yowl in pain.

“I better go see about her,” she said as she exited in the same direction as Hermione.

After a moment of silence Charlie said, “Well, that was...fun?”

Ron morosely sunk back onto the couch.

“She's never going to speak to me again, is she?”

Fred dismissively waved his hand at the question.

“Please! How many times have you said that before? And mum would always catch you two snogging somewhere shortly after.”

A big grin then formed on his face as he looked down at Harry.

“Almost reminds you of old times, doesn't it mate?” he asked him.

Harry's heart sank. It sure did.

“I'm going to go talk to Hermione,” Harry said avoiding Fred's question, as well as his look of concern.

Harry got up and left the living room. When he walked into the kitchen he saw that the sliding door to the patio was still open. Looking outside, he saw Hermione pushing Glinda in the tree swing. Lizzie was yipping and yapping as she cavorted around them. If Hermione was still mad he couldn't tell. The two women looked like they were enjoying themselves and Harry felt himself wanting to join them. He had even begun to walk out on the patio when an odd sound broke his stride. It was like a buzzing, humming sort of a noise. Harry looked all about him to see where it was coming from. When his eyes veered to the right of him he found the answer.

“Hermione's mobile.”

Harry wasn't even aware of speaking the words aloud. The mobile was sitting on the maroon and crème striped cushioned bench that was a part of Hermione's old breakfast nook. Harry's head quickly turned back to look outside. Hermione obviously was too far away to hear her mobile go off. He had barely heard it. He just couldn't believe that she had been so careless to leave her phone out in the open. What was she thinking? Anyone could just walk right up to the table and pick it up, turn it on...answer it to see who was calling.

Harry slyly glanced out the doorway one more time before reaching for the phone.

As he picked it up he scolded himself for what he was about to do. He was about to invade Hermione's privacy...again! But Harry couldn't fight off the unmistakable curiosity that swelled inside him at the sight of the mobile as it vibrated in his hand. Just who was calling Hermione? Who needed to reach her? Here he was, Hermione's best friend, and he didn't even have her phone number. Then again he didn't have a phone in his house either, but that wasn't the issue here. Focus Potter, he told himself as his finger wavered over the little button that read “talk”. He wondered if he could go through with it, could he actually sink this low? He then reminded himself that he had obliviated nearly a dozen people in the last forty-eight hours. His moral compass was obviously shot. Harry figured that after working with Malfoy for so long some of his Slytherin-y ways were finally rubbing off on him. Finding that excuse satisfactory, he prepared to answer the phone. Of course that was when it stopped vibrating.

Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!

Harry was so mad that he almost hurled the tiny gadget against the far wall, but thought better of it. In frustration he glanced down at the call screen, and just before the green light dimmed, he saw the name Collier on it.

Collier. Where have I heard the name Collier before, Harry painstakingly wondered. The answer seemed destined to elude him until he drifted back to his conversation with Hermione just the day before as they were out driving. Hermione had mentioned a Collier, didn't she? As Harry's mind began to recount the conversation he realized that Hermione had in fact mentioned some fellow named Collier. She said he was her friend. Harry, being a jealous arse, asked her just what kind of friend Collier was. And what did she do? She avoided the fucking question is what she did, Harry reminded himself. She was really good at that now, wasn't she? Then again if this Collier was Hermione's friend it would make sense for him to call her, see how she was doing; ask her if she'd had a safe trip. That was the friendly thing to do, was it not? What was one little call?

Harry's eyes looked outside again. Both women were now sitting on the grass, heads huddled closely together. Glinda was eating an apple while Hermione was trying to tear the rind off of an orange she had picked from the tree. Good, Harry thought to himself as he tried to figure out just how to look at the call log of the mobile. Although Harry had rarely used a mobile phone, quite frankly he had gotten used to using very little Muggle technology; he wasn't that inept when it came to operating them. His Aunt Petunia had given one to Dudley the summer that Hermione and Ron had stayed at Privet Drive with him. The human blimp had used it to order pizzas from his bedroom. Harry had politely asked him once to borrow it so Hermione could use it to call her mum and dad. The fact that Harry did so while purposefully twirling his wand through his fingers was arbitrary.

As soon as Harry accessed the menu he found what he was looking for. There were three options to choose from; Calls Made, Calls Missed, and Calls Received. Harry decided to see who Hermione had been calling first. The number of the last person she called was listed as Cynthia. If Harry recalled correctly that was her cousin's name. Finding nothing wrong with that, he then went to the next name, Collier.

“Ok,” he said. “So she called him once. No harm.”

Then he scrolled through the next seven names. Collier. Collier. Collier, and so on.

Harry didn't think he much cared for this Cauliflower fucker.

He irritably decided to look at the other lists. He went to Calls Missed. Once again there was Collier's name, mocking him. Harry unconsciously curled his upper lip at it. However the next few calls were all from a different person. Laurie.

Wonder who she is, Harry thought to himself. Shrugging it off, he was just about to look at the last call list when Ron came tiptoeing into the room.

“Do you think she still wants to kill me?”

The sound of Ron's voice spooked Harry to the point that he almost dropped Hermione's mobile on the ground. Discreetly he turned around as he hid his arms behind his back and gingerly placed the phone back onto the seat cushion. He prayed that Ron hadn't seen it in his hand. Since his back had been to the kitchen entrance it looked like he might just be that lucky. Ron didn't even seem to notice the phone sitting there. As Harry got a look at his friend's worried visage, Harry tried to make his own face register concern.

“Well,” the redhead anxiously asked again, “do you?”

Harry shrugged as he crossed the floor to Ron.

“You know Hermione; she can't stay mad at you for long. I'm sure you two will eventually kiss and make-up,” he said, his own words causing him to wince inwardly. It was almost like he enjoyed digging the knife in deeper.

Ron smiled broadly.

“You're right, Harry. That's our Hermione for you.”

A tiny smile formed on Harry's lips.

“Yeah, it is.”

The two men then looked out the patio door where the sound of Glinda shrieking could be heard. Lizzie was trying to eat the apple out of her hand as Hermione looked on, giggling. Harry smiled goofily at them before turning around to find Ron looking just as interested. This did not help Harry's already troubled state of mind. He decided then to get Ron's attention.

“So what do you think about her?” he asked him. “Hermione being back, I mean.”

Ron's smile grew.

“It's great, isn't it? She looks good, doesn't she?”

“She looks alright, I guess,” Harry tried to say lightly, though he couldn't look Ron in the face when he said it.

“Alright?! She looks fan-bloody-tastic!” Ron exclaimed.

Harry glared at him disapprovingly.

“Sorry, mate. I'm engaged, not dead.”

Ron then chuckled and Harry was hard pressed not to join him.

“Then again you never did see her like I did, huh,” he said as he clapped Harry on the back.

Harry wasn't in the mood to tell Ron how wrong he was.

“She acts a bit different though, don't you think? She seems kind of...distant.”

Harry looked at Ron questioningly.

“If it wasn't for the fact that she hasn’t lost her fondness for obese house pets and can still manage to make me want to piss my pants, I'd be asking her what her favorite jam flavor was.”

“Orange marmalade,” Harry said distractedly.

Ron's face screwed up.

“Really? I always thought it was boysenberry.”

“That's your favorite, Ron.”

“Oh yeah.”

Harry shook his head at his friend.

“By any account, she's a bit freer spirited than when she lived here. Texas must have done her some good.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“She even has a tattoo.”

“What?!”

Ron placed a finger low on the side of his back. Very low.

“Right about here.”

“WHAT?!”

“Calm down, Harry. It's not like she lifted up her shirt and gave me a free look. Fred is the one who told me about it.”

If Ron was trying to help matters he was doing a piss poor job of it.

“I said relax, Harry! Glinda was the one who noticed it. She saw it when Hermione was passing out the ice cream. Glinda whispered it to Fred, and he told us just now in there.” he said jutting his thumb back towards the living room. “You also missed it when Glinda asked her about some of the places she's been. When Hermione mentioned Negril George, the prat, asked her if she had ever gone to one of those nudie beaches and went starkers. Get this; she said, 'when in Rome'.”

Harry's mouth fell open.

“My reaction exactly! Glinda and Fred thought it was a laugh riot. 'When in Rome'...just what the hell do you suppose she meant? You think Hermione was having us on, Harry?”

Actually at the moment Harry was having a bit of a hard time thinking at all.

“That's why I was talking about Umbridge when you got back from the loo. I figured that something was needed to deflate the situation...if you understand me."

Harry did, but he couldn't say that the thought of a nude Umbridge was enough to do the trick, even for him.

“I didn't like the way that George was eyeing her after that, besides.”

Harry gave Ron a mystified look.

“George? Eyeing Hermione?”

“Yeah,” Ron said disparagingly. “I always had a feeling that the wanker was sweet on her.”

“George? Sweet on Hermione?”

Harry was dumbfounded by all Ron was telling him. Hermione with a tattoo? Walking around starkers where he couldn't see? George fancying her? And then to top it off, Ron's overprotective tone. Harry felt like his brain was slowly leaking out of his ear.

“It doesn't matter one way or another,” he said shaking his head. “It's not like Hermione would give George the time of day.”

“Oi! What's wrong with my brother?”

Harry rolled his eyes irritably at Ron. The Weasley boys and their sister were famous for ridiculing, tormenting, and abusing each other. But let anyone say an unkind word about one of their siblings in their presence, even Percy, and they went into attack mode.

“Nothing, you git! I just don't see Hermione being interested in dating her ex-boyfriend's brother, do you? Besides, George really isn't her type, is he?”

At least I hope not, Harry thought to himself.

Ron grinned sheepishly.

“I suppose you're right, eh? I just hope she stays,” he continued. “I just can't fight the feeling that one of these days Hermione's going to be right back out that door.”

Ron's gloomy, yet profound statement sounded almost prophetic in Harry's ears.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Then again,” the redhead brightened, “something had to bring her back, right?”

Harry's eyes still looked to the ground.

“Yeah,” he half-whispered again.

“Can anyone join the conversation, or are you lot thinking about chucking me from the band?”

Without them hearing her, Hermione had come back into the kitchen. She stealthily crept up between them while their backs were facing her, and wound her arms around both of their waists. She radiantly smiled up at them both. After getting over the initial surprise, Harry and Ron wrapped an arm around her bringing them all into a three way hug.

Ron looked down at her.

“I don't know,” he said skeptically. “How are you on the bass?”

She wrinkled her nose as she cheekily said, “Dreadful! But I play a mean triangle.”

Ron guffawed loudly as he dropped a wet kiss on her forehead.

“Forgive me?” he asked.

“Always,” she answered. Her voice then cracked as she dropped against him and sobbed, “Oh Ron, I've missed you so much!”

Although he was standing right next to her, Harry felt as though he might as well have been miles away. The way she was looking at Ron made him feel like he had a clenched fist in his chest. He morosely wondered why she couldn't look at him that way. If he could have taken back all of his past mistakes, would she have ever looked at him that way? If things were different, could she look at him that way now? Then he reminded himself that regardless of the answer, it still wouldn't make a difference.

Ron, noticing Harry's heartsick expression, jovially nodded his head towards him.

“Don't be such a berk, Harry! You know that she's missed you too!”

At these words Hermione lifted her head off of Ron and looked Harry directly in the eyes.

“With all my heart,” was all she said as she smiled sweetly at him.

It was as if that clenched fist in his chest loosened and began to caper and skip about inside him. As Harry tenderly gazed back at her, for all he knew, they were the only two people in the world. But then he came crashing back to reality.

“Ow, Ron! Your pocket just burned me!” Hermione squealed loudly, jumping back from both he and Ron.

“OH SHITE!”

Ron dove a hand into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a glowing blue compact. He turned around so that Harry and Hermione were facing him and opened it.

“H-Hi, Lav-Lav,” he saccharinely cooed.

“RON, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” came the voice from the tiny mirror. Harry roared with laughter. Hermione giggled. Ron looked at them both pleadingly before looking back into the two-way.

“I'm at Harry's, luv.”

“FUNNY THAT, RON. I'M AT HARRY'S!” the squeaky, teeny voice replied loud enough for all of them to hear. “YOUR SISTER IS HERE WITH ME AT THE PALACE TOO! SHE WOULD LIKE TO KNOW JUST WHERE IN THE HELL HER HUSBAND IS AS WELL!”

Harry's smile dropped. He began to feverishly make hand signals to Ron, trying to tell him not to say that he was in the room. He pretended not to see the odd look that Hermione shot him.

“Well...I, um...me and Harry stepped out for a bite. I was at his office, you see...”

Ron still couldn't lie for shite.

“And um...Harry had to step away. A case...a big, big case happened and I...uh...”

“ARE YOU LYING TO ME, RON?!”

Ron spluttered a few times, trying to deny the accusation before just giving up completely.

“I'll meet you at the flat, Ron,” was all the reply that came back.

The mirror then ceased its glowing and Ron closed it.

“Well it's been fun, gotta go,” he said hurriedly.

Hermione giggled.

“Ooh, someone is in trouble. Wonder if she'll spank you?”

“OH SHUT IT, HERMIONE!”

She giggled harder.

“Nice leash, small too. You can even use it to put your lip gloss on. When did you get it?” Harry asked him.

“Lavender gave it to me yesterday. Said that we needed to be able to reach each other quickly now that the wedding was so near.”

Hermione tutted disgustedly.

“As though you can talk, Harry! Ginny gave you one too!”

“And I finally got the bollocks to get rid of it years ago.”

Hermione looked at him quickly and asked, “You did?”

When Harry replied that indeed he had, she gave him a smile of approval.

“Good on you, Harry!”

Harry's chest puffed out at the praise.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Ron testily muttered. “But Harry's already married; I'm still trying to get there. I need to be home before Lavender makes it to the flat or there will be hell to play.”

Ron walked up to Hermione and gave her a brotherly kiss on the cheek. Harry told himself if was brotherly, anyhow.

“I will see you later, yes?”

She nodded.

“Yes.”

“Harry,” Ron said, acknowledging his best friend.

Harry playfully turned his cheek to him waiting for his kiss goodbye too. Ron walked out the patio door muttering a dozen or so dirty insults concerning Harry under his breath. Once outside, he Disapparated away.

Harry and Hermione weren't in the kitchen by themselves for long. Soon Glinda came in saying that she had an hour left before she had to pick up Felicity from school. Harry was shocked to realize that it was the late afternoon and they had all squandered away the day. Glinda called out her husband's name and Fred came gamboling into the room.

“Blondie, you have an Anti-App on the house?”

Hermione jerked her thumb at Harry.

“Blame Super Auror, there.”

“She needs some protection, doesn't she?” Harry asked defensively.

“Whatever,” said Fred as he walked up to Glinda and scooped her up in his arms. Glinda squealed giddily. “Come wench!”

As they walked out of the door, Glinda promised to floo Hermione later. Fred called out over his shoulder that it would be much, much later. Harry and Hermione both knew exactly what that loaded statement meant.

Charlie and George then walked in the room.

“Where did Fred and Glinda go?” Charlie asked.

“Home,” Hermione answered.

“And if I were you I would wait at least half an hour before popping off there,” Harry advised.

Fred and Glinda were pretty notorious for shagging right on the living room carpet where just about anyone could floo, or Apparate in to see.

Charlie rolled his eyes skyward.

“I've never met a randier married couple than those two. I'm surprised that they only have Felicity the way they carry on,” Charlie said shaking his head.

“Come home with me then,” George offered.

“Ron and Lavender are there,” Harry told him.

“Yes. Poor Lavender feels neglected apparently,” Hermione said with all of the kindheartedness of a black widow spider.

Charlie sighed.

“Well, I guess it's off to mum and dad's for a bit,” he said to George. Harry and Hermione laughed. “I hope you don't mind if I pinch a few pomegranates from you, Harry. I hear that they are beyond compare.”

Harry said that he didn't mind at all. Charlie had never been to the Hollow, but all those who had always bragged on his tree and the yield of delicious fruit it bore year round.

“Funny how everyone seems to leave while the living room looks like a sty,” Hermione tartly reproached them all

Charlie and George coyly averted their eyes from her causing her to shake her head.

“I'll take care of it for you,” Harry said helpfully.

Hermione grinned at him.

“My hero.”

George whispered to Charlie, loud enough for the benefit of the room, “Ever seen such a brown nose?”

Charlie tried not to laugh, especially when Harry gave them both such disapproving looks, but it was pointless.

Harry didn't care what they said. He couldn't leave the huge mess for Hermione to clean all by herself. And it was all his fault that everyone converged on her anyways. Cleaning up the living room was the least he could do. Besides one of the perks that came with being a wizard meant that it would take only a minute or two.

When he was done Harry walked back into the kitchen where he found Hermione sitting on top of the counter on the left of the double basin sink. George was leaning into her, whispering in her ear. Something he said made her laugh merrily and she gave him a playful smack on the arm. George would have been ashes if the Potter Death Glare was strong enough.

“Hem, hem.”

Harry was trying his best to remain cool and calm.

The two of them looked in his direction. George grinned while Hermione, seeing Harry's strained smile, gave him a puzzled look.

“Pretty good Umbridge there, Harry. Next time just try it with a tad more sexual frustration,” George advised as he stood up straight and leaned in to give Hermione a kiss on the cheek. If that wasn't bad enough, he had the gall to then give the other cheek a smack as well.

“Make sure you come to the store sometime this week,” he told her.

“Just as long as nothing gives me a black eye again,” she jested. George, in feigned solemnity, promised on his honor to make sure of it. He then cordially waved at Harry before walking out onto the patio. After that the sound of two separate Disapparitions was heard as well as the dog barking.

For a moment silence filled the sunny cottage kitchen. Hermione still sat atop the counter, her bare legs swinging back and forth, while Harry stood across the room from her in the doorway. They were alone together. Finally! It was nothing short of uncomfortable, and yet not unpleasant.

“So,” she said when her eyes met his, then skirted away.

“So,” he mumbled as his eyes did the same.

“I think...”

“Maybe we should...”

They both stopped and laughed as they realized that they were talking over each other. Harry came further into the kitchen and stood in front of Hermione.

“So did you enjoy your little makeshift housewarming?” he asked as he rested a hand on the counter next to her thigh.

“It was alright I guess,” she nonchalantly said as she turned her eyes towards the ceiling pretending to be bored.

“Just alright? You even looked like you were enjoying laying into Ron again.”

“Rather like riding a bike. I guess you never forget,” she kidded. “Although I think I would have much preferred a nice kip than sitting around with you lot.”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Harry joked.

“Doth not,” she practically purred in such an enticing fashion, that Harry felt himself harden in his pants at just the sound of it.

How the fuck does she do that, he wondered. He leaned in closer to the cabinet in case she chose to look down.

“So, did you tidy up in there?” she asked him.

He gave her a winning smile.

“That I did,” he said, very proud of himself. “All the trash was vanished.”

“And what did you do with all of your mum's dishes?”

The cupboards and closets were still filled with his parents' linens, dishes, cutlery and the like and he gladly gave Hermione permission to use whatever she needed until she bought more of her own.

“I sent them to their proper places.”

Hermione gave him an approving look.

“Very impressive, Mr. Potter. I'm pretty surprised that you even know cleaning charms. I just assumed that Dobby spoiled you rotten. Dobby and Ginny that is,” she said as her lips that had started to smile twitched.

She hopped off of the counter and began to open the cabinet doors and drawers looking for the bowls they had been eating out of and the spoons and forks they used. After finding the cutlery and putting them in the sink, she bent down and looked in one of the cabinets giving Harry a fascinating view of her very round, pert bum.

“I never liked using Scourgify on dishes myself, though. I always found that the cups and plates were still a bit sticky. I always enjoyed cleaning the Muggle way. It always helped me relieve stress.”

She stopped and looked back at Harry.

“Know what I mean?”

“Huh?”

Hermione shook her head and bent down again as she began to collect the bowls she found.

“Cleaning, Harry,” she said. “It's a good way to get rid of any pent up frustrations, let loose some of the tension. You should try it,” she said encouragingly as her lovely behind bobbed up and down before him.

“Yes...frustrated...” he absentmindedly mumbled.

As her sweatshirt began to slowly ride up, inch by inch of her skin was revealed. It was enough to turn Harry into a babbling Neanderthal. But then his eye caught sight of something that absolutely floored him. As if it had a mind of its own, his hand reached out to touch the piece of bare back that was exposed. Although his touch could have only been feather light, the infinitesimal moment of contact discomposed Hermione so much so that she cried out and dropped the bowls from her hand. As the dishes fell to the ground and shattered in dozens of odd shaped pieces, she wailed in dismay and dropped to the tiled floor. Harry fell to his knees as well and motioned for her to stop picking up the broken fragments with her bare hands. He reached into his robes, pulled his wand out of its holster, and waved it over the debris. Within seconds the bowls were mended as if they were brand new and Harry quickly healed the tiny nicks and cuts Hermione had received on her hands, knees, and legs.

Without saying a word, without even looking him in the eye, she gathered the bowls to her and hurried them into the sink. After turning on the water faucet she looked in a few drawers until she found a wash cloth, a towel, and a bar of soap. She didn't even realize that Harry had conjured them for her.

She just seemed terribly flustered and on edge, and looked like she was in need of something to focus her attention on. As Harry watched her rigid back he could feel the unease begin to roll off of her. Hermione looked like she was ready to go back to ignoring him once again, but now that he finally had her all to himself; Harry realized that he couldn't allow that to happen.

“You have a tattoo,” he said simply.

She turned the water off and turned to face him.

“What are you on about?”

“I hope you're not going to deny it,” he exasperatedly said. “Because Glinda saw it too and I don't care what she and Fred are doing right now, I'll floo her and have her confirm it.”

She made a sound that meant she was quite vexed.

“I didn't deny it. I just asked what you were on about,” she snootily said. Hermione then turned back around to the sink and dipped her hands into the water. “So I have a tattoo, big deal.”

Harry had no idea where he found the stones to ask what he did next, but once the words were out of his mouth he didn't regret them.

“Can I see it?”

Hermione spun around to face him. Her amber-brown eyes went extraordinarily large.

“I, uh...I don't think that's appropriate, Harry.”

Harry boldly stepped closer and never took his eyes off of her.

“Why not?” he confidently asked. “If it's no big deal that you have it, it should be no big deal for me to look at it, right?”

He winked slyly at Hermione.

One of his hands rested on the counter beside her, although he was mindful to give her enough space. He searched her eyes looking for the reaction that he was hoping for. Harry noticed a bit of sweat bead at her hairline, but paid it no heed. If he knew his Hermione Granger well enough, he was certain that no matter what, the woman would not stand down to a challenge. She was too stubborn, obstinate, and willful, and Merlin how he loved her for it! She had once been willing to stare down anyone for him, be it a Dursley or Tom Riddle and she never hesitated to take him to task when she felt he deserved it. So now he had thrown down the gauntlet he waited patiently for her response. He got it in the form of her stomping her foot, turning around, and lifting her shirt up.

Although Harry wasn't sure of what he might have done, he could only conclude that in another life he had been a very good boy. Sure Hermione only lifted the shirt far enough so that Harry could get a peek at her lower back, but what he did see was heavenly. He even got down on his knees so he could give the tattoo a thorough inspection. When he placed his palm on her skin, it seemed to warm to his touch and tremble just so. Oh how he wanted to glide his tongue against the small area where her back dimpled inward! But Harry retained an outward semblance of control and went about the whole thing as though he was just satisfying a mild curiosity.

Before the temptation to hoist her up against the sink and take her right on the counter top could play itself fully out as it did in his head, he yanked the shirt down and stood up.

“N-nice,” he said in a low, thick voice.

She turned around and folded her arms in front of her.

“Nice?!” she asked incredulously.

Harry dumbly nodded his head.

“What is it? Looks like a cartoon?”

“It's Bambi.”

Harry's blank stare seemed to annoy her.

“Haven't you ever heard of the movie Bambi? Forest fire, dead mum, inappropriately named character called Thumper? It had everything that's needed to make a great children's classic.”

Harry only scratched his head.

“Harry really, you were raised by Muggles–”

“Yes Hermione, we've established that.”

She sniffed at his remark.

“Well Bambi was a fawn, a baby deer.”

“Why would you want to put the picture of a baby deer on yourself?”

“It's not that I wanted it. It's just...I...” she paused trying to clarify. “Let's see...how can I explain this properly?”

Understanding dawned on Harry quickly.

“You were ripped to the tits weren't you?”

“And how!” Hermione said in shame as she cupped her red cheeks. “One night my stupid roommates and I were so pissed that we decided to get tattoos. I was moving out and we wanted to have something to always remember each other by.”

She looked at him anxiously.

“I don't know, I think I might have been the one to suggest it.”

Harry placed his hands on his knees and bent himself over to laugh. She was just so darned cute when she got that helpless look in her eyes.

“Laugh it up, Potter!” she irritably snapped, only causing him to laugh harder.

When his laughter finally settled, she continued with her story.

“We ended up in this dodgy little place in Fort Worth. Amy picked out mine. She thought it would be cute. Benny made her, the tiniest blue eyed, blonde haired Southern Belle you could ever meet, get a skull and cross bones on her shoulder. I'm not even going to tell you where he has ‘I HEART MUM’, emblazoned for life,” she said.

Harry sniggered.

“You really are a terrible drunk.”

“I know,” she said forlornly. “And I do almost everything else so well!”

Harry chuckled harder.

“Every time I drink I just end up doing something I eventually regret! The last time I...”

Hermione's eyes bulged. It was obvious that she was about to say something that she didn't want Harry to hear. That only meant that Harry would not rest until she told him.

“You what?”

She cracked an innocent smile.

“I think I hear Lizzie calling. Oh Lizzie,” she called as she tried to run out onto the patio. Harry blocked her path. She gave him a displeased look before walking back to the sink and leaning against the counter.

“You what?” Harry asked again as he stood before her.

Hermione rolled her eyes before looking down at her feet and mumbling, “I kissed George.”

Harry laughed.

“I'm sorry, you have to speak louder. It almost sounded like you said you kissed George.”

Hermione turned her big brown, guilty eyes up towards him.

“YOU KISSED GEORGE?!”

Hermione decided to channel Ron.

“Just a little,” she squeaked.

All Harry could do was spit and splutter. I'll be a boggart's uncle, he thought to himself. Ron had actually been on to something!

“Oh relax, dad,” she said in distaste. “It was no big deal! He kissed me too!”

“NOT HELPING, HERMIONE!”

“We were both drinking, Harry! Three sheets to the wind, banjanxed out of our gourds,” she said simply. “And we both instantly regretted it.”

“But Ron thinks George fancies you!”

Hermione smiled amusedly.

“George? Fancy me? Honestly! I assure you that George Weasley does not fancy me. The look of utter revulsion on his face after our ill-fated smooch was enough to confirm that fact. If I wasn't already so disgusted with myself my ego would have been severely bruised!”

“Did you kiss Fred too?!”

Harry knew he was being a git to ask, but he just couldn't control his jealousy. It almost felt like everyone had gotten a crack at Hermione. Everyone, but him.

“As if Fred would have me! I'm nowhere near exotic enough.”

This was true. Harry still would have preferred it if she had simply said no.

“You make it sound like I have some Weasley fetish. True I once fancied Percy, but that was ages before I realized what an arse he was.”

“Percy?!”

“Well he was Head Boy. Don't give me that look. The Weasleys are a good looking lot!”

Harry folded his arms and shook his head in disbelief. “What's a bloke got to do to get noticed around here? Dye his hair red?”

“Oh, you're attractive too. Sort of. If I tilt my head like this. And squint.”

And she did just that.

“Cute. Does anyone know about this, the George thing?”

“I've never told anyone, certainly not Ron. And I'm pretty sure George didn't say anything to Fred because if he did Fred would have told his wife. And if Glinda knew I would never have heard the end of it. Actually the only person who might have known was–”

“If you say Malfoy...”

“Why would Draco know something like that? No, I was going to say your wife.”

Harry was in shock.

“Ginny?!”

“It was after one of those little gatherings leading up to your wedding. George and I were out in the backyard at the Burrow sharing a bottle of absinthe. I don't know what he was drinking to forget but I...”

Hermione's face took on a pained look as her voice trembled and her eyes flickered to his and then darted away. She tried to avoid his eyes.

“It was as we were pulling away from each other that Ginny walked out into the yard.”

This information absolutely astounded Harry.

“What did she say?”

“Nothing. Like I was trying to say before, I was never really sure that Ginny even saw anything. She didn't mention it. She just asked us if we knew where you were and walked back into the house.”

Harry released his breath. That made far more sense to him.

“She must not have seen then. If she did Ginny would have told me,” he confidently said.

Hermione then mumbled something so unintelligible that had Harry not been paying such close attention to her he might have missed it altogether.

“Like your wife tells you everything.”

Harry bemusedly asked, “And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.”

She looked straight at him and smiled.

“Un-ruffle the feathers, Potter. All I mean is that all wives rarely tell their husbands every little thing. If they did then all the mystery would go out the marriage. Besides, I'm sure you don't tell your wife everything. Do you?”

It was time now for Harry to avert his eyes.

“Exactly.”

Harry was not amused. In fact he was getting more agitated by the second. There was something about this conversation that just wasn't sitting well with him, but he couldn't put his finger on what it could be.

“So if George doesn't fancy you what was all that whispering about when I walked in on you two earlier?”

“Oh that?”

She turned her back to him as she put her hands in the water and began to wash the few dishes in it.

“That was just George being a plonker, asking me if I had come to town to stop Ron's wedding. Honestly.”

Although Harry could hear the amusement in Hermione's voice, he still flinched at what she said. George had actually put it out there in the open. George had actually asked the question that Harry had been too frightened to hear the answer to. Because in his mind it all added up. Why else would Hermione come tearing back home after being gone for so long? It made perfect sense to Harry. She had already proved time and time again that when it came to Ron she did things completely out of character for herself. Why not interrupt his wedding ceremony, beg him to take her back, run off with the groom and have a house full of redheaded children? Ron had already dumped one bride at the altar. Why not go for a second? Because there was no way that he would choose Lavender over Hermione. Harry knew this without a doubt. What man in his right mind would just throw away the opportunity to be with Hermione?

As all of these thoughts ran through Harry's mind, his silence made Hermione turn from what she was doing and look at his troubled, distracted face. Before he could erase the expression that was on it, she gasped as her eyes grew large.

“Oh my God! You think I came back to stop the wedding! Don't you?”

“Well,” he began, unsure at first of how to continue...if he wanted to continue. “Have you?”

Hermione removed her hands from the sink and shook the water off of them before using them to cover her mouth.

“OH MY GOD!” she said again.

“Did you come home to England to win Ron back? Is that what you're really doing here, Hermione?”

It absolutely killed Harry to say these words, but he had to know. It wasn't as if he could stop her or change her mind if such was the case. But he had to know the truth!

“I don't know whether to laugh or to hit you.” She still sounded as though she thought he was telling her a joke.

He growled at her.

“And once again you avoid a direct fucking question. Why can't you stick to the topic?!”

“Oh, there's a topic?” she asked in an immensely superior tone that made Harry grind his teeth together. “I thought you were just stringing along nonsense words hoping to make a coherent sentence out of them.”

“You and Ron looked awfully chummy out there on the couch earlier.”

“So did Glinda and I. Think I'm trying to get in her pants too?”

Harry ignored the smart-alecky quip.

“You started a fight with him,” he said crossing his arms over his chest. “Trying to relieve some of that old sexual tension, Hermione?”

“Sexual tension, are you mad?!” she exclaimed as she searched Harry's face trying to see if he really were out of his mind. “Sure I wanted to knock Ron down, but to strangle him! Not to have my wanton way with him.”

Hermione then began to giggle.

“What could possibly make you think that I have any intention of trying to stop Ron from marrying that scatter brained halfwit of his?”

Harry looked pointedly at her. “Well that for example,” he said as he jabbed a finger in the air at her. “Why are you constantly harping on Lavender? Jealous maybe?”

This accusation only made her giggle to the point of hiccups. Harry was beginning to feel very silly all of a sudden.

“Jealous?!”

She said the word as if it were the most improbable thing ever.

“Jealous?! Honestly,” she dismissively snickered as she rolled her eyes.

“ARGH! I hate it when you take that tone with me,” he yelled in frustration. “It makes me very angry.”

And a little horny, a voice said to him. It looked like the devil in his pants had decided to come back out and play.

“And annoyed.”

And a little bit horny, it said again.

“And it makes me want to...to...”

Shag the living daylights out of you!!!

Harry tore at his hair as he yowled in aggravation. He turned his back to her and walked towards the kitchen table. He threw himself onto the cushioned bench, placed his elbows on the table, and dropped his face into his hands. Now was not the fucking time for his trousers to want to get involved in this!

“Ok,” he heard her say in bewilderment. When he looked up again she was standing right beside him. She motioned for him to budge over. He hesitated for only a moment before doing so.

As she slid over on the bench she looked at him warily, as if she were awaiting his next outburst cautiously.

“I'm not jealous of Lavender,” Hermione reiterated as she placed her hands on the table and clasped them together. “I just can't stand the sight of her smug face, is all. And that simpering little way she speaks. And if you ever had to endure her singing in the morning you would swear that there was no God up in heaven!”

Hermione was warming to her subject now.

“And then there is the way she clings to Ron like a burr! And...”

“But you're not jealous, right?” he asked archly.

“I'm not actually!” she exasperatedly said. “Just protective. I want the best for Ron just like I want...wanted it for you. But Lavender just isn't good enough for him!”

He asked in a tight, almost hurt voice, “And I suppose you are?”

She pulled back from him, amazed.

“Me?” she asked. “I love Ron too much to ever wish myself on him again!”

Harry was floored!

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but closed it abruptly. She then asked, “Have you ever taken the time to ponder on how utterly amazing Ron Weasley is?”

The question completely threw him.

“Ye...no.”

She laughed.

“You know you are absolutely adorable when your mind thinks in two different directions at once,” she said, playfully nudging his shoulder.

Harry didn't quite know how to take the compliment. After all, infants were adorable, and tree sprites...and jarvey pups before their mouths got too filthy. Harry wasn't so sure that he liked being called adorable.

“Ron is the best friend to top all best friends,” she began. “A partner in crime, a confidant; he is loyal almost to a fault. And when he loves you he does it fiercely. Sure he has had his moments, but when he finally grew up he was more than happy to stand behind you, be your support system. Why? Because you needed him. And he needed you. I think that's why I was so upset when you two were acting so coldly to each other back during the Triwizard competition. I couldn't stand the idea of anything coming between you two.”

Her eyes misted for a second before she shook her head bravely, straightened her shoulders, and pressed on.

“Ron didn't care if he didn't have the spotlight as long as you were alright. He stopped caring that others only saw him as the sidekick, second best to you. It didn't matter to him,” she said, lovingly placing a hand on his cheek.

“Not like you mattered to him. But it mattered to me,” she sadly said as she slowly removed her hand.

Harry missed her touch immeasurably.

“Ron deserved the best kind of love,” she continued. “He used to tell me how he felt lost in the shuffle of his family and he was so accepting of that. It hurt my heart that he could feel that way. So I was determined to make it better for him. I just knew that I could be the one that loved him best. I was certain that it was supposed to be me. And he wanted it to be me so badly. But eventually I realized that we were both wrong."

Hermione sniffed loudly and leaned back on the bench. She wiped a hand across her right eye before folding her arms over her stomach.

“You know how I hate to be wrong about anything,” she said as she cracked a wobbly smile.

Harry returned it as he leaned back as well.

“That's why I fought it for so long. I thought that I could make everything right by the strength of my own will. I mean, I was still attracted to Ron and he still made me laugh. And we never had any problems in the bedroo–”

At the sight of Harry's stricken face Hermione paused.

“Sorry,” she sheepishly apologized.

She cleared her throat as she sat back up to continue.

“It was for these reasons and...others...that I tried to make it work. I tried to force myself to make it work. I kept going back to Ron because I would tell myself that this would be the time that it would work. And there were even instances that I almost fooled myself into believing it. But I could never really give Ron all of me.”

She turned her head and held his gaze intensely.

“Does that make sense?”

Harry only nodded his head. He was amazed at her honesty.

“The truth is I didn't want to give him that part of myself that I held back. I felt like it was wrong. It didn't belong to him! But the worse part is that Ron somehow knew all of this. He could sense that I stayed with him out of some sense of obligation...fealty. And he was willing to accept even that. That wasn't fair to him! And it wasn't fair to me. That's why Ron and I had to end it finally. That last break-up? It hurt like hell, but it needed to be done because eventually Ron and I would have ended up hating each other. And I couldn't live with that happening. That's why out of all of my regrets that has never been one of them. Do you get me now?”

Harry did. He could now see that the playfulness and easy-going vibe that he had witnessed between Ron and Hermione had no other connotation other than two dear old friends who had finally made peace with one another. If he thought about it they were almost like siblings; laughing, teasing, making each other insanely annoyed. He felt almost foolish for letting his jealousy blind him as it did. Just that easily most of his qualms and insecurities dissolved away into nothingness.

“I do not want to stop Ron's wedding. I want to be there on the day that he marries the woman that he loves. And I'm more than ok with that person not being me.”

“Ron told you that he loved Lavender?”

Hermione quirked a smile.

“He didn't have to. I saw the way that he looked at her and just knew.”

The smile then dropped.

“That doesn't mean that I have to like her, though.” She got up from the breakfast nook and walked back to the sink. A lighthearted smile formed on Harry's lips. The woman could hold one hell of a grudge when she set her mind to it.

“No, you don't have to like her,” he said as he crossed to her. “But could you cut her a little slack for Ron's sake?” he asked. “Say what you like about Lavender, and believe me I have, she loves our best mate. Religiously, almost.”

Hermione tutted at the sentiment.

“She laughs at all of his jokes...unfortunately,” Harry said, grimacing a bit. “She fights tooth and nail for him when the twins have a go. Did you know she's been to all of his games, even when he was warming the bench for Chudley?”

“Like I was just going to go to some silly match like some lobotomized Quidditch girlfriend and watch a few blokes I didn't even know fly into a goal post just to–”

“Hermione!”

“Sorry.”

Harry shook his head as he turned her around by her shoulders to face him.

“Point is, if you want the best for Ron you are going to have to accept that Lavender just might be it.”

Although she was rolling her eyes again, he could tell that he was getting through to her.

“Besides, who else will have the big lummox?”

Her lips twitched ever so slightly and Harry knew he had her. His grin widened.

“You just hate it when I'm right, don't you?”

“I don't hate it,” she said as her eyebrow arched upward. “It just happens so rarely that it gives me pause is all.”

“Whatever. So you will lay off of Lavender?

Hermione held her right hand up, palm facing forward.

“Starting tomorrow I will never say another disparaging word against that blonde, big breasted, bubbleheaded blabbermouth.”

Harry was impressed by the alliteration, but he still gave her a disappointed frown.

“WHAT?! I said tomorrow!”

She put her hand down.

He tried his best not to laugh although he found it a very difficult task. Hermione smirked and went back to the sink.

“But when you're made the godfather of little Lilac Weasley just remember that I was the lone voice of reason through out all of this.”

At this Harry did laugh. Not just because he found it humorous, but because he could easily see Lavender picking out the ridiculous name and Ron stupidly agreeing to it.

Hermione picked up the towel and held it out in his direction. Harry, understanding the gesture, unzipped his work robes and laid them over the table. He also took off his holster. Harry then rolled up his dress shirt sleeves, walked over, and took the towel. He noted the appraising look she had been giving him as he took off his uniform and almost fooled himself into thinking that she was checking him out.

Hermione began to wash the assorted dishes, handing each one over to Harry to dry. After he dried a piece, he put it in its appropriate drawer or cabinet. In companionable silence they went about this little chore, although every time Hermione handed him a bowl or a spoon and their hands brushed up against each other Harry had to wonder if the electrical charge he felt was all a part of his psychosis, merely his wishful thinking. To take his mind off of this he tried to make pleasant conversation.

“So,” he said glancing at her sweatshirt, “Longhorns do it better?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and a mischievous smile pulled at the corner of her mouth.

“Are you asking me or propositioning me?”

Harry nearly fumbled the last bowl in his hand. It was almost hard to believe he had once been a world-class Seeker. When the bowl was safely in its cabinet, he took a peek at Hermione's pleased smile, and deciding to throw caution to the wind, figured that as long as she was in such a teasing mood he was well within his rights to test the boundaries of it.

“You're flirting with me.”

It was more of a fishing experiment than a statement. Harry was beginning to notice an interesting pattern. Whenever he and Hermione were in the company of others he could practically touch the wall that she put up between him and herself. Ron was right; she did come off rather distant. But to Harry she might has well have been on the other side of the moon. It was as if she would rather focus her attention on anyone but him. But when they were alone? When it was just the two of them, whatever barrier she tried to erect didn't stand a chance against Harry and Hermione doing what they did best, just being Harry and Hermione. And truth told she had been a bit flirty with him. Then again he had been acting like she was a jar of honey and he was a bear trying to get his paw in the pot. He really had no room to talk.

Hermione's self-satisfied smirk quickly fell and she looked at him as though he had whispered that there was a cell of Death Eaters in the next room.

“WHAT?!”

“It just seems like you've been flirting with me, is all,” Harry said coolly although he could feel his feet sweating in their boots.

She turned her head from him and said briskly, “Don't be silly, Harry.”

She continued to wash the same spoon over and over again.

Harry was terribly put out. She completely dismissed the idea that she could possibly flirt with him, find him attractive. What was so wrong with him?

“What's so wrong with me?” he asked childishly.

“Oh Harry, you're still fanciable.”

Although he should have been pleased with the compliment, the fact that she barely glanced at him when she said it spoke volumes to Harry. She thought he was good looking, just not to her. Just not for her.

“You used to flirt with Malfoy,” he accusingly said.

Hermione scoffed. “I never flirted with Draco, he would flirt with me.”

“Malfoy would flirt with a bowl of cornflakes if he thought it would get him somewhere. But you,” he peevishly said eyeing her up and down, “you used to encourage him.”

“I nev–”

Harry turned to face her fully and gave her a piercing look.

“Alright. Maybe I flirted a little,” she conceded. “But that was how Draco and I got along. That was our...thing,” Hermione said, trying to explain her position. Harry wanted to kick something, preferably Draco Malfoy's lily white arse. “That and witty banter, that is. You and I,” she warily eyed Harry before turning back to the sink, “we never had that.”

“Witty banter?”

“No, flirting. That...that was never a part of our relationship before. It wasn't our 'thing'.” She turned back to the dishes.

Harry looked at her wondrously.

“We had a 'thing'?”

Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

“Of course we did.”

The answer pleased Harry and he smiled to himself. Of course they did.

Just not the thing he wanted, Harry wistfully sighed.

“So the shirt,” Harry said, trying to clear his head of his unrequited feelings and referencing her sweatshirt again.

“It's the University of Texas,” she said as she turned towards him and smoothed down the front of it. “Someone I knew once went there. I can't tell you how glad I am that I'll never have to go to another Shootout as long as I live.”

Harry looked at her quizzically.

“It's this football game,” she explained. “I went to it almost every year. Not like our football, mind you. Then again all sports are the same to me.”

“So was it Amy or Benny?”

Hermione wrinkled her brow and said, “Excuse me?”

“The friend,” Harry said, trying to make himself clear, as he leaned against the kitchen counter. “You said a friend went there.”

Hermione blinked her eyes at him before turning away from him.

“Neither,” she said in an even, casual tone that grated on Harry's nerve.

She hopped up on the counter on the other side of the basin.

“I actually took some courses there myself,” said Hermione.

Whereas a moment before he had been irritably wondering if this friend of Hermione's was that Cauliflower person, who made her go to football games and had called her an obscenely amount of times, this information piqued his interest.

“Really?”

She nodded. “I was considering actually becoming a full-fledged teacher but I...I just couldn't find the time. But I did enjoy a lot of my classes; American Literature, anthropology, a simply divine art history class. The professor wasn't that bad either,” she said as she smiled saucily.

Harry simply rolled his eyes.

“There was even a psychology course or two,” she continued.

“I thought you hated psychology?” he inquired.

“No, I said I hated a psychologist,” she primly informed him. “I never saw a good reason to hold that against the entire field though, hmm?”

She eyed him inquisitively.

“Like you obviously,” she said. “What happened to you, a therapist told you that you had an Oedipus complex or something?”

Although Harry knew that she must have made one of her little jokes judging by her amused grin, he shook his head and ignored it.

“I saw a psychotherapist.” Harry frowned. “Psycho is the operative word. I only saw the git once.”

Hermione's smile faded as she looked at him worriedly.

“Why? What for?”

Harry nearly beat his head into the counter top. Good going Potter, he practically shouted at himself.

“Oh nothing,” he casually said and tried to smile innocently. “Just some dreams I had been having.”

“Oh?”

Since Harry was smiling she smiled as well.

“Sounds interesting, what were they about?”

“Hmm?”

“The dreams,” she said, “what were they about?”

Harry's mind clouded over. Your lips. Your hair. The way you giggle when I kiss the pads of your feet. The moan that escapes your throat when your back arches just so...

“I rather not talk about it,” he said as his eyes guiltily darted away from her. He missed the frown that settled on her face. “It doesn't matter anyhow.”

Harry hadn't actually had another one of those dreams since the night before Ron's party. That made for three days now. Although they had driven him to the point of madness, Harry now found himself missing them terribly. But in a way it was a blessing in disguise. Ginny had moved back into their bedroom, permanently it would seem.

“Alright,” she said, voice unsure as she looked at him warily. “So this therapist was of no help to you?”

Harry shook his head. “Not much I'm afraid.”

“That's a shame,” Hermione said. “I actually find a lot of merit in the field. I've read quite a few books, especially on dream analysis.”

“I have too,” Harry said dismissively. “Dream books, oneiromancy...”

“Dream books? Oneiromancy?! Oh Harry,” she said giving him a rather pitying look.

“It's a legitimate field!”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I'm talking Jung, Alder, Perls, and Freud, Harry. Not Sybil Trelawney doused in cooking sherry!”

Looking at the bewildered expression on Harry's face Hermione sighed.

“Have you never heard of Sigmund Freud?”

When Harry gave her a blank face in answer, Hermione continued.

“Some people like to think of him as the father of modern psychology. He had a whole theory about dreams,” she explained. “He believed that nothing we do occurs by chance, that our unconscious selves motivate every action we make. When you repress all of your urges and impulses, generally those of a sexual nature, they have to manifest themselves in some form, right?” she asked him.

“So they do it in dreams,” Harry said.

“That's right. But Freud was a bit of a degenerate, in my opinion. To him everything was about sex, sex, sex.”

Harry gulped anxiously.

“But then there is the Jung school of thought,” she continued. “Whereas Freud saw everything as sexual and animalistic, Jung saw dreams as being more spiritual. That our dreams provided us with what could make us whole.”

“I...I like this Jung fellow,” Harry said in a slightly strained voice.

“I kind of like that Jung fellow too,” Hermione said with a small smile.

“You know a lot about dreams.”

Hermione's smile wavered, but held.

“I've had a bit of a vested interest in understanding them, you could say.”

“Well let's say this...oh, I don't know...random bloke had been having these dreams,” Harry said as he came closer to her.

His face paled.

“Very detailed dreams. And let's say that all of a sudden they just stopped,” he said, looking her in the eye. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

“Are we talking hypothetically or are we talking you?”

“Just humor me, Hermione,” Harry said huffily.

Fighting back a giggle she said, “Well 'Hypothetical Man'...”

The giggle escaped.

“He must have achieved his goal. Yes?”

“Decidedly not.”

“Alright then, it sounds like his unconscious mind is trying to motivate him into action then. Kind of like a rat in a hamster wheel chasing after that piece of cheese. He knows what he wants; it's his job to go get it now.”

Harry pulled away from her as he pondered her meaning.

“So Harry, if you want to go and live out your dreams of being some Rock God, borrow my stilettos, call yourself something foppishly outrageous like Ziggy Glitter and nancy about in nothing but a pair of assless chaps; Ron and I will support you one hundred percent. We'll be right behind you all the way.”

Harry goggled at the sight of her serious face and her screwy ramblings. He almost asked her if she were feeling well, but when he saw the merry glint in her eyes he couldn't help but smile.

“Then again, Ron might not be as enamored of standing directly behind you, but can you blame him? Assless chaps, Harry? Honestly!”

“You know, you've developed entirely too much cheek since you've been gone.”

She giggled and her nose wrinkled in the most precious fashion.

“I think,” he said giving her an ominous look that made her rear back on the counter, “something needs to be done about it.”

His fingers glided over the edge of the basin as he neared her.

“In fact,” Harry said as he dipped his hands in the lukewarm water that filled the sink, “I think you need to be taught a lesson. Don't you?”

“Harry,” she said as she raised her hands before her, “whatever you are planning, stop it. Or I'll...I'll...” she warned.

This only earned her an imp of a grin from Harry.

“Or you'll what?” he asked as he flicked water out of the sink at her causing her to shout.

“ACK! HARRY, STOP!”

“Can't,” he said as he sent more water at her, soaking her shirt front and making little droplets roll down her naked legs.

She hollered again.

“You were going to do something to me, remember? I wanted to hear what it was.”

Once again he flicked the dish water at her as he inched closer.

Hermione tried scooting herself as far on the counter as she could to get away from him.

“HARRY JAMES POTTER, IF YOU DON'T STOP...” she cried in mirthful indignation.

He splashed her again.

“I can do this all night,” he playfully responded to her idle threats. He then abruptly lurched forward and grabbed hold of both her wrists, pulling her flush to him.

“Stop, stop,” she giggled madly as she tried to ward him off. “You're making me all wet, Harry! STOP!” she laughingly scolded as her knees, in what seemed an involuntary movement, came up about his hips and pressed Harry even closer.

And that is when everything stopped. The foolery, the flailing limbs, the ringing laughter; everything came to a grinding halt. Everything except the sound of their ragged breathing as the realization of the position they were now in began to slowly sink in; Harry, between Hermione's legs, as the throbbing, pulsing organ in his pants pressed against the heat of her.

HALLELUJAH!!! For Harry, it was as if a choir of seraphim had peeled back the roof of the house to sing down upon him. The sensation of being wrapped up in Hermione was so powerful, so potent, so utterly mind blowing that Harry gave into the dizzying sensation of it and rocked himself against her. The immediate result produced a shudder in Hermione that seemed to travel her whole body. As if exerted from the force of it, her eyes closed and her head lolled back. A whimper escaped her parted lips. That was when Harry suddenly realized that he was going to kiss her. He didn't care about the consequences. He didn't care about Ginny. He didn't even care if Hermione would try to stop him. He just knew that if he let this opportunity go to finally find out if she tasted like strawberries, like she did in his dreams, he would without question go mad.

With his hands still wrapped around her wrists he gently tugged her closer to him as he began to lower his head. As his lips began to hover over hers, Hermione languidly opened her orbs of deep, dark golden amber, their eyes locked, and Harry felt himself wanting to fall into them and lose himself to the deluge.

It was at this time that Lizzie decided to interrupt.

The sudden impact of a weight being thrown against him startled Harry and threw his misty thoughts for such a loop that he instantly dropped Hermione's wrists and stepped back from her. This movement gave Lizzie ample opportunity to rear herself up on her hind legs and rest her paws on Harry's chest as she leaned against him. Her pink tongue hung out as she panted warmly and her bobtail swished back and forth. Harry tried to gently push the dog down, but Lizzie, thinking that they were having fun, only barked affectionately. She even tried to take a few loving licks at his face.

“LIZZIE, DOWN!” Hermione called to the dog in an authoritative, as well as slightly disgruntled tone.

At the sound of her master's disapproving voice the dog immediately dropped down to all fours and obediently padded towards her, tail wagging low. Hermione hopped off of the counter and dropped to her knees as she put her arms around Lizzie's neck. Subsequently she hid her face from Harry's view in the thick of Lizzie's fur.

“She saw that we were playing a game and she wanted to play too,” Hermione crooned to the dog in a babyish voice. “Didn't you girl?”

As if on cue, the dog barked making Hermione giggle. Her eyes then looked up at him.

“Sorry Harry, as soon as she sees a little roughhousing she wants to jump in.”

Roughhousing? Is that what they were calling it these days?

“She must have come in, saw us joking around, and wanted to join. She just tends to get carried away at times. Don't you girl?”

Harry distractedly ran his fingers through his hair and tried to get himself, all of him, under control. As his breathing returned to normal, he cast his eyes about him to see if he was actually standing inside the kitchen or if his physical body was somehow some place else. For a moment he had to honestly question if the not quite kiss had actually happened, or if it had all been just another fantasy of his running away from him. Did he just lose himself again? Had his stressed out mind turned simple horseplay into some longed for heated encounter? The citrus smell of her perfume that lingered on his fingers, was he imagining it? Harry actually contemplated pinching himself. Maybe he was still hallucinating. He looked at Hermione, who seemed intent on ignoring him in favor of the dog, to see if anything was amiss. Her eyes flickered to his nervously for just a moment, before quickly skirting away. And Harry knew.

She's going to pretend that nothing happened, his frantic mind shouted. She's going to pretend that I wasn't about to kiss her just now. She's going to pretend that she wasn't going to let me. Because without a single doubt, as soon as Harry looked into her eyes right before the goddamned dog came between them, he knew that she was going to allow him to kiss her. Maybe she got caught up in the moment. Maybe she replaced his lips with a pair of her own imagining and forgot that it was him, Harry, wedged between her more than hospitable thighs. Harry didn't know which it was. But what he was terrifyingly certain of was that Hermione, for whatever reasons, was going to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred between them. Harry was so distraught that he almost hauled her up by the shoulders and begged her not to do that to him.

“She's probably hungry, poor thing. It's a wonder there isn't dog vomit everywhere seeing as how George seems to think that they can eat just any thing.”

Although she was technically talking to him, Hermione was speaking towards the dog.

“I should go change and take her for a walk, stop off at the grocers and pick up a few things for us to eat tonight and tomorrow morning. Would you like that girl?”

“Let me go with you,” Harry volunteered eagerly as he took a step towards her. Hermione stood up quickly and Lizzie, looking back and forth between them and somehow sensing the unease in the room, trotted out of the kitchen and into the lounge.

“I don't think that's such a good idea, Harry,” she said as she followed the dog into the other room.

Harry ran back to the table to scoop up his things before following her.

“It's late and you should go home,” she continued as he entered the living room. “I'm sure Ginny will be worried,” she said as she stood in front of the stairs. Lizzie had laid herself out on the love seat near the door.

Harry wearily sighed. Ginny. It really all came back to Ginny, didn't it?

“Was she terribly cross about me keeping you so late last night?” Hermione asked him as he walked up to her.

“Not really,” he replied.

Although Ginny had been half-asleep when he slipped into bed in the early hours of the morning, she had been awake enough to ask him if he had been out with Hermione. After hearing his answer and telling him to say hello for her the next time, she promptly rolled over and went back to sleep.

“She asked after you, though.”

Harry noticed the very briefest flicker of disbelief light her eyes, but made no mention of it.

“I'll have to floo her or...or...something,” she said, her face inscrutable.

“Yes,” responded Harry apprehensively, “you do that.”

Of course he hoped that she wouldn't. He had yet to tell Ginny where Hermione was going to be living. That was a conversation that Harry was really looking forward to.

Wanting to avoid all thoughts of Hermione and his wife being anywhere near each other, he tried to dispel the uneasiness of the mood that was settling about them.

“So,” he said in a jovial voice that belied the truth of things, “what are we doing tomorrow?”

Following his lead, she said in a lighthearted tone, “We, as in you, are going to work.”

This made Harry scowl at her.

“I will not be blamed for you shirking your duties, Mister,” she said prissily. “Meanwhile we, as in I, will drop by the Ministry later.”

The thought of Hermione coming by his job almost made him smile until she added, “I'm coming to see Draco.”

“What do you want to see that git for?!” he snarled.

She showed him just how intimidated she was by his outburst by not even blinking her eyes.

“Well the 'git' was a good friend once. I hope he still is seeing as how I've been in England for nearly three days and have yet to call on him. I'll never hear the end of it!”

“Well you won't find him at the office,” Harry said sullenly. “The bastard requested a few days of leave in the middle of a big case. Said he had some important matters to take care of, but if you ask me he's holed up over there at Lovegood House. I stopped by early this morning as well as yesterday to discuss business with him, but that demented old house-elf of Luna's wouldn't let me in the door.”

“Is this the same case you were discussing with Charlie?” she questioned, an inquisitive light coming to her eyes that made Harry want to hex himself.

“Hermione...” he said warningly.

Her eyes nearly popped at him in surprise at his tone.

“What?”

“It doesn't concern you, do you hear me?” he asked.

Although he was being harsh about it, he wanted her to understand fully that he didn't want her sticking her nose into his work, especially this case. He didn't even want her to know Cadmus' name.

“I want you to drop it about the case. It's none of your business. Are we clear?”

“Alright, alright,” she said, aggrieved. “No need to get tetchy.”

“I can't help it when it comes to you,” Harry said as a reluctant smile formed on his lips. “Which reminds me,” he said as he reached into the pocket of his robes, “I have something for you.”

“Ooh, a present?”

“In a manner of speaking,” he remarked as he withdrew a long, maroon satin box. Tiny little moonstones were stitched into the top, and it had a clasp made of pure gold. He proudly held it before Hermione.

The reaction he got was less than stellar.

“A wand box,” she observed dully. “Some girls get diamonds; I get a wand box.”

“It's a lot more than just a wand box,” said Harry.

“Well as sweet as the thought is, Harry, if you recall I...”

“...threw your wand away,” he finished for her. “I remember. I remember everything you've ever said to me,” he offhandedly remarked. The effect of his words however caused her cheeks to bloom pink, and he wondered just what could have produced such a rosy flush. Whatever it was he would give anything to see it happen again and again and again. Instead he said, “Open it.”

She took the box out of his hand, opened the clasp, and pulled back the lid.

“A wand,” she said tonelessly.

She removed the wand from its maroon velvet lining and held it up in her free hand.

“You bought me a wand?” she asked bemusedly.

“I only bought the box. I've had the wand for quite some time,” he cryptically said.

Although that obviously stumped her, she wasn't immune to her own inquisitive nature. Her brow puckered as she curiously examined the magical rod in her hand.

“Well, it's a good quality wand as far as I can tell. Hardly a nick or a scratch. I would say that this wand was well loved.”

Those words made his heart swell happily.

“Looks about 9...10 inches, maybe. My wand...my old wand was a little more than 8.”

“It's a willow.”

“Oh, those are supposed to be excellent for charm work.”

“I know. Mr. Ollivander told me so once,” Harry said. “The wand belonged to my mum.”

The admission made Hermione's eyes swiftly look to his and her mouth pop open.

“How? When? What? HARRY!”

Harry chuckled at the flabbergasted look on her face.

“I found it, years ago, at Grimmauld. My dad's wand, too.”

She still looked at him as though she expected him to tell her any moment that it was all some elaborate hoax. But when those words didn't follow, she slowly closed her mouth and closed the wand back in its fancy box.

“I can't take this, Harry,” she said as she tried to hand it back to him. Harry's hands did not budge from his side.

“You can and you will,” is all he said.

“Harry, I haven't used a wand in four years. I...I'm not sure I would even remember how to,” she protested.

“Of course you would. Because you were born to this,” he said, motioning to the case. “It's who you are. No matter how hard you try to deny it, to run from it, you will always be the greatest witch of your age.”

Harry watched her as his speech sunk in. He saw the trepidation in her eyes, but he also saw the way both of her hands tightly crushed the box to her chest.

“Now I'm not telling you that you have to use it. Just...if you step out the house keep it in your handbag or something. Put it on your nightstand when you're at home. I just...I just would sleep better if I knew that you had it.”

Harry wouldn't actually be able to rest really unless Hermione was somewhere he could see her from dusk 'til dawn, but the wand was a nice compromise. He had kept it as well as several other mementos locked in a safe in the basement of his and Ginny's house since the day they moved into it. Ginny didn't even know the contents of the safe. Although he knew that Hermione seemed adamant about living this Muggle-like lifestyle of hers, he felt compelled to give her his mother's wand just in case she needed it to protect herself. Because no matter how hard Harry tried to push the irrational fears from his mind, the fact that Hermione looked so much like Harmonia Cadmus absolutely terrified him.

There were the obvious differences between the two women of course. Harmonia was a pureblood, Hermione a Muggle-born. Harmonia had been a Ravenclaw, Hermione a Gryffindor. Harmonia had sleek, long, rippling brown hair. At the moment Hermione's barely reached her shoulders and was a rich blonde shade. And then there was the most glaring difference of them all, Harmonia had been dead for 75 years. But to a psychopath like Ptolemy Cadmus, who had obviously lost touch with reality long ago, what would a little thing like death mean? He doled it out so casually. Just what would happen if he caught sight of a pretty young woman whose face resembled that of the child whose murder set him on his destructive path? What would he do? What actions would he take? It could be argued that there wasn't a witch or a wizard in all of Great Britain who didn't know Hermione's face, and that had Cadmus any intention of doing anything to her, he would have done it long before now. But from the case file they had, the case file that Harry had combed over and over again for the last few days, Harry wasn't so sure if Cadmus had even stayed in England after he murdered Harmonia's Muggle husband. It would have happened right around the end of the Second War, before all of the publicity, before all of the scandals. Maybe he had never seen Hermione's face before. What happens when he does?

I'll kill the son of a bitch if he even harms one hair on her head.

“Just take the wand, Hermione. Humor me, please.”

She searched his eyes looking for what, Harry didn't know. But after the smallest of pauses she said, “Alright, I'll take it.”

Harry exhaled gladly.

“Good.”

“Good,” she said in return.

“Well then...”

“Um...yes...”

“I guess I should leave you and Lizzie to your walk.”

“I guess,” she said as her eyes lowered and she studied the floor.

“Um...do you think,” Harry began uncertainly, “I could visit you tomorrow.”

Her eyes looked up and met his.

“Evening, that is. After work.”

Harry held his breath, praying that she didn't turn him down. He could see the look of apprehension in her eyes.

“I don't think–”

“Ron can join us!” he quickly said to stall her from telling him no. “We could even go visit Remus. I'm sure he would love to see you. And you could see the baby.”

Hermione's eyes brightened at the prospect.

“Well that does sound like fun. Of course you can stop by. This is your house after all.”

“I wish you would stop saying that,” Harry said, miffed. “I want you to think of the cottage as your own home now.”

“Well I would like to,” said Hermione matter-of-factly as she placed a free hand on her hip, “but someone refuses to tell me how much the monthly is going to be.”

Harry pulled a face.

“I'm not charging you rent, Hermione.”

“I can't just live inside your house like some...some...squatter, Harry. Like some vagabond. It just won't feel right unless I pay you something.”

“Pay me? What could you...”

Harry stopped himself from continuing. A brilliant idea had just come to him.

“Do you still knit?” he asked.

She looked at him skeptically.

“I...Yes. I actually got quite good at it. Why?”

“Remember those hats you used to make for the kitchen elves?

“Yes. Harry, where are you going with thi–”

“Dobby used to love those things.”

She gave him a disbelieving look.

“He did!” he insisted. “So here's the deal, you make Dobby a new cap each month and we'll be squared.”

“Harry!”

“And while I'm feeling power hungry, throw in a matching scarf as well.”

Hermione threw her head back and laughed.

“My, aren't we playing hardball, Mr. Landlord,” she teased.

With a mock grievous look about him he said seriously, “A bloke's got to do what a bloke's got to do.”

She smacked him on the shoulder.

“Now you are just being silly.”

“So are we agreed?” he asked as he held his hand out towards her. “Ever since I told him that his Hermy Miss was here to stay, Dobby's been bouncing off the walls.”

She regarded his outstretched hand for a moment before placing her own in his and shaking it. When her gaze demurely veered from his own, he wondered if it was because she too experienced the mild charge that sparked in him every time something in his blood called to something in hers. Could Hermione possibly feel it as well?

“Agreed,” she said as she slipped her hand from his hold.

“So no more your house?” he asked.

“But it is your house,” she volleyed back.

“But I want it to be yours too. So think of it as...our house,” he said brazenly as his eyes held with hers.

“Our house,” she said with uncertainty before shaking her head as though to clear it. A tiny smile appeared on her lips. “Alright then, our house.”

The grins that they were both wearing could have lit up the whole of Hogwarts.

“I uh...I should get going now,” stated Hermione as she took a step backward and went up on the bottom stair. “You know the way out,” she said before turning her back on him and slowly climbing the stairs.

As Harry watched her ascent, his mind was going a hundred miles a minute.

Our house. The beauty and simplicity in those two words awakened something in Harry so fierce that all of his fears and doubts and insecurities seemed to slowly melt away.

Our house. Harry had finally found his purpose. He was going to make his dreams come true.

He was going to head out to work early again tomorrow morning. He wanted to go to the Ministry's Archives and look for anything and everything he could find on the Olde Rites. Even if he found a loophole the size of a needle's eye he was going to push through it with all of his might.

And as soon as he found what he needed he was going to sit down with Ginny and discuss with her just how they were going to make their lives right. Because if he knew that he was miserable, he was sure that she was too. Maybe they could help each other out in this. Maybe they could undo what should have never been done in the first place. The person that Ginny truly belonged with was out there somewhere, probably still waiting for her. Harry already knew just where his heart lay. It was time for them to set each other free so that they could both be happy. Surely Ginny wanted that. And if she didn't, well, Harry would cross that bridge when he got there.

As for now, Harry was ready to reach out for his happiness with both hands. For years he had believed that if he waited patiently eventually it would come to him. He told himself this after he left the Dursleys, after the War, after he married Ginny; but he waited in vain. Now he was ready to take action! Now he was ready to do whatever it took to make himself whole; whatever it took to have Hermione.

And when the time was right he prayed that Hermione might feel something for him. Not like what he felt for her, obviously. Harry wasn't stupid enough to think that could actually happen. But maybe, just maybe, he could convince her that he could be so much more than just her best mate over time. That their thing could go deeper than only friendship. The not quite kiss gave them at least a starting ground from which to build on. That thought was enough to give Harry some form of hope and for now that seemed the most powerful form of magic there was.

Hermione was at the top of the stairs when Harry called her name. She looked over her shoulder at him apprehensively, and turned around fully as he took the steps two at a time. When he reached the step that put them at about equal height, he all of a sudden paused, unsure of what he meant to do. They were eye to eye, and with this vantage point, Harry looked Hermione levelly in hers. He raised his hand to her cheek and tenderly caressed it. He leaned in and left a gentle, wisp of a kiss on her other cheek.

“See you tomorrow, Hermione,” he said as he pulled back from her, and Disapparated away feeling a tingling sense of euphoria surge through every molecule in his body. He felt as though he had been asleep for years and suddenly someone had woken him up with a stab of adrenaline to the heart. Harry had never felt so alive! In fact his head was so high above the clouds that he never stopped to notice the few teardrops that had melted into his fingertips.

A/N: Next up is Hermione's POV. Things to look forward to: a Dramione reunion, insults & innuendos, Luna, and a long overdue reveal. Mwahahahaha!

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Healer Wilkie and Laurie are canon.

2) The “club” that Glinda belonged to was a Dungeons and Dragons group, just in case anyone cared.

3) Glinda's company Out to Lunch is a parody of this singles matchmaking company called It's Only Lunch.

4) Exaudio in Latin means to listen, hear plainly. Equus asinus is the species term for donkey, Equus caballus is the term for horse.

5) My explanation of Freudian and Jungian dream theory is very rudimentary, but it is the basic premise.

6) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them a kelpie is large water horse-like creature. The Loch Ness Monster is the most famous kelpie.

7) The Exaudio Spell, the Equusesco Asinusaugeo hex, People for the Unethical Treatment of the Four Legged, Mister Chopsticks restaurant, and the Medical Guardian concept are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

16. Chapter 14a

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 20,582

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: This chapter is heavy on one-sided D/Hr in flashback as well as present day D/LL. You have been warned.

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.

Wednesday, 06/01/05

“I took my love and I took it down
I climbed a mountain and I turned around
And I saw my reflection in the snow covered hills
Well the landslide brought me down

Oh, mirror in the sky
What is love
Can the child within my heart rise above
Can I sail through the changing ocean tides
Can I handle the seasons of my life

Well, I've been afraid of changing 'cause I built my life around you
But time makes you bolder
Children get older
I'm getting older too
Well...”

“Goddamned depressing song!”

Hermione Granger was having a terrible, horrible day. On her daily morning jog she fell. Twice! The first time it happened she tripped over a pebble she just didn't see coming. She had no clue what caused the second fall; however, she was rewarded for her fleet-footedness by gracefully landing herself in an anthill. After that she got the message and decided to hobble herself back to the cottage.

Once she was settled in the slipper shaped, claw footed tub in the master bathroom, she decided to pass the time by counting how many red, angry ant bites she could find on her body. She even entertained the thought of finding a permanent red ink pen and connecting the dots just to see what shape the thirteen painful welts would take. But since there was no chance of them forming themselves into a big fat “A”, she decided to forgo the idea.

Thirteen bites! Even Hermione had to acknowledge that it just was not a good sign. Somewhere out there Sibyll Trelawney was tipping back a bottle of cooking sherry with glee.

Then again Hermione's night hadn't been any great shakes either. Going to the market after Harry left the house had been nothing short of disastrous. She ran into the town's librarian, Hyacinth Ludley, there. Hermione still remembered the woman from the countless days she spent in the small village library for hours looking up any information she could come across on Harry's family. After getting over the initial shock that Hermione was one of the three young strangers that were residing in the haunted cottage, Hyacinth had been a great help to Hermione's little side project back then.

She was such a great help that Hermione easily recognized her now, even though the woman had put on a good deal of weight since that long ago summer. When Hermione spotted her by the fresh produce and called out her name, it only took Hyacinth a few minutes to place the face of the 17 year old girl that now sat under the shiny blonde hair.

The two of them had a lovely chat as they both examined the cucumbers and admired the celery. Hyacinth told Hermione that she had gotten married nearly a year ago and that she and her husband were looking forward to having a baby soon. Hermione mentioned that she was once again staying in the Potter cottage. Everything had been going smoothly and both women had even traded dinner invitations. Then Hermione courteously asked the rather roly-poly librarian when she was due and reached out to caress her slightly protruding belly. Hyacinth let her know that she wasn't, and very stiffly excused herself from the conversation.

Hermione's cheeks were red then, but nowhere near the heated hue they turned when she picked up a two gallon carton of milk and watched it bubble in her hand, right before exploding all over the place. That was her cue to exit the market. She just wished she could have done it before Lizzie overturned the egg cart or before she put her foot further in her mouth and asked one of the young store clerks where she could find the fresh sex. She ran before the very excited teen aged boy could tell her.

Now she was driving through the town of Ottery St. Catchpole. First she planned to stop at the Weasleys, then swing by Lovegood House in hopes of catching Draco Malfoy there. Normally she would have floo'ed first, but she decided to make her visit a surprise after accidentally inhaling a bit of dusty floo powder she found in the downstairs basement. After two hours the little puffs of green smoke finally stopped shooting out of her nostrils. That was when she grabbed a purse, found her keys, and decided to get the hell out of the house before she somehow managed to set the place ablaze.

To put it kindly, Hermione was in a state! Her socks didn't match, she was wearing a blouse that really needed to make the acquaintance of an iron, and every few minutes she had to fight off the compulsion to pull back the collar of the shirt just to verify whether or not she had on a bra. It was a wonder that she was even capable of driving her truck without wrapping it around a tree; her hands did tremble slightly as they clutched the wheel, but she figured that there was no reason to question God for small favors and kept her eyes on the road as best she could.

The current choice of music, however, was setting her teeth on edge. When she first jumped in the vehicle she reached into the glove compartment where she kept her CDs and rooted around for anything that would keep her crazed mind occupied. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to her thoughts. She didn't even look to see what she popped into the stereo sound system; just pushed the random button and released a pleased sigh as the blaring sounds of battling banjos and twangy voices came out of it. She even sang along to the little country ditty and bopped around her seat to the tune. Hermione really could not stand country music, but as far as the genre went, she could tolerate this.

It was fun and frothy and the words were mindless and inane. It was perfect! That is until the music began to annoy her and another one of Collier's disks went hurtling out the window. She probably didn't mean to nearly take off the head of the balding little wizard that was out walking his pet krup down the lane. It was a good thing then that the CD embedded itself in the trunk of the tree the man was standing next to.

As the gnomish old man bellowed and hollered at her, his blue polka dotted robes billowing out in the breeze; Hermione stuck her head out the window and stammered out a very flustered and apologetic “sorry”. She then rolled her window up, slunk down low in her seat, and hit the gas when she saw him pull out his wand.

Hermione was desperate for some form of distraction. She needed something, anything that would keep the tortured musings...and pictures in her head at bay. Anything to stop from thinking about seeing Harry later on that day, and what could possibly happen when she did. So her thoughts turned to Draco Malfoy, her friend, instead.

Draco Malfoy. Her friend.

Hermione had to restrain her giggle. Even after all of these years, after everything all of them had gone through, the fact that she could say that sentence and not have it be the world's biggest April Fool's joke was almost too inexplicable for words. But the truth of the matter was that Draco was indeed her friend. No matter what circumstances their uneasy and wholly unexpected camaraderie started under, it was a simple fact that over time it bloomed into a real and true friendship. Draco Malfoy was actually one of the few people in this world that Hermione actually trusted. He had saved Harry's life once. Even though Harry didn't want to acknowledge the wizarding bond the action created between the two of them, Hermione more than willingly took up the debt.

She still remembered how unhappy the boys were when they started to realize that Hermione's views and opinions on the Death Eater's son weren't the same as theirs any longer. Well, not so much during the War. During the War Harry and Ron accepted that they would have to tolerate Draco's presence for however long the conflict lasted. He was an Order member like they were and he was marked for death just the same as them. It also didn't hurt that Draco actually began to pull his weight in the Order; going on covert missions, sharing what information he knew about Voldemort and his associates, helping with training and such. But Harry and Ron never let Draco forget that they saw their association with him as a necessary evil that had to be endured if they wanted to win. Draco Malfoy, however, would never be counted as a trusted friend and colleague. But Hermione didn't seem to agree with this line of reasoning, which often caused much tension amongst the three best friends.

With Ron it was to be expected. The Weasleys and the Malfoys had been bitter enemies since the 1700's when, during the Warlock's Convention of '09, Hammish Weasley was the deciding vote that banned personal dragon breeding in the British Isles. It wasn't that Hammish really had anything against the beasts, he just hated the fact that the gent who owned the Welsh Green farm near his land allowed the dragons to use Hammish's pond as a cesspool, and dine daily on the cash strapped farmer’s short supply of sheep. Aubert Malfoy, however, did not appreciate his babies being taken away from him. Sure he was raising the creatures to help in his planned take-over of the Ministry; however, this did not mean that he did not love his little darlings.

Aubert held Hammish Weasley solely responsible for the ban and from that day on there was always bad blood between the two families. It was a silly matter to hold a nearly three century grudge over, but through out the years so much enmity had been piled on to the list of slights and infractions that the two clans held against each other that after a while not many could really remember what started the original fracas in the first place. It was as if it was programmed into their DNA for Ron and Draco to hate each other. In Ron's eyes Draco was never to be trusted, especially where Hermione was concerned. To him, once you were a servant of the Dark Lord, you were always a servant of the Dark Lord. Ron never let go of the belief that as soon as he turned his back Draco would toss Hermione off the nearest high peak. Hermione tried to tell Ron repeatedly that such thinking was sophomoric, but he wouldn't listen. After a while Hermione realized that maybe that was the safest thing for Ron to believe because if he knew otherwise...

With Harry it was a bit different. It was as if some moral code in Harry wouldn't allow him to hate Draco the same way he did before the battle at Boussac. That didn't stop Harry from disliking him, though. Harry despised everything about Draco; his voice, his hair, his haughty sneer. Just Draco's mere presence in a room was enough to make the hairs on Harry's head bristle. And considering the head of hair that he had at the time, it did not help but give Harry the slight appearance of a bespeckled hedgehog.

More than anything though Hermione often felt that Harry begrudged any attention that she doled on Draco. As if he wasn't deserving of it. At times it almost felt as if Harry was even jealous of the burgeoning amity between the Gryffindor girl and the Slytherin boy. But Hermione wasn't foolish enough to read anything into it. Given the fact that Harry tended to lose the people closest to him, it wasn't too hard to see why he might get a little territorial with her. In Harry's mind she belonged to him and Ron, woe to any fool who dared to disprove that simple truth. Harry never voiced these thoughts to her, he valued his life after all, but she could tell by his words and actions that he thought them just the same.

However he was resigned to the fact that until Voldemort was defeated he would have to put up with his boyhood nemesis. Harry even began to use it as motivation to winning the cause. She would often hear him whisper to Ron that once Riddle was gone Draco would be too. Harry naively assumed that after the War, Draco would crawl back into some pit somewhere far, far away and none of them would ever have to deal with him again.

How wrong he was.

For after the War, Hermione continued to have a relationship with Draco. No one seemed more surprised at this than the Slytherin, himself. He told her plainly that he figured that once the War was over, her use for him would be over as well. It almost hurt her that he could think her capable of such casual cruelty. Then she reminded herself of the kind of family Draco came from. Taking advantage of your kith and kin for personal gain was almost like familial bonding with the Malfoys. Of course Draco could think Hermione capable of stabbing him in the back, members of his own family had done it after all.

But Hermione honestly saw something in Draco striving to be different than what most people assumed he was. Hell, what he assumed he was. It often made Hermione wonder whether people were simply born inherently evil, or if they only chose that path for themselves. After the War Draco seemed to be looking for a direction other than the one his father and so many Malfoys before him had gone. Hermione, being the patroness of so many other causes, decided to take his hand and help him along his way. Since most of his Slytherin house mates abandoned him after the War she decided that, above all things, what Draco Malfoy really needed was a friend. And that is what Hermione tried to be. Even though he never said as much, Hermione knew that he was grateful for it.

Of course he was still an arse. But in a way Hermione almost found that quality dear. It was like a baby that would whinge and cry for a toy because the child discovered that such behavior would eventually get him the desired result. Draco knew that his caustic personality pissed people off, but since he took such enjoyment out of their reactions he never saw a reason to stop. And sometimes, despite the fact that she didn't want to, Hermione would even find herself laughing at something outrageously knavish and annoying that he had said. Like a lot of stuffy and serious minded people, Hermione often found herself drawn to those who could pull the laughter out of her, especially when the girl who wanted to smile and joke lay not too far underneath the surface. That was what helped flame the spark that she once held for Ron, what pulled her towards Harry, and what ultimately inspired her affinity towards Draco. She also came to see that Draco could be caring (as long as it could not be misconstrued as weakness) and loyal (as long as it was a cause that he truly believed in).

But the thing that Hermione really liked about Draco was the fact that he didn't put her on the same pedestal that her boys delegated to her. She often got the impression that Harry and Ron almost believed her capable of doing no wrong, that she was perfect. Of course Hermione knew better, and it was flattering to know that the two most important people in her life thought so highly of her, still it did rankle her nerves that she often felt compelled to have to live up to their esteem. She hated to let them down, especially Harry.

Draco was different. He often saw her at her meanest and in her most ill-tempered fits. Usually it was because that side of her nature was being directed at him. But he actually seemed to like those qualities in her. It amused him that the little Miss Goody Two Shoes he imagined her all through school had a bit of an inner bad girl, and Draco lived for bringing that side of her persona out to the forefront as often as he could. He would tell her dirty jokes and fully expect her to get the ribald punch lines. He enjoyed regaling her with some of the mischief making antics he got himself into. At first Hermione found the way that he would bait and tease her irritating. But eventually she began to see that in some round about way it was his method of showing her affection. After a while she returned his affection in kind.

A few things did bother her about him, though. First on the list was the fact that he told her repeatedly that he would never befriend Harry and Ron as long as he lived. Once, when she suggested the absurd notion that the three young men might one day get along, Draco told her in no uncertain terms that it wasn't possible. Weasleys and Malfoys just did not mix. And as far as Harry was concerned, there was just too much animosity between them to ever make any kind of alliance work. Besides, Draco haughtily told her, he had nothing in common with the two Gryffindors. Hermione mused aloud that she thought that they all had her in common, but she guessed she was wrong. It was because of this expertly executed bit of manipulation that Draco promised her that he would try not to insult her two best friends in her presence any longer. He often failed, but she didn't discount the fact that he at least tried to make the effort.

Draco's superiority complex was also a bone of contention between them. He simply thought himself better than most in the wizarding world. He had breeding and he had money and in his mind that put him above the fray. He deemed her worthy of his time and attention, but Hermione wasted no time telling him to get over himself. She hated the amount of house-elves his family owned, she didn't give a damn that his great-great-great-great grandfather, Ettiene de Malfoi, had once been in line to be the French Minister for Magic (that is until those pesky sketches of him, a 12 year old Muggle girl, and a chestnut bay gelding named Skip appeared on the front page of Le Observateur de Magie), and she simply could care less that he was of pure blood. She made sure he knew this every chance she got.

She also tried to impress upon him the need to get rid of his silly prejudices against non-magical people. Although Draco denied that he hated Muggles and wished them all dead, he insisted that he only followed along with the Death Eater party line for show, it was quite plain to see that most of his family's beliefs on blood status rang true for him. He thought Muggles were lazy, stupid, and of low class. In Hermione's mind she often saw herself as much a Muggle as her parents were, so what did that say about her? Draco tried to argue the point that she was different, that she was a magical person and that fact alone made her better. It was almost impossible for him to see the wrong-headedness in that line of reasoning.

“I don't mind that your mum and dad were Muggles,” he would often say to her as if to prove how liberal minded he had become.

She would only shake her head solemnly at him at those times.

“That's just the point, Draco. You don't mind,” she would answer him. “You shouldn't care.”

He would argue that it was all just semantics, but to her it wasn't. Still, once Hermione Granger took on a project she put all her heart into it. She wanted to help open Draco's mind to a world that he had been taught to despise. Hermione figured that the best way to do it was full throttle immersion. She made Draco meet her for lunch and dinner in parts of Muggle London. When she discovered how well cultured he was, at least magically speaking, she tried to interest that side of his makeup. They saw Shakespeare plays at the Globe, they admired Titian, Rembrandt, Monet, and Van Gogh at the National, and she forced him to accompany her to the opera and the ballet. She even made the grand sacrifice of taking him to a few Manchester United games, though Hermione was damned if she knew what was happening out on the field.

Surprisingly it was when she took him on his first trip to the cinema that Draco's appreciation for things Muggle started to improve. They originally went to the theater to see a costume period piece. For some mad reason she thought he might actually enjoy it. Instead they somehow ended up seeing some wild science fiction movie with girls in tight black leather, martial arts, and lots of big guns. Draco even made her call him “Neo” for the rest of the night. Because she could almost see the sweet, innocent little boy he might have been before his father began to warp his mind, Hermione obliged. She discovered that if the film had large amounts of violence, excessive nudity, and a generous supply of potty mouth; Draco would excitedly watch. Hermione found this fact disconcerting, but counted it as a success anyway. When she finally lived on her own he would come over every now and then and they would watch a film together. He even had a DVD player when he lived in Highgate. It was because of this simple invention that Draco Malfoy finally admitted to her that Muggles weren't all that bad.

The most troubling thing about Draco Malfoy, however, was that he cared too much. He cared about her too much, and by time Hermione stumbled onto that realization it was far too late to do anything to remedy the situation. Then again it wasn't like she had actually done anything to cultivate his feelings for her in the first place. She'd just been kind to him. She also had tried to find some common ground with the boy who had insulted and berated her for so many years. In lighter moments she often felt like she was taking part in some grand social experiment. If you treated someone like a human being they actually tended to act like a one. This led Hermione to wonder if Draco had ever known much kindness in his young life. He had a family who he had been willing to sacrifice his life for, and he had a horde of sycophantic hangers-on, but she wondered if anyone had ever been sincerely nice to him for reasons other than feeling obligated to do it. In truth she had her own selfish reasons for reaching out to him, but she became his friend because she wanted to. Draco eventually came to accept her genuine goodwill.

With that acceptance, sadly; came his unrequited feelings. If all he wanted was nothing more than a quick screw, like back when he would make lurid innuendos and leer at her during Order meetings, Hermione would have cut him down to size. Verbally of course, literally if he ever chose to get handsy. But she knew that wasn't the case. Draco didn't want to shag her...ok; he didn't want to just shag her. He actually wanted her to fall for him too. She found it ironic in a way that they both couldn't be with the person that they wanted. It actually made her feel some sort of affinity with Draco. But it didn't make her love him. It could never make her love him. And although Draco told her that he accepted that fact, it did create some rather uncomfortable moments from time to time.

“What the hell are those?” asked Draco as he suspiciously eyed the books that bopped up and down as they hovered into the sitting room behind her.

Hermione pointed her wand at them and they neatly stacked themselves on the nearest table to the door.

“These are called books,” she answered him matter-of-factly. “They are simply marvelous inventions, you see. When you open them there are words on almost every page. And if you are bright enough, you can actually read them.”

“Smart arse.”

Hermione smiled to herself as she took off her black cloak and draped it over a nearby chaise lounge. September was barely underway, and yet there was already a noticeable chill in the night air. When Draco floo'ed her flat it was just starting to get dark and she had already bundled herself up on her couch with a bowl of popcorn on her lap and a copy of The English Patient playing on the telly. Most observers probably would have seen this as the picture of a lonely and broken woman. She was single once again after all. Ron, still smarting from the pain of the first proposal of his that went rejected, was exploding glassware soon after Hermione's second refusal.

What made the situation worse was that he had the bad habit of staging these grand gestures in front of large crowds. The scene of his personal Waterloo took place during Fred and Glinda's wedding reception, a little more than a year from the last great defeat. He was affronted at the notion that while Hermione was perfectly content to just date him, she absolutely refused to be his wife. Stung from her rejection, he dumped her in front of all of the wedding guests for the sole purpose of humiliating her. He wanted to hurt Hermione as badly as she had hurt him. A month after all of the drama Hermione couldn't have been in a better mood. Being on her own for awhile had provided some form of peace in her troubled life. It felt good not having to pretend so hard. She almost felt free.

Almost.

Before getting Draco’s call, Hermione had been dressed for the night in her comfy Chinese silk lounging pajamas (one of the last gifts she received from her parents), and had been prepared for a night of lazing about her living room. What she hadn't been ready for was Draco's head spinning in her floo grate. After listening to him beg her to come over to the Manor, declaring that he needed her help desperately, she decided that she might as well kill two birds with one stone and take along with her some books she'd been meaning to lend him. Since she didn't intend on staying long she didn't bother changing out of her casual looking night wear, just slipped into a pair of flats, tossed on her cloak, and shrunk the books down so they would fit in her pocket.

When she Apparated in front of Malfoy Manor Hermione rang the bell expecting one of the house-elves to let her in. Imagine her surprise then when Narcissa Malfoy, the Mistress of the manor herself, opened the door. The icy blonde's face even bore a smile before it withered into a grim, straight line at the sight of “The Mudblood”. Although she was satisfied that not much of her lifestyle had changed after the War, Narcissa still hated that the constant presence of the young woman before her was one of the prices that she had to pay in order to adjust to the new world she was now living in.

Hermione could almost feel the heat of the hatred the woman directed towards her. Instead of being intimidated by it though Hermione actually basked in it. When Mrs. Malfoy asked her why she was at her door at such a late hour, Hermione told her that Draco asked her to come and that she had a few things she wanted to give him. Judging by the scandalized gasp and the nasty glare that Narcissa bestowed upon her, Hermione figured that the woman must have caught exactly the intended suggestive undertone she threw at her. Hermione then smirked as she removed the books from her pocket, enlarged them, then floated them in the air. Narcissa took one look at the cover of a few of them and muttered disgustedly under her breath the words, “filthy Muggle propaganda”.

For a moment it looked like she wasn't going to let Hermione inside the house. The two women looked like they were fully prepared to have a stand-off in full view of the whole neighborhood, but before either of them could say something that neither of them would regret Draco, having heard Hermione's voice, called out her name from somewhere behind his mother. Not wanting to get a dressing down from her beloved little prince, Narcissa allowed Hermione to pass by her. The older woman then promptly stalked out onto the front gallery of the house, and instead of meeting the lover she had stashed in Diagon Alley as she had planed, she Apparated herself over to the Pringle residence to find out just why Pristine wasn't her daughter-in-law yet.

“I know what they are,” Draco said as he moved from the fireplace and crossed the room towards the table that held the books. “Why are they here?” he asked.

Hermione skipped towards him and smiled.

“I figured that you might like some light reading.”

Draco picked up her father's leather bound first edition of War and Peace, and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Light?”

“Relatively speaking,” she said with a devilish grin as she ventured near the hearth to warm her hands. “I just thought you might like to read something different from the half-dozen or so autobiographies that Slytherin wrote,” she continued as she walked back to him. “I mean really, how narcissistic could one wizard be?”

If Hermione had been expecting an intelligent response from Draco she was sadly mistaken. He was too busy admiring his face, and the ghastly goatee on it, in the decorative mirror on the table. He had decided to grow the horrid thing after convincing himself that he needed something to make his peers in his training class take him seriously and not see him as just some pretty face. Hermione had suggested putting a bag over his head, but he wouldn't listen.

“What?” he asked after realizing that she might have been waiting on some form of reply from him. He tore his eyes from his own reflection; a reflection that Hermione, if under duress would have admitted wasn't half-bad, and looked towards her.

“Nothing,” she said as she shook her head. “What I have here you lucky, lucky boy are some of my favorite books.”

“Muggle books, you mean,” he said with a dull tone. He sifted through the pile looking at the various titles, though nothing seemed to appeal to him.

She caught his eye and nodded her head, daring him to say anything negative.

“Yes, Muggle books. Dickens, Wilde, Barrie, Carroll, Austen...”

“Hollywood Wives?” he questioned with a revolted sneer. He was holding in his hand one of her mum's beach books.

“In case the words in the other ones got too big for you,” she said with a saucy grin.

“Hmm...Dracula,” he said as he apprised the cover of the paperback he was now handling with interest. “Autobiography?” he asked.

Hermione eyed him warily before answering, “Something like that.”

At least it was progress of some sort.

“I'm surprised that you even read for pleasure.”

“Oh I do a lot of things for pleasure that you know nothing about.”

Draco sent her a wolfish look as he propped one arm on the table and leaned in towards her.

“Tell me every little thing and don't you dare leave a single detail out.”

“Perv!” she said and smacked his arm. She really didn't think she hit him hard enough to cause the pained expression on his face, though. He even rubbed at the spot. Big baby!

“So did mother give you a hard time out there?” Draco asked with a wicked smirk. He watched her walk towards the sofa and daintily cross her legs as she sat down.

“No,” she said with a straight face. “We had a lovely chat. She even asked me to one of her luncheons.”

“Oh really?” he disbelievingly asked.

He came and sat on the coffee table in front of her.

“Oh yes. And if you believe that, I have a luxury time-share in Spinner's End you might be interested in.”

Draco and Hermione both grinned.

“So tell me, what was so bloody important that I had to tear myself away from more pressing concerns?”

“Were you watching the one with the sinking boat, or the one with the bloke who leaves the dumb bint in the cave, again?” he asked smugly as he leaned in closer to her. The action caused Hermione's leg to nervously jerk.

Although Draco hadn't made any more advances towards her in nearly a year, Hermione knew without question that his feelings for her hadn't changed. She often caught him unawares staring at her as if he was waiting for just one sign...any sign from her that her position on the subject had changed. She often felt sorry for Draco in those moments. She knew that for both of their sanities she could never give him what he wanted.

“Never you mind,” she told him as she uncrossed her legs and leaned back on the sofa. “Now what was the bleeding emergency?” she asked again, folding her arms in front of her.

Draco regarded her sudden closed off posture for a moment before squaring his shoulders and placing his hands on his knees.

“I've come to a monumental decision.”

Hermione gave him an annoyed roll of the eyes as she waited impatiently for his grand announcement.

“I've decided to shave it off,” he simply said.

For a moment neither of them moved or said anything. Hermione only stared at Draco as though she couldn't believe what he had uttered.

Finally with a deep and exaggerated sigh, Hermione sat up straight and exclaimed, “Thank Merlin!”

“Oh it isn't that bad!” he argued.

“It was getting to the point that I couldn't look at you straight on. Sort of like a lunar eclipse; you know they say you'll go mad if you look directly into one.”

“I'm glad that you find me amusing. However I've grown tired of looking like some scruffy vagabond like those two witless wonders you pal around with.”

“Be nice,” she warned, her voice tinged with reproach although her face still held its smile.

“I bet you don't defend me to them,” he sulkily mumbled.

“Oh really? I'll have you know that I was forced to endure the most torturous lunch at the Cauldron with Harry and Ron recently, and both of them are currently not speaking to me. And it's all because of you!” she angrily fumed.

“You're welcome,” he said smoothly. “Now what did I do?”

Hermione leaned her head back so that she was staring at the ceiling while her head lay on the back of the sofa.

“Both of them accused you of bribing your way into the Department,” she said in a mournful voice. “Well actually Ron accused you, but Harry readily agreed.”

“Jealous gits!”

Hermione neglected to remind him that the two jealous gits were easily two of the most recognized wizards in the world, highly decorated War veterans, and professional Quidditch athletes to boot.

“Well I explained to both of them that not only did you score exceptionally well on your entrance exams, you also had the elite recommendations of Mr. Shacklebolt, Tonks, and one Arthur Weasley to help you along.”

“How did they take that news?”

“Like an Avada to the head,” she said as she sat up and dismally placed her hands in her lap, plucking at her satiny bottoms. “Harry says that I'm neglecting him and Ron in favor of you.” Hermione ducked her head down so Draco couldn't see the hurt in her eyes that Harry's words had put there. He had been so cross!

Draco was not moved.

“As though wee willie Potty could talk,” he scoffed. He almost sounded jealous. Hermione, however, was through being a human tug of war rope.

“Listen,” she snapped harshly, “I'm tired of you three prats putting me in the middle, making me take sides!”

“What does it matter,” Draco said sullenly, “you always take Potter's anyways.”

Well that got Hermione's dander up!

“THAT'S NOT TRUE!” she hotly countered.

Even though it was a little bit true. It was just that when she didn't agree with him, Harry had the habit of giving her such a sad puppy dog face that Hermione almost felt compelled to do anything to make his pout disappear. Anything. It was safer to just let him have his bloody way!

“Point is,” Hermione began, trying to reign in her thoughts from going down a road she didn't want to be bothered with at the moment, “you lot are going to have to make an effort to try and get along.”

“I have,” Draco declared. “I've gone to a few of their matches.”

“You sit on the opposing team's side and cheer against them.”

“And let me just tell you, it's a devil of a hassle when Puddlemere plays Chudley.”

“I don't understand why it's so hard. I mean, you and Harry have that bond after all.”

Draco scoffed disdainfully.

“Come now, you know that a wizarding debt is no puny thing,” she told him. “'Until it's repaid that connection will always remain between the two of you. And if you and Ron would stop acting like a couple of adolescent school boys, you both would see that you two are similar in a lot of ways.”

Draco looked as though she had accused him of not being a natural blond.

“YOU TAKE THAT BACK!”

“You both have pretty scary jealous streaks, but even so you both are loyal,” Hermione explained, ignoring Draco's indignant remark. “And even though you try hard to hide it, Draco, you and Ron both wear your hearts on your sleeves.”

Draco obviously didn't like what she said because he stood up irately and stalked to the other side of the room. He even turned his back to her. If Hermione had been brave enough she would have added one more similarity to the list. She seemed to hurt his feelings just as easily as she hurt Ron's.

Hermione stood up from the sofa and went around Draco so she could look him in the face. She smiled brightly to alleviate the somber mood that had shifted into the room and was relieved when he offered her a small smile of his own.

“I thought we were supposed to be celebrating?”

“Were we?” he drawled.

She nodded her head.

“You finally are going to get rid of that abomination that ate your chin,” Hermione comically said as she eyed the villainous facial hair. Draco laughed at her impudence.

As usual, when hearing the sounds of real mirth escape his lips, Hermione thought to herself what a shame it was that Draco Malfoy didn't laugh more often. He really had a nice laugh.

“Can I just ask one favor, though?” she asked him as she took his hand and began to walk with him out of the room.

“And what would that be?”

“May I watch while you kill it? You see, I won't ever really believe it's dead unless,” she said with a smirk.

“Why do you think I invited you over?” Draco slyly asked as he winked down at her.

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

The two of them ended up in Draco's enormous bathroom with its soaring cathedral ceiling. Hermione always thought that the Prefects bath at Hogwarts was sinfully decadent, what with its swimming pool sized tub, its many mystery taps, as well as the candle lit chandelier. But it simply paled in comparison to the grandeur that was Draco's private bath. The walls were covered in stone tile while the floor was a rich looking antique limestone. His shower was big enough to service a complete Quidditch team and covered the whole side of one wall. Spouts and taps were arranged through out the shower and were visible through its sliding glass door. Although Draco didn't mention it, she suspected that the fixtures in it and the ones to the sink were made of gold. But that wasn't what held Hermione’s attention.

Instead it was the bare-chested wizard who stood in front of his porcelain basin patting his newly naked chin dry as he looked approvingly at his own image in the three sided mirror before him. Although it was the first time Hermione had been in his sanctuary (she hadn't even been in his room before), Draco had already told her about his magical mirrors, the Vanus. Each one gave the viewer three different reflections of themselves. One side always showed you all the faults you believed you had, while the other made you believe that you were perfect, always beautiful, and with no flaws at all. It was only the center mirror that reflected the truth of things. That mirror never lied. That was the mirror that Draco was currently admiring himself in.

Hermione couldn’t blame him. His facial features were sharp and angled yet they gave him character. His white blond hair, which was shortly buzzed near his scalp, instead of gelled back in its Junior Death Eater style of old, helped to soften the face that Hermione remembered being so rodent-like during her adolescence. When added with the arresting color of his cold gray eyes, his face came together in that harmony that Hermione's Nan often called rakishly good looking. Though his physique wasn't what one would call masterfully built or muscular, it was slim and well toned. He was one of those people that could eat anything and not gain a single ounce of fat, unlike her.

As Hermione sat on the counter next to Draco and watched him all but kiss his own image, she had to admit that now she could understand what all the other girls at Hogwarts might have saw in him back when all she wanted to do was push his face into the nearest cauldron of scalding hot water. Apparently even Moaning Myrtle hadn't been immune to Draco's charms. According to Harry she had easily traded her affection from him to the Slytherin at one point, though Hermione had to admit that Harry could have just been exaggerating the matter. But it wasn't that hard to believe. Hermione figured it was just a good thing that she didn't find him attractive in the least.

“So,” Draco said as he gave her a dashing smile that Hermione was sure had the ability to turn most women’s insides into molten lava, “what do you think?”

Ok, maybe she found him a little attractive.

But just barely!

“Nice,” Hermione said in answer causing Draco to raise an eyebrow at her.

“Nice?” he derisively asked.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders noncommittally. “Very nice?”

Draco rolled his eyes and went back to looking at himself in the mirror, examining his chin.

“I was hoping for breathtakingly gorgeous, but I suppose that 'nice' will just have to do,” he responded.

“Well why should I heap any praise on you when you are quite capable of doing it yourself?” she tartly asked.

She felt comfortable with the conversation now. She hoped it remained in this vein.

“And I'm sure you receive more than enough compliments from Pristine,” said Hermione, emphasizing the woman's name in the same annoying high-pitched tone that the vain cow spoke in. “Where has Pringle been, by the way? I haven't seen her stalking you as of late.”

Draco turned around and faced Hermione.

“We had tickets to the theater this evening,” he answered her dully. “The Cadabra House is putting on a one night only benefit performance of Melecrit's Hélas, j'ai Transfiguré mes Pieds.

“Ah yes,” Hermione said smirking, “Alas, I Have Transfigured My Feet, the thrilling one man show where after four grueling hours, and twelve painful acts, our dear protagonist discovers that he has not in fact transfigured his feet, but has been wearing boots all the while.”

She and Draco often debated the merits of the magical world versus the Muggle one. Of course Draco felt that the world he had been born into was far superior to that of Hermione's upbringing. He would argue that magic made life easier, thus better. Hermione believed that since Muggles could not rely on wands to create magic, they instead produced it in their art, in their music, in their literature. In Hermione's opinion, when it came to the arts, the magical world left a lot to be desired. Once she even wheedled an agreement to this out of Draco.

“Yes it's stupid, but before you get up on your high horse just remember that it was a Muggle who wrote that Pretty Woman fiasco. As though a prostitute could really look like that. Why if they did...”

“You would date more?”

Draco didn't find the joke as funny as Hermione seemed to. He turned around and leaned back against the counter. He lowered his head as his hands burrowed into the pockets of the plain black slacks he was wearing.

“I would have rather taken you to the Cadabra,” he said moodily. “But when I got the tickets you were still with King Weas–”

Hermione frowned reproachfully at him.

“Weasley,” Draco finished. He then looked up at her cautiously. “Would you have gone with me otherwise?”

Hermione answered him as honestly as she could.

“Of course I would have. You're my friend, aren't you?”

Draco smiled, although it barely reached his eyes.

“Good to know.”

“But since you were supposed to take Pringle tonight I can't imagine that she was too happy with you canceling on her at the last minute. How did she take it?”

Draco chuckled wryly.

“You could say that Pristy will hardly notice.”

Hermione frowned to herself.

“That's shocking to hear. She...wait a minute,” Hermione said as she studied Draco's face carefully.

There was something about his choice of words...

“Didn't you stand Pristine up last weekend?”

“You asked me to go to that poetry reading in Whitechapel with you.”

“And you canceled on her the weekend before that as well,” she said, slowly adding up the facts.

“We went looking for my new flat, remember?”

Hermione folded her arms before her.

“Pristine doesn't mind that you keep standing her up?”

“Well Pristy doesn't quite...recall that we had plans when I do it,” he said simply.

It just didn't make sense to Hermione. She knew that Pringle had her heart set on snagging Draco, so it seemed odd that the witch would be so casual about him spending so much time with her. Then again Pristine Pringle was a ravishing redheaded beauty who most wizards went mad for. She probably would laugh at the notion of plain old Hermione Granger being some sort of competition for her. Still, Hermione would have figured on Pristine causing a bigger scene over Draco's shoddy treatment. Something definitely was off.

“She doesn't quite reca–,” Hermione began to say until a realization almost knocked her off of the counter.

“DRACO! DID YOU OBLIVIATE THAT WOMAN?!”

“No,” he answered her. “I just confunded her,” he plainly said.

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

“DRACO!”

“What?”

“I DON'T BELIEVE YOU...”

“Come now Hermione, do you really think I'm above something like that?” he asked, shaking his head at her apparent naiveté. “Besides it does her no real harm. Sure her coordination is off for a few days, but the Pringles are known for being lousy drunks. I'm sure no one has paid it much mind.”

Hermione was beyond peeved at him. She might not like Pristine, but she could not condone such behavior.

“OF ALL THE KING PRAT THINGS TO DO!” she scolded him harshly. “Spells that mess with the mind are not to be toyed with, Draco! Do you have any idea...”

Without warning, the image of Cormac McLaggen, trying repeatedly to maneuver himself through the doors of the Great Hall, suddenly popped into her head.

Hermione winced.

“Look, if I didn't do that I would have had to deal with the yelling, and the crying, and the wailing. And that's just my mother. My way is much easier,” Draco said, turning to face her as he noticed how quiet she had gotten all of a sudden. “Sorry if some of us aren't above confunding a person for nefarious purposes.”

He then paused as he studied her face. Hermione tried to smooth the guilty expression on it quickly, but it was too late.

“Wait a tic, I know that look!”

The most devilish grin then unfurled itself on Draco's lips.

“You have confunded someone for nefarious reasons!” he announced.

Hermione scoffed at the accusation and turned her head from his gaze, but she knew she was caught.

“Oh you might as well tell me. You know I'll never leave you alone 'til you do.”

She swung her head back to him and narrowed her eyes. “You can be such a bastard at times!”

“Turns you on, doesn't it?” he teased.

“Ugh!” was all she had to say to that claim. “Ok, I'll tell you. But if you ever try to use this against Ron...”

“Yes, yes, I'll be singing with the Castrati,” he said heeding her warning. He then smiled expectantly. “Now go on.”

“Well,” she began with some difficulty, “I'm not proud of this fact but...back in Sixth Year I confunded Cormac McLaggen during Quidditch try-outs so Ron would make the house team instead of him.”

She then exhaled dramatically as though she had just unloaded a heavy burden.

Draco stared at her, mouth gapping, as though he were seeing her for the first time.

“Hermione!”

She dropped her head in her hands. “I know!” her muffled voice shamefully cried.

“That was damned near devious,” he continued, voice filled with astonishment.

“I KNOW!”

“Merlin, I think I have a stiffy,” he randily quipped while looking down at his fly.

“DRACO!” she reprimanded as her head shot up and she gave him a warning glance.

“Want to see?” he offered, coming closer, grinning at her like a Cheshire cat.

“GOOD GOD, NO!”

He merely laughed at her indignant, prissy denials.

“I don't know, Pet; I think you may have a little Slytherin in you.”

She gave him a high and mighty look as she said, “I'm a Gryff through and through.”

Draco then leaned down so his elbows were on the counter by her right thigh and rested his chin on the palm of his hands.

“Would you like a little Slytherin in you?” he flirted as he waggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“You know, one of these days I'm going to stop pretending that I don't know what you mean when you say those kinds of things to me,” she said in a pert tone he seemed to find amusing.

“Can't wait!”

Draco stood up straight and reached for his white singlet that was draped over the towel rack. He pulled the t-shirt over his head and Hermione was thankful that he had finally decided to put his clothes back on.

“So you confunded McClaggen in order to procure your boyfriend a spot on his house team, eh?” Draco chuckled, continuing the conversation she had hoped was finished. He tucked the bottom of the shirt into the waist of his trousers.

“Ron wasn't my boyfriend at the time,” she reminded him, “but I guess you could say that. It's just that if I hadn't done something about it, Harry would have had to choose that muscle headed hulk to be the team Keeper over his best mate. Harry would have been torn between doing what was best for the team and hurting his dearest friend in the process or playing along side Ron. So I just made the choice easier for him. Besides, Harry already had enough on his plate to deal with that year than to have to put up with McLaggen always in his face. The way I see it, my interference was a win/win.”

She noticed that Draco was staring at her strangely.

“What?”

He took one more moment to look at her before shaking his head and continuing to dress himself. As he slipped the imported Australian Opaleye belt through the loops of his slacks, he carefully said, “It just sounds like you did it more for Potter than for Weasleby, that's all.”

Hermione was so stunned by Draco's keen observation that she didn't know how to object to it. So she said nothing at all. Instead she peered around his head at the right side mirror and took in her reflection. The image gazing back at her looked like how she felt just then. Her wild, bushy curls were all tangled and matted and looked like a mass of steel wool that had broken quite a few brushes in its day. Her eyes had fleshy, loose skin underneath them and were both rimmed red. Her nose seemed to be anything but dead center, and her skin was so pale and translucent that Hermione could see her veins underneath it. It looked like there was a double chin beginning to form at the base of her throat as well. She was almost afraid to open her mouth for fear that her two front teeth had dwarfed the rest of them overnight. She almost imagined she heard a viperous voice whisper, “why would he want you anyway” near her ear.

Great, thought Hermione to herself in exasperation, just what I needed; MORE VOICES!

“Goodness I'm a fright,” she said as she leaned forward to examine her face in the mirror closely. “Do I really look that bad?” she asked.

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Of course not; don't listen to it. Looking into that mirror is never going to help anyone, that's why I never do. Here,” he said as he placed his hands on her shoulders so he could turn her body halfway around to look in the center mirror.

“Isn't that better?” he asked as both of their reflections peered out at them.

It was better, but Hermione still wasn't happy with her mousy brown hair. At least it was pulled back in a French braid instead of falling into her face as usual. Hermione had been considering doing something different to it awhile. Maybe cutting it. Maybe changing the color of it a bit; some red highlights perhaps. Maybe straightening it again, like she did so many years ago. Everyone seemed to like that. Even Harry seemed to notice her a little.

“I'm thinking of doing something different to my hair,” she said as she scrutinized her image.

“Why? I like your hair.”

Hermione watched as her lips bowed into a rueful smile.

“You used to say that my hair looked like a bramble.”

“Well, I like your bramble then,” Draco confessed.

Hermione's laughing eyes drifted up to see the smirk she assumed she would find on his face, but instead found such naked, honest emotion in its place that she almost imagined she felt her heart thump loudly at her breast cage. Her pleasure slowly faded away. Why do things always have to be so fucking hard, she wondered to herself.

“I think it's time I should be leaving,” she said as she turned back around and hopped off the counter. She then hastily walked out the room before looking at Draco's face again or waiting to hear what he said.

He eventually caught up with her as she was making her way down the grand staircase that ended in the mansion's large open foyer. He had rushed to put on the rest of his clothes and looked less put together than he normally did.

“Do you have to go home so soon?” he asked as he walked along side her down the steps.

She sadly nodded her head, forcing herself not to look at him or make eye contact.

“It's late.”

“Why don't you come to the Bloody Badger with me?” he asked as they reached the bottom step. “Some of the Aurors, trainers, and recruits go there on Sunday nights. I'll show off my new look, enjoy all the envious stares, and you'll get to bask in my popularity.”

“You want me to go dressed like this?” she asked as she faced him and looked down at her pajamas. Although the Badger probably had customers fall asleep in their drinks at the table often, Hermione thought it hardly appropriate to go there dressed as though she were planning on it.

“You can wear your cloak,” he suggested as he pointed his wand towards the sitting room and her cloak came zooming into his hand. He gestured to her to turn around and he slipped it on over her shoulders. Although Draco was playing it cool and calm, Hermione could tell that he was anxious for her to say yes.

Hermione shook her head.

“I'll take a pass for tonight,” she said, though she was ready to change her mind when she saw his disappointed, downcast face.

Wanting to dispel his mood she tried to lighten him up.

“I'm shocked that you would actually go to the Badger. I would think you saw yourself above such common fraternization,” Hermione said as she leaned back against the gilded banister of the staircase.

“Oh I do,” he said as he quirked a sardonic smile. “But I'm never above networking. I have plans to go very far in the Department, and I still have the unmovable obstacle that is known as the Malfoy name to get over.”

“I told you when you were contemplating becoming an Auror that you didn't have anything to prove to anyone. You are not Lucius, Draco,” she reminded him bossily. She even put her hand on her hip to let him know that she meant business.

“I know.”

“No, you don't. But if I keep telling you that maybe one day you will. Do you know you could get yourself killed trying to prove a point? Do you think it would be worth it? Is that why you became an Auror?”

“No. I did it for truth, honor, and puppies,” he cracked.

Hermione, against her better judgment, chuckled.

“And all this time I thought you were just doing it for the women.”

“Oh, I did it for them too,” he drawled.

“Must you always think with your crotch?”

Draco screwed up his face as though she had asked him something stupid.

“I'm a wizard! About eighty-five percent of the decisions we make come from our crotch. It's what we do!”

“Not Harry,” she said as she knowingly shook her head at the notion.

She then hit him on his bicep when she caught him mimicking her.

“OW! GODDAMMIT, WOMAN! THAT SHITE HURTS!”

“Harry isn't like that,” she said ignoring his outrage at her ill abuse of him.

“Still a virgin then?” he sneered.

A girl can hope.

“I hope...WHY AM I DISCUSSING THIS WITH YOU?!”

Hermione felt quite cranky all of a sudden.

“Well the Weaselette often looks like she's selling it on the side of the road so I suppose not,” Draco offered helpfully.

For a moment Hermione considered asking Draco if he would like to just drive a stake through her chest instead. It would be messy, but far less painful.

“Don't say that about Ginny,” she admonished him, but only half-heartedly.

“All I'm saying is that if Potter has a little Potter he thinks about sex all the time as well.”

“You just don't know Harry like I do. He's quite innocent, actually. With the life that he has led it shouldn't be that surprising. Sometimes I think he's the most pure person I know.”

“Bollocks! You almost make him sound like he's some saintly being,” Draco sniffed disdainfully. “And like he doesn't have a dick,” he added.

For his crudeness he received a disgusted eye roll from her, but that wasn't enough to shut him up.

“When I was a tyke I had a Martin the Mad Muggle toy. He had no genitalia either. I know, I checked.”

Hermione grumbled tersely, “Is there a point to all of this?”

“Actually there is. Potter is flesh and blood just like you and I. That means he's human. There is no such thing as a pure, perfect person. I thought you smarter than that kind of tosh. Sometimes I think where Pothead is concerned you're under some kind of spell or something.”

Hermione inhaled sharply. Suddenly all the walls in the room looked like they were rushing at her and her legs felt as though they were turning into rubber. She feared that she was about to experience a full grade panic attack right in Malfoy Manor, and there was nothing she could do to stop it from happening.

Draco had not only hit a nerve, he had damn near severed an artery. And worse yet, by the curious way he was peering at her she was almost sure that Draco knew that something he'd said had discomposed her terribly. The Slytherin in him recognized the scent of blood in the air, the tell-tale signs of weakness, and it looked like he was ready to strike and go in for the kill. All it would take was just the right question for Draco to piece together just what had Hermione reacting so violently. He looked like he was just about to ask that question too, so Hermione did the best thing she could think of to stop him.

“What were you doing pulling down your doll's pants?”

Draco's usual pale face colored dramatically. His gray eyes turned into slits and he began huffing and puffing before finally spitting out, “IT WAS AN ACTION FIGURE!”

It was about this time that Narcissa arrived back home. Hermione was so relieved to see the woman that she nearly kissed her. She didn't of course, but she might have if not for the vexed expression on the older woman's face when she saw that Hermione was still befouling her abode. Draco greeted his mother and then hustled Hermione out the door to say their goodbyes. Before the door could close fully Hermione, noting that Narcissa was watching the two of them like a hawk, went up on the tips of her toes and placed an exaggerated kiss on Draco's cheek in full view of his mother. She then told him in a cloyingly sweet voice that she would see him later and winked. Hermione didn't know why she put on such an act, but she just enjoyed toying with the pureblood snob too much to pass up the opportunity to send her around the bend. Hermione then Disapparated, but not before seeing the shrewd grin on Draco's face that let her know that there would be payback for her mischievous display later.

Later turned out to be thirty minutes. That's how long it took for Draco to knock on her door. He informed Hermione that since he had to put up with the almost endless tongue lashing his mother doled out to him after she left, she now owed him a round of drinks at the Badger to make up for it. Since Hermione wasn't in much mood to watch her movie by this point, and Draco appeared to forget what they had been discussing before his mother's arrival, Hermione agreed to it. After changing into something more presentable, the two of them headed out to the pub.

She actually ended up enjoying herself. Tonks and Mr. Moody were there and she knew quite a few of the other Aurors who were in attendance. She also amused herself by watching Draco get pissed trying to keep up with the rest of his colleagues, and chat up witches that she knew he wouldn't have spared a passing glance at if he had been sober. Having lost sight of him at one point, she and Tonks nearly laughed themselves silly when they saw him emerge out of a girls toilet, fly unzipped for all to see, followed closely by a very pink cheeked Eloise Midgen who was hastily readjusting her robes. Hermione knew that he was going to have one hell of a hangover in the morning and wouldn't remember half of what...and who he had gotten into that night. Hermione couldn't wait to tell him! Unlike most of the pub's other patrons, she only indulged in butterbeer that night. When out with Draco she made it a point never to drink with him. Hermione wasn't an idiot, after all!

But there were times when she did wonder why she couldn't try and make herself feel something close to what Draco so obviously felt for her, especially when he genuinely smiled her way. Hermione knew the answer of course, but she still wished that it were possible. Sure she might have met up with some difficulty and resistance from Harry and Ron, but if they thought that she was happy they would have eventually come to accept what ever choice she made for her life, no matter how much they hated it. She was almost certain of that fact.

And it would have been all too easy to fall into Draco's arms so that he could at least have what he wanted. But Hermione knew that the problem with that scenario was that eventually it would all be for nothing. As she had learned time and time again her heart was just too greedy. It still remembered true bliss; her heart would never put up with just some pale imitation of happiness. Draco wasn't what it wanted.

So when her mind asked why not Draco...

Why not Ron...

Why not Roger...

Why not Oliver...

Why not...

The answer always remained the same.

Because it would always be Harry. Always.

When Hermione reached the Burrow Charlie was the one who opened the door for her and Lizzie. Hermione was a bit put out by the fact that he seemed to be openly staring down at her chest, but when she looked to see what exactly held his fascination, she was dismayed to discover that she was wearing a very thin white blouse with a very dark demi bra. Well, at least she was certain now that she hadn't forgotten to put one on, she sighed.

After finding a double breasted sports coat bawled up in the back of the truck, and putting it on over her shirt, Hermione entered the Burrow and greeted everyone in the house. Apparently Hermione's appearance had interrupted a mesmerizing story about a world famous broom race and an escaped Swedish Short-Snout named Gottilda (Tilly for short) who had decided to join in. When Hermione walked into the living room she found five children sitting patiently, awaiting their uncle's return so they could get to the good part of the story.

The good part happened to be when Tilly got distracted from the race and the dozen or so dragon keepers that were trying to recapture her, and tried to mate with a Muggle air balloon that was floating by. The poor old maid was near sighted. But after Molly reproachfully called from the kitchen that the tale was getting too inappropriate for such young ears, Charlie tactfully skipped to the point when he and the rest of his team caught the dragon which led to excited cheers and applause from the kids. Hermione even joined along and giggled when Charlie wiped a thin layer of sweat from his brow. The kids then all turned their attention to the dog and Lizzie was happy to play with them.

When Hermione entered the kitchen she found Molly and Fleur preparing dinner. Crookshanks looked to be supervising the operation from his stool. Hermione greeted her old friend with a scratch behind the ears, and received a hug from Molly and a kiss on the cheek from Fleur. Arthur and Bill were still at work but would be home soon. By the delicious aromas that filled the room she could tell that the family would be dining on roasted lamb that evening, followed by an apple crumble for dessert. She could feel her stomach contract as it reminded her that she hadn't eaten since the day before. It felt like it was going to stage a revolt when she declined Molly's offer to stay and have dinner with them.

Truth was, though Hermione had been searching for any kind of excuse to beg off being anywhere near Harry that evening, she knew that the Burrow was not the solution. If she stayed to eat with the Weasleys, Harry was certain to have dinner there as well. And worse yet, he would probably bring Ginny with him. The thought of sitting across from the Potters while swallowing down her carrots and pretending that just yesterday she hadn't...no, Hermione scolded herself, she would rather not do that.

She told Molly that she had just stopped in to say hello and possibly find someone to watch her dog for her. Molly let her know that it was no problem, and once again tried to get her to stay and eat. Hermione lied and said she would drop back by later. She then passed through the living room again to bid Lizzie and the kids goodbye. Since it was such a nice day out she decided to walk to Luna's. It wasn't until she was at the door that it dawned on her that she had never been to her friend's house and actually didn't know the way there. She asked Charlie if he knew how to get to Lovegood House and he helpfully gave her the directions. He even offered to walk with her and give her some company, but she politely declined his sweet offer. Poor thing was probably just desperate for any excuse to flee from a house filled with nothing but women and shrieking children, she amusedly thought.

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

When Draco answered the door, Hermione wasted no time throwing herself into his arms and giving him a bone crunching hug. On the short walk over she had even imagined just how surprised and happy Draco would be to see her, and just what wiseacre comments he would make at her expense.

What she hadn't expected was the cold, indifferent wizard she held in her arms. When Hermione realized that Draco hadn't even put his arms around her, she pulled back warily to see his face. The expression stamped on it wasn't unfriendly; however, it was neither warm nor cordial. Instead Draco wore a rather studious look, as though she were some curiosity that had momentarily caught his attention, but could easily be dismissed if it turned out to be useless to him.

Hermione's arms unhooked themselves from around his neck and slowly came to her side.

“What form does your Patronus take?”

Hermione looked at him, disbelievingly at first, until a white hot annoyance coursed through her, and she placed her hand on her hip and stared him down.

“Oh please! We didn't even bother with that when there was a sociopath with a wand mucking about the countryside!” she snapped. “But for the record, mine is an otter. And though you led us all to believe that yours was a scorpion, it wasn't until the night that you, Tonks, Fred and myself were pursued by a phalanx of soul starved dementors across the pitch while trying to get back to the castle with the last of the ingredients needed for Pomfrey's Blood-Replenishing Potion, that we all discovered that it was in fact a harveyplytus; a creature that bares a rather strong resemblance to a fuzzy, wuzzy, bunny rabbit.”

Hermione smiled poisonously at him.

Draco, feeling as though he need to defend his manhood bellowed, “IT LOOKS LIKE A JACK RABBIT!”

Hermione only smirked superiorly at his blustering.

“AND ONE THAT HAPPENS TO HAVE CLAWS THAT CAN TURN YOUR INSIDES INTO SASHIMI, I MIGHT ADD!” he argued.

Tired of standing outside, Hermione brushed pass Draco into the front parlor of the house and said lightly, “Looked like a bunny to me.”

She then turned around to face him and was stunned to see that he was still staring at her suspiciously as he closed the door behind him. He could be such a prat sometimes!

“Why are you looking at me like that? Like you don't know who I am?”

“Your accent sounds slightly off,” he cautiously said. “And you smell different, especially the hair. Did you change your shampoo?”

Her eyes widened.

“The place I used to get it discontinued the line,” she told him. “I find it amazing that you would notice that. And a wee bit disconcerting.”

“I'm an Auror. I'm supposed to notice the small details,” he said as he leaned back against the door and folded his arms in front of him. “And the big ones.”

His eyes had drifted up from her face to her locks.

“Like your hair.”

“What about my hair?”

“What happened to it?” he asked frowning.

Hermione self-consciously smoothed down the crown of her head and shyly asked, “What, don't you like it?”

“No, it's god-awful!”

Hermione rolled her eyes irritably.

“But tell us what you really think, Draco?” she snitted sarcastically.

Taking her remark to heart, he pulled out his wand from the back pocket of his jeans. Hermione automatically stepped back, but not before narrowing her eyes at him.

“Just what the hell do you think you're doing pointing that thing at me?!”

“I was going to fix it,” he answered.

“YOU FIX IT,” she snarled meanly, “AND I FIX YOU!”

Draco studied her belligerent face for one more beat before beaming down at her.

“Emasculation coupled with the subtle threat of physical violence? Pet,” he said as he grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into an embrace, “it is you!”

He then spun her around a few times, making her quite dizzy. Once Hermione's feet touched the ground again he still held on to her.

“Now where the bloody fuck have you been?!”

Hermione waited for the room to stop tilting before the corners of her lips turned up in a shaky smile.

“It's a long story. One that would sound better coupled with a few pastries, some jam, and something hot to wash it all down,” she said sweetly. “Mmm,” she raised her nose in the air, “is that coffee that I smell?”

He gave her a puzzled look before answering, “No, I was about to have a cup of Ceylon.”

Hermione pouted prettily.

“Then what do we have to do to make it coffee that I smell?”

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

Hermione and Draco had their Afternoon Tea in Linus Lovegood's library, which doors opened up into the entrance hall of the house. To Hermione's surprise it was a rather plain and ordinary study, quite like the one her father once read his morning paper and smoked his after dinner pipe in. The staid fireplace, oak book cases, and matching scroll top desk with its leather chair behind it were almost a let down. She expected something a bit more whimsical from a Lovegood. The only thing even approaching bizarre was the wallpaper used to cover the room, Quibbler front pages.

She was seated on a surprisingly comfortable wicker footstool (she suspected there was a cushioning charm on it), while Draco draped himself over a very expensive looking Edwardian settee next to her. A large three tiered cake stand stood where both of them could help themselves and was stacked with an assortment of pastries and fish paste sandwiches. On the floor near Hermione's feet sat a tray with a sterling silver tea service and a matching coffee pot.

A doddering little house-elf who would have made Kreacher look like a spring chicken was handing her another cup of coffee fixed just how she liked it, sweet and creamy. Draco was lazily sipping his tea. Hermione had been telling Draco about her years in the States, as well as her last few days back home. As Toodles shuffled out the door, she plucked up a croissant off the stand and hummed as the flaky pastry melted in her mouth. She then took another huge gulp of the light almond colored brew.

“Would you like some more coffee with your milk and sugar?” Draco jested, watching her enraptured expression as she drank the cup dry.

“Funny,” she said as she stuffed a bit more pastry in her mouth. “You sound like Harry. He thinks that anything short of ink black coffee is a crime against nature or something,” she managed to say between bites.

“One of the few issues that Potter and I actually see eye to eye on. I tend to prefer my tea, though. Although I could have done with another scone, but someone practically snatched the last one from my fingers.”

Hermione's busy jaw paused as she stared apologetically at Draco. But the blueberry scones had been just too delicious. Luna's grandmother's secret recipe, he had told her. Hermione had practically polished them all off by herself.

“Sow-wy,” she apologetically mumbled as she stuffed the rest of the croissant in her mouth.

Draco chortled at her nerve. He knew that she wasn't sorry in the least.

“It's just that there's no food at the cottage unless you count the tree. But woman can not live by fruit salad alone,” she told him once she swallowed. “I tried to go to the market last night but...”

Hermione bit down on the corner of her bottom lip and averted her eyes from Draco.

“It didn't go so well.”

Draco didn't notice her anxiety.

“No matter...TOODLES!” he shouted loudly. “MORE SCONES...please!”

Well, at least he said please.

“TOODLES!”

He sat up and looked towards the library door. When it looked like Toodles wouldn't be coming any time soon, Draco swore irately under his breath.

“Goddamned house-elf keeps forgetting that he can pop in between rooms instead of traipsing from whatever closet he's managed to lock himself in.”

“I'm surprised that Luna and Mr. Lovegood even own a house-elf. I thought them far more progressive than that. At least Harry pays Dobby a wage.”

“Yes, yes Prince Potter the fair and just,” Draco said mockingly. “Probably was terrified that if he hadn't you would have somehow found out and come back just to put his balls in a vice grip.”

“Lovely image, that,” she drolled.

“It's a gift,” said Draco. “Listen, Toodles has been in the family since...how was it my Loony Love put it...since great-great-great aunt Bina ran away to marry that shifty vampire bloke. Although what vampire isn't shifty, I'd like to know. No, Toodles is as much a Lovegood as Luna. If you were to give him clothes he'd be hanged.”

Hermione shook her head.

“All house-elves are leery of their freedom at first, but they might eventually find that they like it if they gave it a chance.”

“No, no. You misunderstand me, Pet,” he said. “Toodles would physically hang himself with them.” He took a sip of his tea and casually added, “Or strangle himself with the tie, at the least.”

“You're impossible,” Hermione sighed.

She placed her cup back on its tray and took a good look at Draco. The years had been good to him. He looked much the same as the last time she'd laid eyes on him, just a little bit heftier. Someone had been taking care of him very well it seemed. There were far more subtle changes in him, though. He was more at ease, and though still surly, there was a decided lightness to him.

But there was some other difference in this Draco before her. Hermione just hadn't put her finger on it yet.

“So where is Luna? I was hoping to see her too. You can't imagine my surprise when I heard that you not only wooed Miss Lovegood, but actually moved in with her as well,” she smilingly said.

“I think she might have done the wooing actually. However it went though, I can't complain.”

He leaned back on the settee.

“Guess your pals couldn't wait to spread that around,” Draco said coolly.

“It's not every day that the Prat of Slytherin House takes up with Luna Lovegood.”

“It should be.”

“Aww...”

“Aww...shut up!” he grumped causing Hermione to laugh. For all of his grandstanding she didn't miss the twinkle in his eye.

“She's on one of her cloak and dagger missions for the paper right now.”

“So she did end up at the Quibbler?” Draco answered yes and Hermione said, “Good for her! When we are at the Ministry she often mentioned that she wanted to write for the paper, but didn't want people to accuse her of getting the job simply because of who her father was.”

“Well they would be bleeding idiots if they said that now!” he aggressively said. “My Loony is brilliant at what she does! She's going to rock the Ministry to its foundation very soon.”

Hermione gave Draco a perplexed look. He was speaking gibberish as far as she could tell.

“I take it that you haven't seen the front page of the Seer then?”

Hermione shook her head.

“The International Seer reran the Quibbler's headline from Monday; Broom Boon Goes Boom for Ministry. Scrimgeour is probably quaking in his office as we speak.”

“Well it all sounds very exciting, but I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about,” said Hermione, taking the air out of his sails. “I haven't seen a paper since I've been back. I don't really care to see what they've been saying about me.”

She then saw the curious look on his face.

“What?”

“They haven't been saying anything about you, actually. Not the Prophet, the Seer...I know it hasn't been in the Quibbler,” he continued. “How very odd.”

Hermione quirked a smile.

“I think it's very fortuitous! I guess I've finally become old news.”

Draco pondered on his thoughts for a moment longer before shaking off whatever was troubling him.

“Luna did this exposé on the Ministry,” he explained as he scooted closer to the edge of his seat. “It went over so well that she's now working on another one. It's going to be a series. She's meeting up with her inside source again as we speak.”

“How thrilling! And you say this person works for the Ministry?”

“Just some disgruntled div that has nothing better to do,” he said dismissively. “Luna calls him Deep Wand. Got it from this film once we watched.”

Hermione tutted reprovingly.

“Not that one!” Draco protested. “It was this Yank film with these poof reporters running around in the dark. I thought it was dull as pea soup, but Luna loved it.”

“Deep Wand, oh my!”

“And if the bastard knows what's good for him, my Loony Love better never find out just how deep his wand goes,” he muttered darkly. “I'd kill him!”

“How gallant,” Hermione dryly cracked.

Draco grinned wickedly. “I have my moments.”

Hermione returned his grin. It was infectious. She just couldn't get over that this was the same Draco Malfoy she once knew. He just seemed so...so...happy. But then it all made sense really. This Draco was in love. Better yet, this Draco had someone who loved him back. He was beaming with it.

“Wow! Just look at your eyes.”

Draco furrowed his brow and said, “What?”

“They practically glow when you speak of Luna,” she said. “Your eyes, that is. They practically sparkle.”

“Spare me!” was what he said in answer to her claim which only made Hermione giggle at his embarrassment. “If we're going to have some hen-fest I demand equal time,” he stated. “So who've you been boffing lately?”

“Boffing?” she asked in bafflement. “I suppose myself....wait...that doesn't sound too good. I'm not boffing anyone,” Hermione said.

He scoffed. “That's surprising.”

“By the way you people make me out to sound one would think I was some Lavender-esque, Pristine Pringle clone. I was never some clinging vine woman dependent on the company of a man to survive.”

“Oh, I think that it was quite clear that you didn't need them,” Draco began, “but there was always some sad sackless bastard sniffing around you. I should know, I was once one of them.”

Hermione was taken aback by his candor. Not because of what he said, but rather the lack of bitterness behind it.

“We don't mince words, do we?”

“Have I ever?”

She still felt like something needed to be said; why she up and left his flat the way she did that morning, why she didn't say goodbye. He didn't seem too interested in a heart-to-heart over their past relationship, though.

“Draco I...”

“Let's not and say that we did,” he said. “It's all water under the bridge now any road.”

“If that's what you want...”

He nodded.

“Besides, it all worked out for us, right?”

“I...yes.”

“So who is the lucky bloke?” Draco asked again inquisitively. “That is a man's jacket you appear to be wearing,” he said eyeing the navy blazer that sleeves went well past her wrists. “Despite your denials I'm sure you have one stashed somewhere.”

“Shows you how much you know,” she said prissily. “There is no 'lucky bloke'...although there is a girl.”

Her teasing words had the effect she knew they would. Draco's naughty smile nearly took up his whole face.

“Must say, didn't see that one coming. And yet I'm intrigued. Tell me,” he said leaning down towards her, “are there pictures? A video disk, perhaps?”

“She's a dog, Draco.”

“But I'm sure she has a lovely personality.”

“What you are suggesting would be considered bestiality.”

“And yet, still intrigued,” he said smarmily. “OW!”

She had smacked his arm.

“Perv! I have a dog!”

Well that shot to hell the lovely images in his head. Draco sat up straight and gave her a mystified look.

“You have a dog? Oh please tell me you didn't become one of those annoying Muggle women that carry little yipping puffs of fur under their pits? I can't be associated with you if that's the case. Especially if you and the dog wear matching cardies.”

“Good lord, no!” she exclaimed in an insulted voice. “And I daresay Lizzie isn't the kind of dog that lends to being carried around like a Birkin bag.”

“Lizzie?!”

“What's wrong with Lizzie?” she asked. “It's a nice name! It's short for Queen Elizabeth I.”

Draco gaped at her, mortified.

“I was homesick,” Hermione said bashfully.

He snorted at that.

“I can see right now that you made a perfectly awful Muggle. Muggles do not name their dogs...ugh...Lizzie,” he said in disgust. “Or Queen Bess or what have you. They name their dogs...Champ. Or...or...King. Rover, Spot...T-Bone.”

A shriek of laughter burst from Hermione. She almost fell off the footstool from laughing so hard.

“T-Bone?” She wiped away an errant tear from her eye. “I can't say that I've ever had the pleasure of meeting a dog named T-Bone.”

Draco fell back on the settee and crossed his arms again.

“I have,” he grumbled. “Bloody German Shepherd nearly tore out the seat out of my pants.”

Now how was she not supposed to die laughing at that? She actually slid off the footstool and onto the hard polished floor, all the while still laughing at Draco's expense.

“Yuck it up!” he snarled.

She did. When her laughter finally abated she was able to resume the conversation.

“And just what did you do to incur dear T-Bone's wrath, Draco?”

“My partner and I were working a case in Danbury,” he began as she lifted a finger sandwich off the stand and nibbled on it. “A Muggle by the name of Abner Boothe got hold of a copy of a Grimoire of Agrippa.”

Hermione was almost too shocked to speak.

“My God! Agrippa's spell book? But those are even rarer to find than his Chocolate Frog Card! Where did he get it from? How did he know how to use it?”

“Girlfriend was a witch; a Stonefeather to be exact. Isadora Stonefeather. The book had been in her family for years. She told him what she was, showed him now to make an amulet of Ammit, and then the bloody wanker turned and used it on her.”

Hermione's hand went to her mouth; a gasp tore from her throat. When searching for information on Horcruxes she had come across a few mentions of the amulet, the Soul Eater, from time to time. They were almost as taboo a subject as the Horcrux. It was a talisman that could capture a soul and imprison it, while leaving the human body an empty vessel that one could do with whatever they pleased. Some said that the infamous warlock Heinrich Agrippa had been told how to make the very first one by the Egyptian daemon Ammit himself. His grimoire contained the only known instructions on how to produce the talisman. It also contained some of the most potent love spells, rituals for raising the dead, incantations for calling forth demons, and strangely enough a recipe for braised tortoise soup.

“By time the family found the girl she had been locked up in a Muggle asylum for a month. As a favor to the father Scrimgeour demanded that my squad be put on the case.”

“An asylum,” Hermione whispered weakly as her hand crept to her heart. “That poor girl.”

“For a while there we thought we were dealing with a dark wizard or an undocumented dementor. It's a shame that we really couldn't do anything for the girl. If the amulet isn't destroyed within 72 hours...”

“The soul can't go back in again,” she answered for him.

“Correct,” Draco said grimly. “Threw us all for a loop when we realized that the barmcake was a Muggle. He got drunk off the power. Ended up doing the same thing to six more girls. All of them Muggles.”

Not wanting to hear anymore atrocities this person Draco was describing may have committed, Hermione asked, “How did you finally find him?”

Draco smirkingly said, “The idiot made the grand mistake of calling on the wrong demon to do his bidding. The beast was so offended at Boothe's gall that he dropped a dime on him to an Unspeakable he had been trying to seduce. The bird then got word to us. We ended up trapping Boothe in this rundown shack out in the middle of nowhere.”

Draco then grimaced painfully.

“Didn't count on the fucking attack dogs, though.”

Draco's sullen face actually broke the somber mood.

“And where was your partner in all of this?” she asked as she smiled.

He rolled his eyes.

“Going at it hand to hand with the perp. Can't use magic against Muggles if it can be helped, and all that,” he said. “Eventually he did spare me a glance and sent the hound flying. But not before my very expensive designer trousers were ruined!” fumed Draco crossly.

Hermione took pains not to laugh out loud again at his ruffled feathers.

“Then again he was always jealous of my superior sartorial style, even if he denies it to this very day.”

“I'm sure your partner never would have allowed you to muss a hair on that pretty head,” she jokingly said, cheeks sore from the smile she suppressed.

“Yes,” he said as he slid down to the floor next to her and rested his elbows on his knees, “but apparently my arse was open season.”

He then eyed her curiously.

“By that smug look on your face I take it that you know who my partner is.”

“Perhaps,” Hermione's lilting voice said.

“Potter tell you?”

“Actually he did,” she said as a mischievous smile, as well an equally naughty idea popped into her head. “He mentioned it when he was telling me all about that big case you two have been working on.”

Draco cocked his head at her, surprise etched all over his features, and asked, “He did?!”

“Of course he did,” she innocently said, continuing the lie.

She didn't know why, but it bugged a bit that Harry was being so tight lipped about his job. His heated reminders to her that his cases were none of her business only succeeded in furthering her curiosity. So Hermione decided to do the next best thing, she would get it out of Draco. She figured that it would be easy to get him to talk; he loved hearing the sound of his own voice anyway.

“Why wouldn't he tell me? I was standing right there while he asked Charlie about the dragon and all.”

Hermione knew that she had to play this carefully. There was a reason why Draco had been put in Slytherin House.

“You were?!” he asked incredulously. “Strange. I figured that infernal Savior Complex of his would have turned him into an overprotective maniac the moment he saw your face.”

Hermione frowned. “Why would he do that?”

Now Draco looked just as baffled as she did.

“Why would he...” he started to say before he stopped, eyes narrowing. “Hang on.”

Drat!

“What exactly did Potter tell you?”

Hermione quickly cycled through all of the conversations she had taken part in and overheard these last few days, and tried in vain to find something to support her story. Think Hermione! Think!

“Err...”

There was something about Peru wasn't there?

“Um...”

And some woman that Molly called...what was that name again...Girdle? Bother! That can't be right.

“Uh...”

“Oh really,” Draco smirked crossing his arms. “He said all that?”

Hermione muttered directions where Draco could stick his head. Although he probably didn't find them helpful, he did get a kick out of them.

“I think all that hair dye has seeped into your brain,” he teased her. “You used to be smarter than me.”

“USED TO?!”

He laughed.

“So tell me about Cyprus, I've never been.”

Hermione took another finger sandwich off the cake stand and chewed. She noticed how stale the bread was and wondered if anymore of those tasty scones were going to ever come.

“What's there to tell,” she said in a somewhat bored tone. “I ate and shopped. Ate and went sight seeing. Ate and got in a bit of sunbathing...”

“But did you get to eat?” he sarcastically cracked.

“Like a bloody pig! The restaurants were like a religion there,” she laughed.

“Sounds interesting. I was actually going to spirit my Loony off to Cagliari to celebrate her first big front page,” he told her.

“Harry did mention that you took a few days off.”

“I found this charming bed and breakfast. We never made it, though,” Draco said. “I got tied up.”

Hermione's eyes filled with concern as she asked, “Why? What happened?”

“I told you, Luna tied me up...”

“Dear Lord!”

“...to the bedstead...”

Hermione clasped her hands over her eyes.

“The pictures in my head!”

She missed Draco's salacious grin.

“The things that woman can do with a pack of licorice wands and a jar of cocktail olives.”

“Make the bad man stop!” she begged in mock horror.

“We only left the bedroom for snacks.”

Hermione dropped her hands into her lap. “Sounds like you went for more props.”

He snickered.

“You enjoy making me squirm, don't you?”

Draco only smiled brightly in answer.

“And you still won't tell me anything about your case, hmm?”

“And have Bangs Boy breathing down my neck?” he asked. “I'll take a pass.”

Hermione's face arranged itself into a pout. She was digging out every weapon in her arsenal.

“I can't believe you're going to take Harry's side over mine,” she dismally said trying to guilt him into spilling.

“Hermione, I'm always going to be on your side,” he said simply, as though she were foolish to think otherwise. “However Potter is my partner, I owe him some loyalty. Plus I hate that sinister staring thing he does when he gets his knickers in a twist. Cree-pee. Feels like he's trying to make my head explode,” he sniffed. “Or peeking under my robes.”

“I'm sure your modesty is well intact,” she quipped. “I don't think you're Harry's type.”

“I'm everyone’s type,” he said haughtily.

“Luna hasn't done anything about that ego I see.”

“She loves it!”

“She loves you,” Hermione said, winking at him.

“That too,” he said, though he tried to hide his smile.

Hermione shook her head in awe.

“I just can't get over it; Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood. Simply amazing!”

Hermione turned to the cake stand again and looked for something that hadn't turned into a rock yet.

“I wonder if Luna saw that one coming,” she said off-handedly as she finally located a tea cake that looked appetizing. When she pulled back with her treasure, she found Draco staring at her with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Saw what coming?”

“The two of you getting together.”

Draco cracked an uneasy smile.

“Now how would she have been able to do that?”

Hermione let out an annoyed huff thinking that he was being difficult.

“That little talent she has, of course.”

“Pet, you are going to have to enlighten me. You see, I think my Loony Love has many,” he paused and Hermione saw a wicked grin stretch his lip, “many talents. But somehow I don't think we are talking about the same thing.”

Hermione took a moment to really look at Draco's bemused expression before realizing that he really had no clue what she was saying.

“Never mind,” she said and quickly tried to stuff the tea cake in her mouth.

Draco reached over and snatched the sweet out of her hand.

“HEY!”

“I'm cutting you off until you say what you know!”

A nasty retort bubbled up behind Hermione's lips, but she pushed it down at the sight of Draco's worried face.

“Please,” he entreated.

And Hermione relented.

“Have you never noticed Luna's knack for just...knowing things? Like if a caller you haven't seen in ages is going to suddenly drop in? Or what you've gotten her for her birthday before she even opens the box? Haven't you ever noticed that when she insists you wear an anorak and your wellies, it never fails to rain?”

“Th-they're just g-good g-guesses,” Draco disbelievingly stammered.

But his face said otherwise.

“That too could be a possibility.”

Hermione knew that it wasn't, though.

“FUCK ALL!” Draco shouted as both of his hands went to his head and tore at the scraps of hair there. “On our first date we went to this Indian restaurant. I ordered the same thing she had, but I ended up getting so sick it was coming out of both ends.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Well it did,” he simply stated. “But that's not the point of the story. Luna told me that it was going to lay me up for a week. Of course I didn't listen to her. I thought she was just being a know-it-all...like you,” he said flippantly.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Ever notice that when I'm being accused of being a know-it-all it's usually because I'm right?”

“Are you telling me that Luna can fucking see the future?!”

“Not quite. Has Luna never talked to you about her mum?” she asked.

“I know that Luna watched her die. And I know that she was supposed to be some powerful witch, an inventor of sorts.”

“A former Head Girl too,” Hermione added. “Delphia Lovegood also happened to be a natural Precog.”

Draco was stunned. “What?!”

She sighed.

“A Precog is a person...” she began before being rudely interrupted.

“I know what a bleeding Precog is!” Draco roughly replied. “I didn't know that Luna's mum was one. And I thought that you didn't believe in that kind of thing.”

“I don't believe in charlatans. And I just didn't like Trelawney,” she said as well. “But I readily accept that there are people who are truly gifted. Delphia was. And she didn't bother about broadcasting that fact all over the place like some people,” Hermione said with a sneer. “I guess Luna takes after her in that respect. Then again she only has a vague genetic echo of her mum's power; more of a presentiment really. She senses things rather than outright sees it. It used to come in dead handy when Cormac McLaggen would drop by the office, though.”

Draco shook his head.

“But it doesn't make sense! If Delphia Lovegood could see the future why is she dead? WHY DIDN'T SHE SAVE HERSELF? WHY WOULD HE JUST ABANDON HER DAUGHTER LIKE THAT!” he yelled viciously, causing Hermione to look at him with wide and worried eyes.

“Well,” Hermione began cautiously, “provided that she did see her own...messy end, a true Precog knows not to interfere with a vision. And more importantly not give warnings about them! To do so would probably have the opposite desired effect and make things worse than what they would have been otherwise. I'm sure that Delphia understood that.”

She then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

“I'm sure that Luna knows that too.”

Somewhere in the distance Hermione heard a doorbell chime.

As her hand left his shoulder, the fierce hostility that burst from Draco died down and he seemed to come back to himself. His usual pompous swagger returned.

“Just how do you know all of this?” he asked her.

“Luna told me,” she said snatching the tea cake back out of his hand. When Draco rolled his eyes she snottily added, “Draco, you would be made speechless by the things that I know.”

“Now who has the big head?”

“Mister Draco! Mister Draco!” a shrill, disembodied voice called.

Before Hermione knew what was happening she felt a small weight land in her lap.

“AHH!” she screamed.

Draco fell back on the settee, laughing uproariously.

“Oh sorry, miss!”

Toodles, with more agility than he looked capable of, skipped down off of her. He was carrying a bread basket filled to the brim with blueberry scones that he promptly handed to her, bowing stiffly after, then turned towards Draco.

“Mister Draco, the new Dark Lord is here.”

Hermione, who had already had a scone in her hand, nearly dropped the bread basket.

“WHAT?!”

“He just means Potter,” Draco clarified in the most annoying, blasé manner.

“WHAT?!”

Hermione's eyes were ready to pop out of her head.

Draco reached over and took a scone from her and bit into it.

“Toodles is what one would call 'Old School', I guess you can say. Kill one dark lord, become the new dark lord,” he explained. “Wax on, wax off. Let him in,” Draco told the old house-elf who ambled slowly out of the room.

Draco then turned back towards Hermione. His mouth had opened, probably to make some off-colored remark or get in some dig about Harry before he walked through the door, but the words died on his tongue when he noticed that all the color had drained from Hermione's face.

“Don't let Harry in, Draco,” she begged, nervously brushing a strand of hair away from her face and worrying her lip between her teeth.

“No?”

“No!”

“What's wrong?” he asked her.

“It's just...I have a headache.”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, you know how you and Harry get when you're in a room together. Chest thumping, an engaging match of 'Whose Is Bigger'...I'm surprised that there isn't a mating dance involved. I just...I'm not in the mood for it right now. Just send him away.”

For the last few hours, Hermione's mind had been so preoccupied with thoughts that didn't revolve around Harry for once, that she had completely forgotten that they had made plans for that evening. He was still acting like it was old times, like the two of them could just go off to a pub or something and pal around. He even suggested meeting up with Ron. That in itself wasn't such a bad idea. What worried Hermione though, were those few moments that she found herself alone with Harry. Those were not like old times. Something was amiss and the difference scared the hell out of her. She needed time to process it all some more before she did something she would end up regretting.

And she had to find some way to get out of seeing Harry today until then as well.

Seeing the near desperation in her face Draco gave a curt nod of his head, stood up from the floor, and exited the room closing the double doors behind him. Hermione only paused to grab another scone before quietly creeping towards the exit. She opened a door and peeked through the crack. She could see Draco's back and caught sight of Harry's harried face just over his shoulder. He stood at the door of the house waiting for Draco to invite him in. Hermione tried to ignore the speed her heartbeat took on at the sight of it.

“Fearless leader,” Draco saluted Harry, his tone of voice mocking, yet not hostile. Hermione was sure she could hear Harry's eyes roll back in his head.

“I see that you finally deigned to come to the door,” she heard Harry's frustrated voice say.

“You know me, Potter. I like to play hard to get. I'm a tease that way.”

“I had Department business to go over with you.”

“I'm sure you did,” Draco's smirking voice replied, then turned serious as Harry tried to make his way through the door. “And what, may I ask, are you doing?”

Harry paused, eyeing Draco up and down, and making Hermione wonder if he was contemplating forcing his way into the house. It took only a second for Harry to make his decision.

“May I come in?” he asked feigning civility.

“'Fraid not. I just washed my hair, you see.”

Hermione could tell that Draco was having a ball antagonizing Harry. Harry obviously felt that way too.

“Must you be an insufferable jackarse?” he asked in a bored, stiff tone as he rubbed at the area where his glasses met his nose and momentarily closed his eyes.

The question seemed to offend Draco somehow.

“Are you new?! Have you never met me?!”

Hermione almost laughed aloud. Instead she stuffed the scone in her mouth to stopper it.

“I don't have time for this, Malfoy,” Harry said impatiently. “Is Hermione over here or not?”

“And Hermione would be over here because...”

Harry let out an aggravated huff.

“Because she said she planned to visit you. And seeing as how you didn't even bother to pretend to be shocked that I would question her presence here in the first place, she's obviously made contact.” He then muttered, more to himself, “Though Merlin only knows why.”

Draco, however, heard the insensitive comment. The joking tone his voice had held earlier completely disappeared.

“SHE'S NOT HERE, WHAT DO YOU WANT?” he defiantly barked.

“But she has to be here,” Harry said, his face tensing with so much anxiety and apprehension that Hermione longed to smooth the look from it.

Only her pride held her back.

“She left the Weasleys' hours ago. Her vehicle is still parked in their yard. Charlie said that she was going to walk here.” Harry had tilted his head down and was running his hand nervously across the back of his neck. He then looked back up at Draco. “She has to be here,” he said.

“Maybe she took the scenic route,” Draco offered.

Harry's face screwed up and he cast Draco a befuddled look.

“This is 'Catchpole,” he said incredulously. “There is no scenic route!”

Draco coughed. However Hermione, though she couldn't be sure, almost imagined that it was a laugh that Draco bit back.

“Listen Malfoy,” Harry said stepping closer to Draco and lowering his voice. Hermione had to focus clearly to hear what he was saying. “You and I have to be of one mind on this. For some reason that I can't understand, Hermione seems to be obsessed with the case that we're working on.”

Hermione tore into the scone aggressively. She was not obsessed! Harry could exaggerate so sometimes, she thought as she finished off the pastry and licked her fingers.

“Knowing Hermione like I do she would offer to help; look up spells, do research. Like we were back at Hogwarts or something. We can not let that happen!” Harry said emphatically. “We have to protect her–”

“Her...mione,” Draco said loudly, his over dramatic voice cutting off whatever else Harry had been about to say, “is not here Potter. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

“Well...just the one really. I heard you the first time.”

Why is Draco speaking so loudly, Hermione wondered. And why does he sound so odd? And just what the hell do I need to be protected from?! However before any of these questions could be answered, a dreamy voice whispered near Hermione's ear.

“Is it a game? Which one are we hiding from, Harry or Draco?”

Hermione had been so engrossed in the conversation out in the hall that she hadn't heard Luna floo into the room and steal up behind her; cloak soaked with water and covered in green powder. Startled by the young woman's sudden appearance, Hermione spun around shouting Luna's name out loud, and pulled the library doors closed with a bang.

“LUNA!”

“WHAT WAS THAT?” Hermione heard Harry's muffled voice ask suspiciously from the other side of the closed doors.

“Her-umph!” went Luna.

The blonde meant to say Hermione's name, but instead it came out as Her-umph. Of course the hand that Hermione clasped over her mouth might have had something to do with it. Hermione snaked her other arm around Luna and looked over her shoulder at the door warily, awaiting Harry's assured entrance through them.

“Is Luna here?” she could hear Harry ask Draco. “What's going on in there?” She then heard what sounded like footsteps on the parquet floor of the hall.

Hermione somehow maneuvered Luna backwards awkwardly and towards the far side of the room. She pressed her old school mate into the wall using her own body as an obstruction, all the while keeping her eyes on the door. She wasn't exactly sure why she still had her hand over Luna's mouth, but since Hermione's mind had long retreated into panic mode she decided it was best to just allow things to play out. She then turned to look at Luna, whose blue gray eyes looked back at her unsurprisingly with only mild interest.

“Hi, Luna,” she said in a falsely bright tone. “How are things?”

Luna's thin shoulders shrugged and her eyes drifted up and then down in a gesture that Hermione read as “so, so”.

“It's just that...I prefer that Harry not know I'm here, is all.”

Hermione felt the need to explain. She was accosting the poor woman in her own home, it was the least that she could do. Luna's eyes appeared to soften at Hermione's explanation and she half-suspected that Luna understood the way of things completely without even having to be told at all.

“I thought that prat would never leave,” said Draco irritably from out in the hall. “Wanker just can't take no for an ans–Hello!”

Draco had stopped short inside the opened library doors at the sight of Hermione and his girlfriend; bodies pressed tightly together against the wall, Hermione's hand still dominantly covering Luna's mouth.

He came further into the room with a devilish, lusty grin spread from one side of his face all the way to the other.

“Dear Playwizard...”

“In your dreams!” Hermione said, perturbed, as she threw him a disgusted look over her shoulder.

She then felt something wet flick at the palm that covered Luna's mouth.

“ACK!” she cried as she quickly stepped back and withdrew herself from her captive.

“Mmm...” Luna dreamily said, licking her lips, “blueberry.”

Hermione openly gawked at the woman.

“You licked my hand!” Hermione bewilderedly accused her as she wiped the bit of spittle off on her jeans.

Luna looked at her as though she were the mental one. Hermione almost wondered if she was.

“Well how else was I going to get you to remove it from my mouth?”

Hermione was starting to feel very cross.

“Next time try mumbling, 'get your sodding hands off of me'.”

Luna smiled that almost vacant smile of hers and said, “I'll make a note.”

During all of this Draco had watched the scene with an entertained smirk on his face. However his expression softened once he and Luna locked eyes. Hermione was forgotten in the haste that Luna and Draco rushed at each other.

He pulled back the hood of her cloak and placed a hand lovingly into her blonde hair, lowering his head to bring his lips to hers. Luna's arms slowly went up and wound themselves around his neck as her head fell back with the power of the kiss. Hermione felt she was intruding on a terribly private scene, yet she was captivated by it. She just pretended not to notice the slight pang of envy that shot through her heart. Not that she wanted to be in Luna's place. Or Draco's for that matter. She just fervently wished that she too could know the peace that the two before her had obviously found in each other.

And not for the first time, she also felt the cold, comfortless fingers of loneliness brush up against her. Everyone had moved on. Everyone was happy. Everyone had a person to love and love them. Draco had Luna. Ron had Lavender. Harry had Ginny. And Hermione...Hermione had no one. If she thought about it too much she knew that she would collapse, bawling into the carpet. So she bravely fixed a smile on her face instead. She wouldn't allow any petty jealousy interfere with her gladness for her two friends.

Although if they took a break to catch a bit of air she wouldn't hold it against them.

“Prudish English woman still in the room here!” she announced loudly trying to remind them that they were not alone. Luna had started to make a disturbing moaning sound, and one of Draco's hands had placed itself possessively on her rear end.

At the sound of Hermione's voice, Luna pulled away from Draco's lips, although she didn't take her eyes off of him. He looked down at her just as adoringly.

“You taste like blueberries too,” she said in her low, throaty voice. “Yummy.”

“And you're all wet,” said Draco as he wrapped her in his arms. “Seeing as how there isn't a cloud in the sky I have to wonder why.”

“Where I went was quite damp,” she admitted, never blinking her silvery eyes.

Draco frowned. “You know I don't like all of this.”

“I know.”

She then turned to look at Hermione over her shoulder.

“How good it is to see you again, Hermione. Will you be staying for dinner?” she asked.

Without any hesitation, Hermione gratefully told Luna that she would love to stay. Luna had effortlessly solved Hermione's problem about what to do about Harry. She would floo the Burrow and tell Molly that she had decided to stay and eat at Lovegood House. She'd also ask her to pass on the message to Harry. If she knew Harry like she thought she did, she knew that he would be too polite to interrupt the Lovegoods at dinnertime just to check up on her.

And even if he did drop in again, she knew that she didn't have to worry if Luna or her father asked him to stay and eat with them. Harry wouldn't ever sit across a table from Draco civilly and break bread. There was a better chance of Hermione joining the Cannons and leading them to a title. Hermione suddenly wondered if her day had finally started to take an upswing.

“Good then,” Luna said as she stepped out of Draco's embrace. “You and Lover probably have more catching up to do.”

Lover?! What had the world come to, Hermione thought with a grin.

“Since I'm puddling here on the carpet, I'll go change and leave you to it. Although Hermione, you may want to send Harry a note and let him know that you won't be able to meet with him tonight.”

Though the smile on Hermione's face held, she really wished that Luna would just shut the hell up. She especially didn't like the way that Draco looked back and forth between the two of them after the remark.

“You and I have some things to discuss as well, young lady,” he said half-seriously as he turned his attention fully to Luna.

Luna sighed resignedly as she unhooked her cloak and removed it.

“I suppose we do.” She then added in a low and sultry voice as her eyes met with Draco's, “Later.”

Hermione did not miss the double meaning. Neither did Draco if the hungry look he gave his girlfriend as she exited the room was any indication.

“Don't be too hard on her,” Hermione told him as she came up by his side. “And by that I do mean figuratively.”

Draco was still staring out the door.

“She should have told me,” he said furtively. Hermione knew at once that he was referring to Luna's questionable gift of second sight.

“And she probably would have sooner or later if I hadn't opened my big mouth,” she told him reassuringly. Hermione wished more than anything she hadn't told Luna's secret. Secrets were meant to be kept for a reason.

She understood that better than most.

“But you have to understand Draco; I always got the impression that most times Luna wasn't even aware when she would use that little skill of hers. Sort of like a phantom limb that jerks itself every now and then. She would say something, totally nonsensical sounding at the time, and not bat an eye. It wouldn't be until days, sometimes weeks later that I would realize exactly what she meant by it. Maybe Luna just didn't think it was important enough to merit mention to you.”

“Well I wish she had,” he protested turning to her. “A man likes to know everything about the woman in his life.”

Hermione said dismissively, “But that is impossible. You can never know everything about a person. There is always a secret, behind a secret, behind yet another secret.”

Hermione then paused as she studied Draco's face seriously.

“Does Luna know...does she know everything about you?”

“Close enough,” he answered gruffly.

“I see. Just don't hold this against her. I would hate it if anything I said caused trouble between you two.”

“It won't,” he assured her. “I just think that telling the truth causes fewer problems.”

“Draco, you just lied to Harry,” Hermione said in incredulity.

“I lied to Potter for you,” he told her. “But generally I believe that honesty is the best policy.”

“A Slytherin with a code of ethics?” she kidded. “I think I just felt the earth shift.”

“Just because you Gryffindors cornered the market on nobility and self-sacrifice, that doesn't mean you have all of the finer qualities. I always saw the merit in brutal honesty, myself.”

Hermione strolled back to the footstool and eased herself down.

“Ah, the truth as long as it cuts and maims and bleeds,” Hermione said teasingly.

He nodded his head in agreement.

“But that was the old me,” said Draco as he came and seated himself on the settee once again. “Luna has made me want to be a better person.”

Hermione reached out a hand and placed in on one of Draco's.

“The Draco Malfoy I knew last was already a better person,” she said honestly.

Draco smiled graciously.

“Well thank you, Pet.”

Hermione smiled as well and gave his hand a squeeze.

“You're quite welcome.”

Draco then pulled his hand away from hers and leaned himself back.

“So,” he said congenially, still grinning, “are you going to share with me why you were playing hide and go Seeker with Potter?”

Hermione glowered at him before saying, “It's not like that.”

She would have left it there, but knowing Draco he would just keep digging and digging.

“Can I be honest with you?” she asked.

“I hope so.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Harry has been...clingy since I've been back. It's like he is always underfoot. It's...it's starting to get to me, is all. I know he's worried about me, but it's starting to irk me a bit.”

And it's making me turn into a stark raving lunatic who can't think straight!

But she didn't share that part with Draco.

“Well you did seem to disappear off the face of the planet there for a while. It's not that hard to understand why Potter might have some separation anxiety at the moment. Although I always thought that he was too dependent on you. I often wondered if you held his hand while he wiped.”

“That's so crass,” she said admonishingly.

“Yet close enough to the truth.”

“Well we were best friends! And once he relied on me as if...as if...as if I were all he had in this world. And I was more than fine with that because he needed me. And as long as he needed me I would always be there for him.”

Draco was staring at her so hard with his glacial gaze that Hermione had to avert her eyes as she continued.

“But when he married Ginny that all had to stop! And it should have stopped! But I've barely gotten back and it's like we're ready to fall back into our old roles and patterns. Well I won't play that part anymore!” she said hotly meeting Draco's eyes. “It's not fair! Not to Harry, not Ginny...not to me,” she said sadly as her eyes fell to her lap. “But Harry's acting like nothing has changed. That I'm still his best gal pal, always by his side. I have to make Harry understand that it can't be that way any more, but he won't give me a moment to catch my breath. I just need some time to decompress I guess. Does that make sense?” she asked as she looked towards him again.

“Perfect,” Draco said.

Hermione smiled and closed her eyes in relief. “Good.”

“Though I have to wonder, Pet,” Draco began; his kindly voice cutting through her mind's warring thoughts, “just how long have you been in love with Harry Potter?”

To Be Continued...

A/N: Next up is the conclusion to Chapter 14. Things to look forward to: Harry and Hermione run away together, Hermione gets a lot of things off of her chest, and Draco makes a promise he might have a hard time keeping.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Hyacinth Ludley, Hammish Weasley, Aubert Malfoy, Ettiene de Malfoi, Gottilda the dragon, Toodles the house-elf, Bina Lovegood, T-bone the German Shepard, Abner Boothe, Isadora Stonefeather , Delphia Lovegood, and Deep Wand are canon.

2) The lyrics are to the song “Landslide” by The Dixie Chicks.

3) Grimoires are books that contain spells and rituals and that date between the late-medieval period and the 18^th century.

4) Delphia Lovegood gets her name from the Oracle of Delphi, the seer(s) who gave wise counsel or prophetic opinion to many classical mythological heroes.

5) Lovegood House, Le Observateur de Magie(The Magic Observer) newspaper, the Vanus Mirrors, The Cadabra House theatre, The Bloody Badger pub, the harveyplytus, and the amulet of Ammit(the Soul Eater) are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

17. Chapter 14b

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 20,008

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: Prepare for teh ANGST!

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.

Ron had finally drifted off to sleep. That is if the earth shattering snores emanating from him were any indication. At rest his pale freckled face looked free of the pain that Hermione was certain still coursed through every cell of his body, though he was too medicated to notice it. Almost three months had gone by since his bruised and battered body had been dumped in front of the gates of Hogwarts, but he had suffered through so many curses and beatings that the healing process had been arduously slow.

Back in January when Hermione first laid eyes on his unconscious form she had believed Ron dead, because how could someone who looked like that possibly still be alive. It was just too cruel! But it turned out that Ron did survive the torture he endured at Voldemort's hands. He just remained unresponsive in the shell of his body all these months. All of them had been praying for a miracle, that he would wake-up, and finally he had.

Until the moment that he actually opened his eyes they hadn't known when Ron would get better or even if he would recover. Unbeknownst to his two best friends, Madame Pomfrey had suggested to the Weasleys that they begin preparing for the worse. With heavy hearts they had actually left their son's side for once so they could prepare his bedroom at the Burrow for him. If these were Ron's last days they wanted to share them with the rest of their children together as a family. Although Harry and Hermione knew nothing of this, they had reached the point where they were almost out of hope that they would ever have their friend back with them again. So of course this was when Ron decided to surprise them all.

Before the miraculous and disturbing occurrence took place, Hermione and Harry had been following their typical daily routine as of late; wake-up, eat breakfast, sit with Ron, attend Order Meeting, do research in library, eat lunch, sit with Ron, practice sword dueling with Draco, eat dinner, sit with Ron, go to bed. They had just come from having lunch in the Great Hall. Harry was seated in a chair next to Ron's bed and was reading to him from a letter that Ginny had sent with Bill that day. Hermione had placed herself on the bed, holding one of Ron's hands as she inwardly scolded herself for being a jealous shrew and begrudging Ginny the contact that she had tried to maintain with Harry through out the War. Even though the two of them had been broken up for months, that did not keep the youngest Weasley from trying to retain her place in Harry's affections.

She would send him a letter at least once a week by way of one of her brothers anytime one of them would come by the castle to visit Ron. The letters were always lighthearted and gay, and detailed anything from the latest creature no one but Luna was certain existed, to the most recent experiment poor Neville had been subjected to at the hands of Fred and George. Harry would read these letters to Ron, no matter how personal they might get, in hopes that Ron would hear his sister's zany ramblings and perhaps smile; let them know that he was still with them.

It was at these times that Hermione would be painfully reminded just why Ginny was the kind of girl that Harry needed, the kind of girl that Harry would want. She brought light to his gloom. She was fun and full of life, when all Harry had surrounding him was death at every turn. And more importantly, when her letters ended “With All My Love, Ginny”, it was a heartfelt declaration that Harry could hold on to. It wasn't messy and complicated. The last thing Harry needed right now was messy and complicated.

The big dramatic awakening happened right when Harry had stammered onto the part in Ginny's letter where she was confiding a dream she'd had about him just the night before. Although Hermione found it childish and tame by most standards, consisting of a stroll along the lake, a blanket of rose petals, and Celestina Warbeck warbling off in the distance something about “....a cauldron built for two”, that did not stop Harry from blushing to his roots as his eyes nervously skirted from Hermione's. Nor did it hinder Ron from sitting straight up off the bed and wailing his mother's name over and over again. The timing of the whole thing would have been hilarious if Ron hadn't sounded like he was being flayed alive.

It only took a moment for Harry and Hermione to spring into action. She ran for the school nurse's office, while Harry cast on Ron any charm he could think of that might provide his best friend with some form of relief. Hearing Ron's screams, Madame Pomfrey, as well as a dozen or so of the castle's living denizens (and some of the not so living ones too) came streaming through the door to see what the commotion was all about. Once assessing the situation, Madame Pomfrey tried to calm Ron down, but ended up ordering Hermione to her cabinet to get a vial of Calming Draught as well as something to ease Ron's pain. The old nurse, Harry, and Tonks meanwhile tried to hold Ron down so he wouldn't hurt himself. Hermione got the potions, managed to climb her way back onto the bed, straddled the thrashing, panicked patient, and somehow forced the contents of both glass tubes passed Ron's clenched teeth.

In all of the fuss not one person had noticed Hermione slipping a vial of Dreamless Sleep into her jean pocket beforehand.

After a while Ron started to calm down, but not before yelling out atrocity after atrocity he had seen and been put through. The images were so fresh inside his head that for all he knew they had happened just the day before.

When Tonks asked him if he knew anything about Remus, Ron's dear, tear streaked face seemed to crumble from the weight of the question. He told her that he heard Remus' voice begging for his potion one night, not too long after their capture, but after that single instance he never heard it again. That revelation was enough to send Tonks out of the room quickly as her day-glo yellow hair slowly transformed to a mousy brown.

When Mr. Shacklebolt questioned him, much to Madame Pomfrey's consternation, as to what Voldemort's minions had done to him and just what he might have said to the enemy, Ron openly wept and begged Harry for his forgiveness. Voldemort had taken part in his torture personally and Ron, wanting his misery to end by any means, told him everything about the Horcruxes; which ones had been destroyed, which ones hadn't. Harry only took Ron in his arms and told him that there was nothing to forgive. Judging by the look of Ron when he had been returned to them it was plainly obvious that he had endured a great deal of pain before they had finally broken him.

Harry only asked if Ron had any idea where he might have been held captive. At this question a few of the older Order members in the room went deathly quiet. Mr. Shacklebolt and Bill traded loaded glances, Headmistress McGonagall quickly left the Infirmary, and Hagrid began fretfully wringing his hands. Hermione found the whole thing peculiar. For months they all had been wondering where Voldemort's base of operation was. At least Hermione thought they all had been wondering about it. But as Ron leaned in and whispered to Harry what he knew, and Mr. Shacklebolt motioned to the old school nurse to get Harry away from the bed, an unsettling realization occurred to her. They already knew! The more senior members of the Order, they had all probably known where Voldemort's lair was all along.

When Harry turned around and searched the faces of those closest to him it was clear that he had reached the same conclusion as Hermione. In a toneless voice he asked no one in particular just how long it had been known that Death Eaters had taken up residence in the previously believed empty Azkaban. Mr. Shacklebolt informed him that Viktor Krum had gotten word to them about it right before the Battle of Hogsmeade. Viktor had been working for the Order as a double agent in a Death Eater cell in Dublin.

Headmistress McGonagall came striding into the Infirmary at this point. With an air of authority she explained to Harry in a no nonsense way that a decision had been made to keep that information amongst a select group of Order members. When Ron and Remus went missing it wasn't known for sure if they had been taken to Azkaban. Once Ron had been exchanged for the last Horcrux in their possession, they still decided to keep their silence. Harry asked why, but it was clear to Hermione what the answer was. They were afraid that their Chosen One would have marched off, half-cocked, to seek vengeance on the Dark Lord all by himself. The Headmistress said as much to him, just in a more diplomatic and wordy manner.

After hearing the answer, Harry gave Ron's shoulder a squeeze and made his way to the door. As he passed by her, the Headmistress informed him that she had already been to his room and had collected his broom, his invisibility cloak, and Gryffindor's sword from his trunk. He just wasn't ready for his face-off with Lord Voldemort yet, she told him. Harry only shook his head forlornly as he tore his saddened, disillusioned eyes from her and exited the room.

Hermione made a move to go after him when she felt Ron's roughened hand latch on to her forearm. She looked down at his face, made drowsy by the potions, and saw the entreaty written across it though he was too tired to give it voice; stay. Hermione briefly wondered if this would be her fate for the rest of her life; wanting desperately to follow Harry out of a door, any door, while trying to convince herself that her place should be beside Ron. Not wanting to think too hard on the matter, she decided to stay. She gently took Ron's hand in hers and sat back on the bed. She placed a small kiss on his forehead and tenderly brushed back his ruff of red hair. It was only after sleep claimed him that Hermione left to find Harry.

She found him in the boys' room in the South Tower. He was busy tossing objects here and there from out of his trunk while muttering curses under his breath. Every now and then he would stuff an item into a rucksack that was on his bed. He didn't even pay her entrance into the room notice. Draco had been sitting on his bed watching Harry's frenzy with a studied measure of interest and disdain.

“Draco,” she said to him, “could you please give Harry and I a few minutes alone?”

The Slytherin looked completely displeased with the request, but before he could open his mouth and toss off one of his typical smart arsed remarks, Hermione looked him directly in the eye.

“Please?” she asked again.

Draco took one look at her pleading face before briefly nodding his head and walking out the door.

“Neat trick,” Harry said barely glancing at her as he continued to rummage through his trunk in search of something. “Did you also teach him how to roll over and play dead?”

Hermione ignored the remark.

“Where are you going?”

Harry continued his search for whatever item was eluding him by moving things to the floor. He was now on his belly rooting his hands under the bed.

“Harry?” she tried again, closing the distance between them though her feet felt as though they were made of lead. “Aren't you even going to answer me?”

She tried to keep a hurt, saddened note out of her voice, but it still seemed to come out if the annoyed and exasperated look that Harry shot her was any indication.

He stopped what he was doing and stared her down with his green, steel eyed gaze. He rose up from the floor, a silver and red feather quill in his hand, and asked, “Why, Hermione? I tell you a lie; you know it's a lie. I tell you the truth, you already knew the answer.”

His embittered laugh came out as a snort.

“Why bother?”

“Harry, Ron...”

She turned her head for a moment to think of something to say.

“Ron will be ok. Ron will get better,” she finally settled on as she tried to smile at him reassuringly.

The smile, however, died due to the contempt she felt surging from him.

“Listen, I know you're upset...”

He threw the quill down on the bed and looked at her disbelievingly.

“UPSET?!” he bellowed. “UPSET?! My best mate...the bloke who is the closest thing in the world I'll ever have to a brother is hanging to life by a thread and you think that I'm just upset?!”

He shook his head as he turned his back to her dismissively.

“Good to know how much you care about your own boyfriend there, Hermione.”

If he had been looking for some way to hurt her, some way to pick at the scabs she had covering her own self-loathing and doubt, he had found the perfect weapon in his words. But instead of shrinking back from them, the fighter in her struck back. She grabbed him by the arm and wrenched him back around so he could see just how seriously she took his jibe.

“Don't you dare talk to me like that! DON'T YOU EVER SPEAK THAT WAY TO ME AGAIN!” she shouted as she wiped furiously at the tears that had begun to fall fast down her cheeks. “Do you think you are the only person hurting here, Harry?! Do you really think that I'll ever get the sound of Ron screaming for his mother out of my head?! Do you really think that lowly of me?!”

At the sight of Hermione's teary face something in Harry just seemed to collapse. He sunk down onto the bed wearily and hung his head.

“No,” he simply said.

Hermione knelt down on the floor before him and gathered both of his hands in hers.

“Good,” she said as a tiny smile curved her lips. “Because I think it would break my heart to discover that the person I believe in more than anyone in this world thought so little of me.”

“It's just...” Harry paused in frustration trying to find the proper words to continue. “It's just that they are doing it again, Hermione! I have people telling me what they think I should know. If Dumbledore hadn't done that to me maybe Sirius would still be alive. Now the same thing has possibly cost me Remus...almost Ron...”

Hermione felt guilt slice through her belly. Wasn't she just as guilty of doing the same thing to Harry? Wasn't she culpable of the same crime? Keeping things from Harry, for his own good, she would tell herself. Not telling him things for fear of what his reaction would be, for fear of what the truth would do to them all. No, she told herself. There was a good reason to keep it from him! She just had to keep reminding herself that every waking minute.

Harry's grip on her tightened, painfully almost, as she brought her attention back to him.

“I won't let them take you away from me! I won't! I WON'T!” he cried.

Whether he was trying to force her to believe it or himself, she wasn't sure, but she somehow managed to release Harry's hold on one of her hands so she could bring it up to his face and lovingly caress his cheek.

“This ends now, Hermione! I'm taking the fight to him now!”

“But we haven't even destroyed all of the Horcruxes, Harry−”

“THEN I'LL KILL HIM AGAIN!” he exclaimed. “AND AGAIN...AND AGAIN! And I'll keep killing him until Riddle gets the fucking message and stays dead this time! I can't sit around waiting any longer.”

He wrapped damp fingers around the hand that still stroked at his face.

“I can't wait anymore, Hermione; too much is at stake now.”

“But what about the sword, Harry?” she asked. “McGonagall is not going to just allow you to waltz in her office and...”

Before Hermione could finish her sentence, Harry pulled his wand out of the pocket of his baggy cargo kecks. He then picked up the feather that lay on the bed next to where he sat. He pointed his wand at it and said, “Reverto”. Before her very eyes Hermione watched the ordinary quill transform itself into Gryffindor's ruby encrusted blade.

“Harry!” Hermione gasped, voice registering clear amazement at his ingenuity. She even smiled as she saw Harry modestly duck his head for a moment to hide the scarlet blush on his cheeks.

“McGonagall has the actual quill,” he told her. “I figured something like this would happen. I've been changing them back and forth for the last few weeks.”

Hermione grinned at him, eyes brimming with pride.

“Well, despite your blatant paranoia, it was a brilliant move!”

Harry's bashful smile slowly wilted as he carefully laid the sword down next to him and pulled Hermione into a forceful embrace. Not knowing what else to do, she wrapped her own arms around his waist and pressed her face into the cotton of his shirt. She was too scared to speak, too scared of what words would come tumbling out of her mouth, so instead she said nothing at all. Just breathed in his clean crisp scent of sandalwood and spice that she often imagined clung to the air when she awakened most mornings. As tears sprang to her eyes, she closed them tightly and silently prayed that she wouldn't sob into his shirt.

“We can't fight Riddle by committee any longer. We've been doing this wrong all along, don't you see?” Harry pleaded as he bowed his head into her unruly curls. She could almost picture his lips lightly pressed into the veil of her dark hair.

“Don't fight me on this,” he murmured faintly. “It all falls on me now. That's the way it has to be and this is what I have to do. Tell me you understand that, Hermione. Please.”

It was in that moment that Hermione realized that she didn't want to tell him she understood; she wanted to show him. She wanted to show him what it felt like to do something your heart begged of you. She wanted to let him know that she understood what it meant to want to give yourself over to that urge deep inside that demanded to be fulfilled. She could so easily see herself surrendering to that calling even now, even at this moment when it felt like their world was falling to pieces around them.

How very easy would it be to just give in? Just a lift of her head would bring Harry's lips in contact with her own. Sure he would be confused, especially when she snaked her arms around his neck in an effort to fuse their two bodies together, but once she made the move to push him back onto the bed she was sure she could find some way to dispel his uncertainty. Maybe she could sway his doubts by unfastening the buttons of his blue shirt one by one until she pulled back the material to reveal the smooth, hairless flesh she knew lay beneath. She could then allay his fears by tracing a single fingernail in a swirling, looping pattern up the length of his chest, and then follow that trail back down using only her tongue.

Or she could just cut to the chase, straddle him, and methodically grind him into an erection until her name was the only coherent word he could manage.

What male teenager would turn that down? What randy, quivering ball of 17 old boy would not take from a girl in his lap what she so obviously wished to give, regardless of who it was? At least that's what the soothing, persuasive, oh so compelling voice crooned in her ears. Do it Hermione, it seemed to say. Take it, Hermione. He wants it too can't you see, it hissed. Ginny may have the rest, but this you can claim. You would be the first, Hermione. No one else, it would always be you...always you. It can be his and your secret. And you'll always have the memory of it if Harry should die...

“NO!” she cried out as she forcefully threw herself backwards from out of Harry's arms, successfully landing herself on her bottom. Her eyes screwed shut as she clamped her hands over her ears to block out that voice. To quiet that voice! Dear Merlin, when would she ever stop hearing it?!

“NO!” she shouted again and again. “No! No! No! No! No!”

When Hermione finally opened her eyes again the sight that greeted her was Harry's completely flummoxed face looking at her worriedly. He looked completely taken aback by her hysterical fit. He tried to ask her what had brought about such a reaction, but Hermione merely shook her head and cut him off as she scuttled back over to him on her hands and knees.

“I won't let you go!” she told him fiercely, kneeling directly in front of him again. “I won't let you go without me!”

Judging by Harry's frowning face this news did not please him.

“Not going to happen,” he said as he firmly shook his head. “It was sweet and touching the way that you and Ron sacrificed so much to come with me this far, but this is where it ends! You are not coming with me!”

“The hell I'm not!” Hermione retorted as she rose from the floor and folded her arms across her chest. “I'm not the girl who sits at the window and waits for the great conquering hero to return. I'll never be that girl! I'm the girl who is going to be right by your side making sure that you stay alive. And if you think otherwise then you really are mad!”

During all of this Harry had gotten up from the bed, re-transfigured the sword into a quill, and began packing his bag again. He pretended as though he couldn't hear Hermione nattering on, but it was obvious by the surly look on his face that he was hearing every word. Hermione was shocked that there weren't little puffs of steam shooting out of his ears.

“I'm going with you, Harry,” she said again calmly.

“NOW YOU LISTEN TO ME,” he said, having heard enough of her foolishness, jabbing his finger in the air at her. “YOU ARE GOING TO STAY RIGHT HERE WITH RON AND–”

“AND WHAT, HARRY?!” Hermione shouted as she came closer to him.

This action only caused him to take a step back.

“And what?! When Ron wakes up again and asks me why the hell I'm not with you, helping you, protecting you like he and I both agreed, just what am I supposed to tell him? How am I supposed to look him in the eye? If our roles were reversed and I was the one in the Infirmary Ron would follow after you just the same! AND YOU KNOW THIS!”

Before Hermione could even register it, Harry had bounded up to her and grabbed her roughly by her arms. He shook her roughly as he frantically searched her eyes.

“DON'T YOU GET IT?!” he roared as he gave her another shake. “THAT VERY WELL COULD BE YOU! Do you know what that would do to me?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA?!”

Hermione pulled herself from his grasp, but didn't step back from him.

“Do you know what it will do to me knowing that you are out there, somewhere needing me, and I can't get to you?”

The question seemed to strike some chord in Harry. He despondently sighed as he turned away from her and crossed to the other side of the room to put as much distance between them as he could. His hand tugged roughly at his hair. Hermione, however, wasn't going to let him get away that easily.

“Now the way I see it,” she said as she slowly trailed after him, “we could do this two ways. You could either wait right here while I run and get the bag I've had packed for weeks in case something like this were to happen. Or you could slip out of the castle and just take off. But know this, I will come after you. No matter how hard you work to cover your tracks, no matter where you decide to hide; I will try to find you. And maybe I will. Or maybe I'll get lost in the Forbidden Forest and an acromantula will happen on me and tear me limb from limb. But make no mistake, Harry; I will not just stay put. Now you decide which.”

She stopped right behind him. As he turned his agonized, tormented eyes towards her she felt her heart hitch. Harry's green eyes seemed to beg her not to make this so hard, but Hermione knew that she fully meant every word she said and had no intention of taking any of it back.

“You're not being fair,” he half-pleaded, half-protested.

“I don't care,” she wholeheartedly replied.

“YOU COULD DIE!”

“I don’t care!” She said this just as earnestly as the first time.

Hermione could see the inner debate that raged inside of Harry play out on his face. She knew that Harry would risk his own life to keep her safe and from harm. But she also knew that there was no way that Harry was leaving the castle unless she was attached to his hip somehow. Long ago she and Ron had made a decision to see this thing with Harry through to the very end. Although Ron wouldn't be able to make this final step with them in body, Hermione knew that he would be right along with them in spirit. But no matter what, no matter how this all finished, Harry was not going to face it alone. If she had to beat this realization into him with her own small fists she would! Luckily he looked like he had come to the same conclusion.

“Change into some dark clothing and get your bag,” he told her resolutely, his eyes alight with acceptance as he eked out a painful smile for her benefit.

Hermione only stared at him for a moment before she grabbed him in a quick hug that seemed to take the wind out of him then turned for the door. She was about to cross the threshold when a small stab of fear entered her heart. What if he was just placating her? What if Harry was just saying what he knew would get her out of the way for a moment so he could escape the castle with her being none the wiser?

Hermione turned back to see Harry still packing his bag. She opened her mouth to accuse him of this very thing, but couldn't bring herself to say it. Thankfully Harry happened to look her way at that very moment.

“I'll still be here,” was what he said; effectively dissolving her insecurities. She shyly smiled and began to turn and walk out the door again when suddenly another issue occurred to her.

“Harry,” she began as she started towards him again, “how are we going to get to Azkaban?” she asked. “Did you transfigure your broom too?”

Harry sighed as he pushed his glasses, which had slid down his nose, up again.

“'Fraid not,” he said gloomily. “I didn't expect McGonagall to confiscate the Firebolt. But don't worry, it's alright.”

“Sure it is,” she said brightly. “We could use Ron's broom or...or...one of the school brooms.”

Hermione didn't bother suggesting Buckbeak. After Harry's dramatic exit from earlier, Hermione had overheard the Headmistress telling Hagrid to lock up all of the flying beasts. Hagrid didn't look like he was too fond of filling the request, but Hermione was sure he complied.

“Seriously Hermione, I've got it covered. We won't be needing a broom. I have a plan.”

Though the word “plan” alone should have given her pause, Hermione looked at Harry bewilderedly and asked, “Then how are we going to get there?”

At her question a mischievous grin formed on Harry's innocent seeming face. If ever a look told Hermione that she was not going to like the answer, this look said it. She actually found herself wanting to swallow a huge lump in her throat, but found her mouth dry as sand and unable to accomplish it.

“Let's just say I have an alternate means of transportation,” Harry said.

And then he winked.

Hermione finally found what she needed to swallow that lump.

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

If she knew the circumstances in which she would be flying through the near dusk sky, Hermione wouldn't have changed her decision to go with Harry to Azkaban. That being said, Hermione didn't think she much cared for riding around on motorcycles! Especially ones that so blatantly disregarded the laws of gravity.

When she became aware of what the so-called plan entailed she had to fight off the compulsion to scream her head off and sprint in the opposite direction. Harry actually had the nerve to smirk at the sight of her stricken face. It was that alone that forced Hermione to straighten her shoulders, lift her chin superiorly, and gracefully climb onto the machine behind him. She couldn't help it if she yelped out loud and clutched his midsection tightly when he playfully revved the engine.

Hermione might have enjoyed his mirth even though it was at her own expense; that he could still find some lightness in such a dark moment, if she hadn't been too busy trying not to lose her lunch (no pun intended) on the back of Harry's dark cloak. For such a frequent traveler Hermione was actually deathly afraid of flying. Her years spent at Hogwarts hadn't cured her of this either. She was a witch who had an unnatural aversion to brooms. And though she had gotten over her initial wariness of the creatures, hippogriffs and thestrals gave her no comfort either. She would have still preferred any of these options in place of sneaking off to Azkaban on a bloody flying motorcycle!

She assumed Harry inherited it along with the rest of Sirius' estate, but she hadn't the foggiest idea when he might have learned to ride the blasted thing. Instead of asking though, she decided to focus all of her attention on not swallowing her tongue. Still, despite her terror that any moment she would go splat, Hermione had to admire the confidence and ease in which Harry guided the motorcycle through the sky. He was just so naturally good at almost anything he put his mind to. In her mind's eye she could almost see the look of pure rapture on his face, triumph in his eyes that was ever present when he mastered something. It would be the same expression he wore when he knocked Draco's blade from his hands after executing a difficult move, or held the Snitch up high for everyone in the stands to see. It was that look that often sent shivers down Hermione's spine, like it did now just thinking about it.

She felt some of her jittery nerves settle as she tightened her hold on Harry and rested her cheek against his strong and surprisingly wide back. Although Ron might have been the more physically impressive of the two boys, that is if you liked your men roughly the size of the Alaskan arctic polar bear, in Hermione's opinion something had to be said about broad shoulders that tapered down to slim waists, nicely defined arms, compact wiry frames, and a bum that would make any witch go...ARGH! Goddamned these ruddy hormones!

Azkaban prison was located on an island called Out Stack in the North Sea. It was part of the Shetland Islands, but was considered uninhabitable by Muggles. To those without magical eyes it was little more than an outcrop in the middle of nowhere and of no use to anyone. However for hundreds of years Azkaban, as the island eventually came to be known as well was the place thousands upon thousands of criminals who ran afoul of the British Ministry of Magic called home.

When transporting a prisoner to the island, the guilty wizard or witch would be brought to the tiny inlet of Moray Firth where a portkey station was located. The prisoner, chained between two high ranking Aurors, would be handed a scroll detailing the crimes they were guilty of which would then portkey all three of them to Unst, Shetland. From there the Aurors and their charge would go by boat to the small landing dock on Azkaban. During the calm, before the dementors sided with Voldemort, they would be the ones waiting to take the prisoner from the Aurors and lead him to the end of his sad journey; his cell. After the dementors left, this job fell to retired Hit Wizards. Once their time had been served, provided that they hadn't received a life sentence, the prisoner would go through the entire process in reverse receiving a portkey (in the form of his freedom papers) after landing in Unst again. After arriving in Moray Firth he was allowed to pursue what little was left of his life from there.

Sirius had shared all of this with Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins once on a long ago afternoon at Grimmauld Place during their holiday break. Fred had asked him to tell them all about being taken to Azkaban and his miraculous escape. It was a day when Sirius was feeling particularly blue and had thought nothing of telling the kids such things. That is until Mrs. Weasley came into the room, gave him the evil eye, and shepherded all of the youngsters out of the parlor. Of course they all knew that Sirius had followed an alternate route off of the island, but because of the interruption they never got a chance to hear what it was. It might have been helpful to Harry and Hermione now, but once the dawn began to break and they had been flying around for hours, they decided to rest awhile, wait for nightfall, and continue on with their journey from there.

They came to a stop in the small northern village of John o' Groats in Caithness that was at the very tip of Scotland. Needing a place to stay, they happened on an out of the way farmhouse that had been converted into a bed and breakfast by its enterprising owner. Upon discussing with the proprietor, a Mrs. Kerr, the possibility of renting two rooms they learned to their dismay that two rooms was all the inn had, one of which was already taken. Hermione wished that the bony faced old woman hadn't mentioned the fact that it had been a room with twin beds, but she seemed rather proud that two scientists from Glasgow had decided to stay at her little B&B to study the colony of puffins that called the coastal town home.

Having bragged on this at length, she informed Harry and Hermione that the only other room she had was the “Honeymoon Suite”, but being a decent Christian woman, she only allowed married couples to rent it out. She then distrustfully eyed the pair up and down. The two teenagers were clothed in their cloaks and each carried only a knapsack with them. With their young faces and wind blown hair they probably looked like a couple of trouble making hooligans to her. The huge motorcycle parked in the barn probably did little to dispel that assumption. Before Mrs. Kerr could turn them away though, Harry grabbed Hermione by the waist, pulled her to his side, and smilingly told the woman that it was lucky for all of them then that he had just married the pretty girl in his arms the day before. When Hermione let out a squeak of shock Harry, in a confidential-like stage whisper, told the inn keeper that his new bride was just a bit out of sorts. She had been set to marry another bloke when he stopped the ceremony, stole the bride, and ran for Gretna Green to elope with her. Now he and his new wife were on the run from her parents and the disgruntled ex-groom.

At this romantic and ridiculously convoluted story Mrs. Kerr's reticence towards them seemed to just melt. She told them that she just couldn't stand in the way of young love. Hermione had her own suspicions that Harry's green eyed gaze and charming smile that was just as good as any weapon also had something to do with her change of heart. When Mrs. Kerr asked them to follow her back to her guest book so she could sign them in, she asked what name to put the blushing newlyweds down as. With an infuriatingly straight face Harry told her, “Mr. and Mrs. Norris”. As they were shown to their room, Hermione quietly grumbled under her breath so only Harry could hear her displeasure at being named after the damned cat.

Once in the grand Honeymoon Suite that consisted of a full sized bed, a night stand on both sides of it, and a small wardrobe, Hermione entered the connecting bathroom to wash her face. At least that was the excuse she gave Harry after she watched him take off his cloak and slump onto the bed without even taking off his trainers. At the sight of his form draped across the mattress, Hermione needed to leave the room fast so she could calm down her fluttering heart. She knew that somehow she would end up in the bed with Harry.

It wasn't like she could force him to the floor, the poor boy was exhausted from their long flight and he needed a restful nap. And if Hermione even made the pretense of bedding down on the carpet Harry would forbid it. The eventual stalemate would eventually lead them to sleeping side by side. Although sleeping next to him wouldn't be a new experience for her, doing so without Ron on the other side of Harry would be. Hermione was terrified of the prospect! She could almost hear that voice again, urging her on to what she knew she wanted to do. But Hermione was determined to drown that voice out.

On the counter top of the sink sat a stack of small paper cups. She took one, filled it with water from the tap, and after taking off her heavy cloak she pulled a glass vial from out of the pocket of her jeans. She mixed the contents of the vial with the water knowing that it would only dilute the taste of it. She lifted the cup to her lips and was about to drink from it when she heard Harry cry out from the adjoining room. She put the cup down and was out the door in a flash.

She found Harry on the bed, writhing and wailing in the grips of one of his night terrors. Hermione was used to this scene by now and knew the signs well. She crept to the side of the bed, shook him awake, and found herself in his arms again after his eyes took in her concerned face. She didn't bother asking what it was he dreamt of because she already knew. Death. It was always death. Hers, Ron's, Ginny's, all of the other Weasleys; it was always death.

Once she felt his breathing return to normal she pulled out of his embrace, closed the blinds to darken the room, and returned to the bathroom. She filled another paper cup with water, picked up the one she hadn't drank from yet, and walked back into the room. By this point Harry was sitting up in the bed, back against the headboard, long legs out before him. He had only his socks on his feet, though Hermione wasn't sure if he had taken off his shoes or if they had gotten kicked off during his tossing and turning from before. Whichever the case, she walked up to him and waited patiently for him to take the cup of water from her that she offered. Harry, however, chose to stare straight ahead, unblinking, as he studied the barren white wall in front of him. Hermione started to worry after he hadn't spoken for a while, his face looked just as blank as the wall, but when he finally began to talk his words held no comfort for her either.

“Hermione, if I die I want you and Ron to go on and try and live a happy life. I don't want you two to mourn for me.”

Hermione gasped and her hands began to shake as water from both cups sloshed over their rims. She had to force herself to breathe in and out slowly. She also mentally counted to ten so she didn't just lose it right there in front of him.

It wasn't so much what he said that made it feel like someone was slowly suffocating her, robbing her of oxygen to her heart. It was the stark resignation with which he said it. He might have said “if”, but he full well meant “when”. Harry was preparing himself for his believed inevitable death, and because he cared for her, he wanted her to be ready for it too.

When he would plan Quidditch plays he would often try to visualize the game to its finale. Was that what he was doing now? On the verge of entering the biggest match of his life, was he preparing for defeat in case he fumbled the Snitch? As the realization of all of this sunk in, Hermione suddenly felt filled with fury. She didn't know who she was angrier at; herself for actually using a dumb Quidditch analogy or him for giving up so easily. Seeing as how she was a bit worn out from beating up on herself, for once she decided to turn the full brunt of her wrath on him. How dare he, she inwardly seethed. How dare he think she would even allow him to leave Ron and her! He didn't want them to mourn him, did he? Her eyes narrowed as she answered his request.

“Good, because we won't.”

Harry's head swiveled towards her and shock was plainly apparent on his face. Whatever he had been expecting her to say, that wasn't it. He tried to splutter out a response, but Hermione wouldn't allow him to. She shoved the paper cup into his hands instead and downed her own cup of the water in a single swallow. She then crumpled the cup in her hand and threw it on the night stand next to her.

“You don't have to worry about us mourning after you, Harry,” she told him as she folded her arms bossily. “Because you are not going to die!”

Harry sighed sadly and drank his water. After placing his cup on the stand, he looked at her angry face again.

“The thing is I might die,” he said. “Even if I somehow manage to kill Riddle, I might die as well.”

He stretched himself out on the bed so that he could rest his arms under his head like a pillow. He turned his glassy eyes up towards the ceiling.

“I just think that you should be ready for it, that's all.”

“Harry...”

“I'm ok with it,” he said in a resolute tone. “I've accepted it. Ever since I was born all I've ever known was death.” Harry glanced at her briefly before saying, “I really am ok, Hermione. I've made my peace with it.”

If he had been hoping to comfort her by telling her all this he couldn't have found a worse way to go about it. What ever reticence Hermione had originally held when they walked through the door of the room instantly vanished as she purposefully climbed on the bed and knelt beside him.

“Now I'm willing to take a lot of stuff from you Harry James, but I will not just stand by and allow you to feel sorry for yourself!”

Harry's eyes slowly closed, yet Hermione knew by the pinched, argumentative look on his face that he still heard every word of her upbraid.

“All you've ever known was death?” she asked him disbelievingly. “Well what about love, Harry? Haven't you known love? You know your parents loved you. What about Ginny? What about Dumbledore...Sirius...Ron?”

She lay down on her side and positioned herself so she could look at Harry's tranquil, upturned face. In a voice, barely audible, she asked, “What about me?”

Harry's calm face screwed up momentarily as he mumbled in a groggy, confused voice a single name.

“Ginny?”

Hermione felt the sob bubble in her chest, begging to be expelled, but she fought it down. She wanted to just drown in her misery, just succumb to the ever present heartache that was her constant companion, but she knew that now was not the time. Harry still needed her. Harry was what was important, not her own petty wants and desires. She needed to do whatever it took to get him to the last leg of his journey. She would say anything if it meant that he would hold on to some hope. After all, that was all they had now, hope.

“Yes,” she said, a single tear running down her cheek, “Ginny.”

She then reached her hand out to touch his hair, but thinking better of it, drew it back.

“You've known love. However right now you are letting the darkness swallow you. You have to fight it, Harry! Don't let it blind you to all the good you've had in your life because if you do, we're all sunk.”

Getting no response with that, Hermione slowly moved so she could lie on her back next to him. Although she tried her best not to physically touch him; puberty, and the size of the bed made that virtually impossible. Even through her thick jumper she could still feel the heat from his body. His very nearness was almost enough to overwhelm her, but she would not give into the need to lay her head on his chest. Instead she found a tiny crack in the ceiling above them and chose to focus on that instead. She never took her eyes from that spot, even as she began to speak again.

“You know, when I was a little girl my Nan used to tell me this old Irish fairytale about this magical land called Tír na nÓg. There was no death in Tír na nÓg. There was no old age in Tír na nÓg. The people of Tír na nÓg knew nothing of disease, hardship...suffering. And it was because of this those poor people never experienced joy. With nothing to compare it to, how would they ever have recognized it if they had. Don't you see Harry, you've known pain and sadness, but by that same token you have also known happiness, and friendship, and...and love. And that's what it's going to take to bring down Voldemort. Whatever you do remember that, use it, hold on to it. Don't discount it. Ok, Harry?”

Noticing that she hadn't heard a peep from him through out her speech, Hermione turned on her side as she said again, “Ok?”

The sight of Harry's peacefully resting face was all the answer she found. Hermione smiled. The Dreamless Sleep hadn't wasted much time taking effect.

When she nicked the vial out of Madame Pomfrey's supplies she barely wasted a guilty thought over her little act of thievery. She hadn't even been aware that she was going to take it until she was quickly sliding the glass tube into her pocket. Before she could contemplate what she had done any further, she was already running back towards Ron's bed in hopes of helping him.

But it was no accident that she picked up the potion. Since September she had been visited night after night with dreams she knew would never come true. Though her outward appearance gave no sign of it, inside Hermione felt like she was slowly coming undone. She needed some respite from her mind's night time wanderings and the Dreamless Sleep looked to be just the answer. Besides being a mild sedative, the potion would relieve her of the world she escaped to every time she closed her eyes in sleep. Not that these were nightmares she experienced, far from it. Hermione's dreamscape was a world that was peaceful, most times naughty, but always filled with so much heart rending beauty and love that she often found herself wanting to close her eyes again just to fall back into it as soon as she woke up each morning.

But it wasn't real! And it could never be real. And Hermione was tired of having to endure it. She had finally decided to take the easy way out. When her eyes fell on the potion vial she knew that if she took it no dreams would plague her sleep for once. She had every intention of drinking it once they arrived at the farmhouse, but when she heard Harry cry out in his sleep she knew that someone needed the draught far more than she did. So if the only thing she could give Harry was one restful night's sleep before he went off to meet his destiny, then that is what she would do.

And that is what she did.

After Hermione watched the gentle rise and fall of Harry's chest for a time, she edged closer to him on the bed and ever so gently placed her head on his shoulder. She knew that she wouldn't disturb his sleep; still she was very careful not to mix around too much. Once she found a comfortable position for herself, she turned her eyes up to his face and stared longingly at it as she waited for sleep to descend upon her. After yawning once, and feeling the gentle downward tug of her eyelids, Hermione whispered a soft goodnight and closed her eyes. Before all thought left her though she finally said the words she had only ever spoken in her dreams.

“I'm in love with you, Harry.”

And for a few hours after that, Hermione Granger knew a bit of peace.

“...how long have you been in love with Harry Potter?”

Hermione slowly opened her eyes and found herself trapped in the gaze of the gray eyed wizard before her. To look at her one would think that Draco's words had no effect, but Hermione's stomach felt like a typhoon had swept through it and wrecked her from the inside.

Draco knew! Or if he didn't quite know the all of it yet, he wasn't that far off from piecing it together.

She ducked her head down and closed her eyes again as she frantically thought of something to say, something to distract him. But she could still feel Draco's icy, penetrating stare. It seemed to look right through to her very soul, and any lie or flippant remark she tried to think of to toss back at him seemed useless and ridiculous. The only answer that would work now would be the truth, Draco wouldn't settle for anything less and wouldn't stop hounding her until he got it.

But the very thought of telling someone...anyone the secret she had held on to for so many years was too inconceivable a notion. Especially Draco! Telling Draco Malfoy a secret like this would be akin to putting a pair of scissors in the hands of a three year old child and saying, “Here, go play in traffic”. It had the potential to be a disaster of epic proportions. Titanic. Hindenburg. Showgirls. This could only end badly!

Oh but to be able to tell someone...Finally! To let go of the burden. The desire to unload her trove of secrets was almost too strong to resist. And Hermione found herself wondering why she should resist it. She trusted Draco, didn't she? If she swore him to secrecy he would hold to it, wouldn't he? And it wasn't like Draco didn't know how to keep quiet when it was important. The War taught her that. So maybe Draco could be her confidant. Maybe Draco could be the one she finally revealed everything to. Maybe it was time to tell someone. She was so tired of always hiding behind lies. And yet...

And yet...

And yet...even now when she had made the decision to finally come clean, something inside her still fought to protect what her heart had guarded so jealously for all these years. She had become too adept to hiding behind false smiles. She was a master at subterfuge. So instead of answering the question the way she should have, she instead looked Draco directly in his eyes and asked a question of her own.

“Is it that obvious?”

“Um...” said Draco, searching for something to say. “Not really,” he answered uneasily, sounding as if he had been caught off-guard by the question. “I was just taking a stab in the dark there, I guess.”

An uncomfortable chuckle escaped from him.

Hermione stared at Draco, mouth open, as disbelief, and more importantly rage slowly filtered through her system. She'd been had!

“WELL,” she snitted waspishly as she jumped up from the footstool, “IT'S GOOD TO KNOW THAT I CAN BLAME MY NERVOUS BREAKDOWN ON YOUR FUCKING STAB IN THE DARK! AND WHEN THEY FIND YOUR COLD, DECOMPOSING BODY THE COURTS WON'T HAVE A HARD TIME FINDING A MOTIVE. BECAUSE MAKE NO MISTAKE...I AM GOING TO KILL YOU!!!” she roared, eyes blazing. Her hands were balled into trembling fists at her sides and she looked just a hair's breadth away from attacking him.

“Settle down Pet, settle down. Don't you think you are taking this a bit too seriously?” Draco asked with his usual Malfoy smirk, though he seemed a tad out of sorts.

“PET?!” she fumed. “PET?! ARGH! I don't even know why I allowed you to ever call me that! It's...it's...demeaning!”

“Well, that one time I called you 'Cookie', you stomped on my foot. After that I thought we both just decided that 'Pet' was the lesser of two evils.”

“Well I don't like it! I FORBID YOU TO CALL ME THAT FROM NOW ON!” she said as she stomped her foot.

“Alright then,” Draco lightly conceded, “my little Pumpkin Pastie.”

Hermione obstinately stomped her foot again.

“YOU UNIMAGINEABLE BASTARD!”

“Unoriginal, and somewhat lacking in teeth. Come now Pet, surely you can do better than that,” he teased, though not with as much vigor as was his norm.

“ARG! YOU ARE THE MOST GALLING, INSUFFERABLE, SUPERCILIOUS SON OF A BITCH THAT I HAVE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF BREATHING THE SAME AIR WITH!”

“Merlin!” he exclaimed in surprise. “I think that one might have actually hurt my feelings.”

Hermione made a snarling sound and turned away from him in disgust. She began angrily pacing the area just in front of the scroll top desk, muttering curses as Draco watched helplessly.

“Look, Pe–”

Draco stopped mid-word as Hermione's head snapped around to him and her eyes turned into slits.

“Hermione, what the hell has gotten into you? I was just joking. I didn't think you would take it that seriously,” he tried to explain as he put his hand up before him to hold her off. “I'm sorry that I offended you. If you want to just drop the whole thing I–”

“SINCE I WAS SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD!” Hermione cried out, effectively cutting off the rest of Draco's explanation. Her eyes were wet with tears and she began taking quick, short breaths.

A very bewildered Draco looked at the teary eyed woman before him and didn't know quite what to make of her.

“W-what?” he asked haltingly.

Hermione leaned back against the desk and closed her eyes tightly, mortified at her outburst. When she opened her eyes again Draco's befuddled face spurred her on as she said, “You asked me how long; since I was 17 years old. At least...” she paused, her voice sounding as though she were lost, “at least that's how old I was by time I was forced to realize it.”

Draco rose from his seat, completely astounded by her revelation.

“You can't be serious,” he said, a rigid smile frozen on his face.

Any moment he was sure she would yell out a well timed, 'gotcha'. But the look on Hermione's face let Draco know that such a wait would be in vain.

“But...but that's impossible. You couldn't have been in love with Potter then. I mean...Weasleby and...and,” he paused, clearly at a loss for words. “You just couldn't have been!”

“But I was. I still am!”

Draco's hand went to his head and plucked at his hair as he tried to comprehend what he was being told.

“I was actually joking with you about Potter,” he said, mostly to himself. “I never dreamed...”

He looked back towards her.

“I figured you would just make one of your snappy little comments, I would say something equally brilliant as always, and then we'd revel in how terribly clever we both are. Like usual. I never expected you to actually answer the question. Not really. At least not that way. At least...at least I don't think I did.”

He dropped back down on the settee, exhausted from thinking too hard.

“Or maybe I've always known,” he mumbled so lowly that Hermione barely caught it. “And what do you mean you were forced to realize it?” he asked urgently as he looked back up at her. “Did someone do something to you? Did they hurt you? Did Potter...”

“NO!” she hysterically shouted as she quickly crossed the carpet back to Draco. “HARRY DID NOTHING! HE DID NOTHING!”

“I SHOULD SAY SO!” he bellowed as his brows knitted together. “THAT'S JUST THE PROBLEM! THAT FUCKING SELFISH GIT!” Draco barked as he began rubbing his hands together so roughly it looked like he would rub them raw.

He looked so angry that Hermione doubted he could even see straight.

“Always walking around, beating his chest, ready to maim or bludgeon any bloke who so much as looked at you when he knew...”

At that very moment Draco's eyes glimpsed up at Hermione's terrified face. The wild eyed look of alarm that he saw there immediately dampened his resentful fury of only a second or two beforehand. Draco sighed as he dropped his forehead in his palms.

“Potter doesn't know, does he?”

She scampered to sit before Draco on her knees. She shook her head furiously.

“And he can never know, Draco,” she told him. “Not now, not ever. Do you hear me Draco? You can't tell Harry! YOU JUST CAN'T!”

Draco lifted his head up to meet her eye.

“But Hermione I...”

Draco went silent; he didn't know what to say. To her horror Hermione was beginning to think that maybe telling Draco all of this hadn't been such a smart move after all. He almost seemed reluctant to agree to her.

“This shouldn't be that hard, Draco!” she insisted.

“But he's my partner, Hermione...”

She was livid now! Would Draco actually take Harry's side in this too?! Hermione didn't know what she would possibly do if that were the case.

“YOU'VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!” she shrieked. “YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE HARRY! I mean...you still hate Harry, don't you?”

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. He tried again and said unconvincingly, “Of course I do! Potter is a rotter and all that.”

But Hermione pressed on. She had to get him to promise her that he would keep his mouth shut. She needed that promise!

“Good,” she said slowly as she held his eye. “Then you should have no problem keeping this little secret, right?”

“I...I won't tell.”

“Do I have your word?”

Draco paused only for a moment before answering.

“Y-yes. Of c-course you do.”

Hermione exhaled the breath she had been holding. She almost envisioned Draco telling her that he couldn't promise what she asked of him. But it was silly of her to think that and she silently reproached herself. Draco wouldn't do anything to hurt her. She truly believed that. So she knew where this secret was concerned, Draco would act in her best interest. She could put money on that.

“Thank you,” she weakly said. She put a hand to her chest as if to calm her beating heart and closed her eyes in relief. “Thank you.”

With Draco's pledge taken care of, Hermione felt her whole body relax as she melted onto the floor and leaned the top half of her body on the settee. She barely noticed it when Draco got up to close the library doors. Her mind was truthfully elsewhere.

“I think it was Fourth Year when everything changed,” she said in a low, far away voice. “I've had a lot of time to think about it, and as far as I can tell it was definitely Fourth Year.”

She turned her head towards the doors where Draco still stood.

“Why do things have to change?” she asked bleakly.

“If things stayed the same life would be incredibly dull.”

She smiled a brittle smile at his statement as she turned around fully and sat with her legs folded in front of her.

“I think I would have rather liked dull.”

Draco walked from the door and sat on the footstool next to Hermione. He picked up the forgotten basket of scones on the floor and offered her one. She gave him a grateful smile to thank him for his kindness as she picked one up and took a few mechanical bites of it. As she finished it off Draco put the basket down, and putting both hands on his knees, focused his full attention on her.

“You know, I was crazy about Ron back then.”

It wasn't said in the form of a question.

“All of Hogwarts knew that,” he said dryly.

She softly chuckled at Draco's nasty sneer.

“I thought I fancied Ron something terrible.” She waited a sec for a well aimed barb, but getting none asked, “What, no comment from the peanut gallery?”

Draco rolled his eyes haughtily.

“Well, there's no accounting for bad taste, is there?”

Hermione ignored him. Instead her eyes focused on the pattern of the carpet underneath her. She plucked aimlessly at the Aubusson.

“I realize now that what I liked best about Ron was all the possibilities I saw in him, all the potential. I thought I could change him, make him better. Help him.”

“Like one of your pet projects?”

She looked quickly up at Draco, but seeing no malice in his eyes she nodded her head.

“Yes,” she said mournfully as she ducked her head down again. “Like one of my projects. But I know that I did feel something for Ron once. I just know I did!”

Her brows furrowed as though she were deep in thought.

“And I am almost certain that before Fourth Year I never saw Harry as anything other than a friend. Sometimes...sometimes I wonder if I made myself not see. Maybe I told myself that he was a moving target and that...and that he wasn't worth the bother.”

She almost hid her face at the wretchedness of her admission. But a quick glance at Draco let her know that he didn't think poorly of her for saying it. Draco was the last person to ever sit in judgment of another.

“The Triwizard Tournament started it all,” she continued. “Harry and Ron had that terrible row. Well, I simply refused to choose sides. I split my time between the two of them. I even secretly thought that it worked out pretty well for me since I would get to spend more time alone with Ron. Get closer to him maybe.”

“But you ended up getting closer to Potter.”

“I guess without the distraction of Ron always there I got to know Harry better,” she said as she raised her eyes towards his. “Better yet, I truly liked what I got to know. And Harry actually listened to me, like what I had to say was important. Ron didn't,” she said, lowering her head.

Even though it was the truth, she felt as though she were somehow being disloyal to Ron. After all this time the guilt still seemed so fresh.

“I found myself wanting to be with Harry at times when I was alone with Ron.”

Hermione lifted a hand to her temple and began to rub at the dull throb she felt there.

“I was never so happy then when the two of them finally resolved their issues. Besides them needing each other, I was tired of being confused as hell.”

“And you didn't find that odd?”

“I told myself that it was normal that I should want to spend so much time with Harry. I convinced myself that it was completely understandable why I was always so worried about him, why I felt the need to take care of him. He was the bloody Boy Who Lived; it was my duty to ensure that he did just that. But I should have realized things were different. As I was getting ready for the Yule Ball I wondered if Ron and Harry would say something about how I looked. I actually felt a twinge of jealousy after the Second Task. I blamed it on being the odd man out; that Harry would probably be the person that Ron missed most if their roles were reversed. And while Harry was being menaced by that...that...madman dressed as Moody I...I almost attacked Madame Pomfrey! When we arrived at the Infirmary and Harry wasn't there I nearly lost it. Ron had to hold me back; I didn't give a damned if Molly and Bill were there.”

Hermione inched closer to Draco as she asked feverishly, “How could I not recognize the signs, Draco? I was supposed to be the smart one. How could I have been so blind?”

Draco seemed to ponder her question for a moment. His face took on a wistful expression.

“Most times you don't realize you're in love 'til you're up to your bollocks in it,” he said then smiled wanly at her. “At least that has been my experience.”

Hermione cast her eyes downward. “I suppose you're right.”

An awkward silence filled the room for a moment and Hermione kept her eyes focused on the floor. Searching for anything to quell the looming void she said, “I kissed Harry.”

That did it.

Draco's eyes widened in astonishment. “I thought you said he didn't know how you felt?”

“It was only on the cheek, at King's Cross, at the end of term that year. At the time he probably just thought that I was mental.”

She frowned miserably.

“He probably doesn't even remember it. I was just filled with so much...feeling...for him in that moment that I couldn't stop from making a fool of myself.”

She closed her eyes and tried to force the gloom away. She could almost see that moment right before her; an innocent peck from a young girl to a bespeckled boy. She, too unworldly and immature to comprehend what her body was telling her and him, scarred in countless ways, unable to understand much of anything at all.

“Dad saw the kiss,” she confided as she looked back at him. “What a disaster that was! As soon as we got home he and I had 'the talk'.” She dramatically exaggerated the last two words. “Do you know how painfully clinical 'the talk' is when your parent has a medical degree? There was a film strip and a book with detailed, colorized pictures. Oh, and let's not forget the flowchart. Can you imagine how embarrassing that was?”

Draco leaned in towards her. “Try being 14, locked in a darkened room with a French Squib whore named Fifi, and told 'Happy Birthday'.”

Hermione was appalled. Her jaw dropped before squeaking out, “Fifi?”

Draco nodded his head casually in answer.

“Well...well what happened?” she asked curiously. Hermione wasn't too revolted to voice the pertinent questions.

The nonchalant demeanor of Draco's dropped for a second as his pale cheeks colored.

“Couldn't...um...quite get the dragon to fly, if you catch my meaning,” he muttered quickly.

Hermione turned up her nose in distaste.

“Your father...”

“My mum,” Draco corrected her.

“I sometimes think a pet rat is a better mother. They have the decency to at least eat their young.”

“Stop,” he chided. “Mother did her best.”

To that she merely sniffed.

“Well dad almost put me off sex for years.”

Hermione then tilted her head slightly as she chewed on her lip.

“Now that I think of it; that might have been the plan. Good one dad,” she said as her eyes rolled upward and she smiled genuinely. She chuckled lightly. “Luckily mum was there to take me aside later and tell me that sex was natural and normal and nothing to be ashamed of. But it's not like I was even thinking about that in regards to Harry or Ron.” Then as an afterthought she added, “Yet.”

Realizing her slip of the tongue, Hermione dropped her head to the floor hoping to fall straight through it.

“So...you fancied both of them at one time then?” Draco asked as he kindly ignored her slip of the tongue.

“Yes,” she answered, grateful for the effortless switch of topic.

She sat back up.

“All through Fifth Year I waited patiently for Ron to ask me out to Hogsmeade or to take my hand during a patrol, but he never did. And with Harry, goodness, my behavior was ridiculous! I couldn't seem to stop touching him, hugging him. I even went so far as to ask him to sit and knit house-elf hats with me. Could I have been more transparent?!” she asked disgustedly.

He snickered amusedly. “You tramp!”

“PISS OFF!”

“Sorry,” he said as he tried to conceal his smile. “So Potter and Weasley noticed none of this?”

Hermione snorted disdainfully.

“Ron was too worried about Viktor Krum, and the only girl Harry seemed to notice was Cho.”

“Chang?” questioned Draco as his lips twisted into a salacious grin. “Pucey was an idiot for standing her up like that. What a lovely piece of arse she was. I remember wanting to test run that one back in school and...”

“DRACO!” Hermione gritted out through her teeth. “NOT. HELPING.”

An actual look of contriteness formed on his face this time. She huffed peevishly, stood up from the floor, and wrapped her arms around her as though she were cold. She began to nervously pace again.

“I waited and waited for Ron to make his intentions known. I just knew that once that happened all would be right. But he took so fucking long!” she cried angrily. “You know, I almost died when I was 16 years old and I had never even been kissed!”

“Tragic.”

She rounded on him, throwing her arms wide.

“It was to me! I was so angry when I went home that summer. And confused. I-I...I was nastier than a blast-ended skrewt, I was! And of course my parents were well aware of the situation. One night I heard dad ask mum what was wrong with me. Mum answered, 'boys'. So dad asked her which one, the redhead or the one with the scar. Mum said, 'both'.”

Draco shook his head in amazement.

“Well would you look at that, mother's intuition.”

“Oh, but I was offended by the very idea of it. It made me sound like I was some boy crazy twit! Which was ridiculous, I knew what I wanted! I wanted Ron Weasley! I had wanted Ron Weasley since I was 12! It was ridiculous to think that I was interested in Harry! Like I was some starry eyed fangirl swooning after the hero of the story. How cliché! That's why I came back for Sixth Year determined to make Ron put up or shut up. I was a modern girl, why couldn't I ask him out? So I did. I asked him to Slughorn's Christmas party.”

“I don't recall King Weasel being there.”

“That's because he wasn't,” she told him, resentment rising in her voice. She crossed her arms in front of her. “That's because the stupid, stupid git decided to let Lavender Brown examine his tonsils with her tongue not too long after I invited him.”

“Twat,” Draco sneered.

Hermione didn't bother to correct him.

“I remember watching the two of them going at it like dogs and thinking to myself, 'well this can't be right'. It's not supposed to be Lavender and Ron...it's supposed to be me and Ron. I was so hurt. I felt like the biggest fool in the world! And all I could think was that all of Hogwarts was going to laugh at me, and point, and call me names. Look at Hermione, isn't she just pathetic? Who would want her, they would say. I had to run! I had to hide! But Harry found me.”

Hermione's eyes misted as her voice lowered.

“He wanted to make sure I was ok. He wanted to let me know that he cared. He was such a...a...boy about it,” she said smiling tearfully. “Not knowing what to say, but the intent had been there. It was the sweetest thing. But then Ron came stumbling into the room with...her.”

Her smile twisted bitterly.

“I was supposed to be the scorned woman so I did what I thought was expected of me. I attacked Ron with an Oppugno and a flock of birds.”

Draco sat up smiling winsomely.

“Brill!”

None of Draco's gaiety touched her, though. Hermione sunk down on the settee as though she was weary and her legs couldn't hold her weight any longer. Her face remained stoically still, yet tears coursed down from her eyes.

“I didn't know it then,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “I didn't realize it then because I was so blastedly focused on Ron, but...I think that was it. When Harry came in that classroom, that was the moment...that was the moment.”

“That you fell in love,” Draco said as if completing the rest of the thought for her.

“I didn't know,” she told him pleadingly, begging him to believe her. “I swear I didn't know!”

As always, Draco was weakened by the sight of a crying woman. He stood up to search his pocket for a handkerchief with which his friend could dry her face, wipe her nose. Finding none, he took out his wand and conjured up one for her.

“Thank you,” she said as she took the white scrap of silk out of his hands. She blew at her red nose after dabbing at her eyes. She then handed the soiled hankie back to him. With an upturned nose and a frowning face, he held it between two fingers before promptly setting it on fire and returning his wand to his holster.

“Hermione,” he said as he got down on one knee and kneeled before her, “you were one of the most straight forward witches that I knew. You never failed to give your opinion on any and everything. It was one of your more endearing and annoying traits. I just find it hard to believe that you sat on how you felt for Potter all that time. It makes no sense.”

“That's exactly it, though! I can talk a blue streak about what I think on any given subject. Like right now, I think your hair is entirely too short,” she said as her red eyes drifted up to his scalp. “Do you plan to keep mowing it down until you hit skin?”

Draco scowled at her which she ignored.

“But feelings? Oh, I preferred deciphering thaumaturgical runes to actually analyzing what was going on in my own head. At least those dead, primitive symbols made sense! It simply was illogical to suddenly love Harry! I couldn't accept it. It had been Ron for so long that I wouldn't acknowledge anything else. Now Ginny loving Harry; that made sense. She lived and breathed Harry Potter since she was a child. She wanted to be with him and I was supposed to be her friend and help her.”

Draco's face frowned in distaste.

“Why would you do that?”

“Trust me; I didn't want to at first but...”

Hermione paused for a moment, lost in thought, searching for the right words.

“Ginny can be very...persuasive when she wants something,” Hermione said tactfully. “She can twist you around so that you almost believe the words coming from her mouth.” A single, fat tear slipped down her face as she said, “Especially if you already believed them.”

“A parting gift from the Dark Lord?”

As if suddenly remembering that Draco was in the room with her still, she shook her head freeing herself from her pitiful thoughts.

“Sometimes I think that was there even before Voldemort got his hands on her,” she said. “But that's beside the point. Ginny wanted me to help her get Harry. I was reluctant at first but then lo and behold, out of nowhere, Harry suddenly starts to fancy Ginny back. I mean, it was so bloody obvious! He would stare longingly at her face, at her lips, at her hair.”

Hermione's eyebrows came together.

“Stupid shiny hair!” she added sorely.

Using his better judgment, Draco smothered his snicker.

“You should have seen the victory snog after the big match that year. Right in the middle of the Common room, in front every bloody Gryffindor, Harry kissed her! It was so ridiculously overwrought that all that was needed was Celine Dion screeching in the background to complete the scene.”

“Sounds like you were jealous.”

Rather than deny it she just mutely nodded her head.

“I didn't know it at the time, though. I actually smiled. Harry just looked so...so...happy. He practically walked on air when he and Ginny got together. All I ever wanted for him was to be happy. And it's not like I had too much time for self-reflection, you know!” she countered strongly. “At one point it seemed like our whole little world imploded. You,” Hermione said as she swatted him on the shoulder, “you turned our school into Death Eater central! Bill got hurt, Dumbledore died; we were constantly on the move that summer. The only thing that seemed constant was Ron. He was so sweet. He wanted me. And I...I was so relieved.”

“Relieved?” Draco asked as he took a seat next to her.

“I don't know how else to describe it,” Hermione answered sadly.

Not wanting to press her further in that direction, Draco subtlety changed the topic again.

“Ok, so you and Weasel the Red finally get together. Everything should be perfect...except it's not.”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“YOU, DRACO!” she cried vehemently, voice rising. “YOU...HAPPENED! You brought that demon possessed Cup into our lives and I, like some demented Alice out of a Carrolian nightmare, decided to drink from the stupid thing! Everything went tits up after that!”

“Demon possessed Cu–” Draco began to ask warily, uncertain of what she was talking about before the answer suddenly hit him.

He gasped loudly as he pulled back from her. His eyes never left hers.

“THE CUP!” he said, shock plastered on his face.

Hermione nodded bitterly.

“The goddamned Cup!”

Draco rose slowly as a new idea floated in his head.

“THAT POTION!” he exclaimed, completely keyed up. “The one that Pomfrey couldn't pinpoint...DEAR MERLIN! Hermione, you got whammied by a love potion!”

She had been nodding her head along with him until she heard the last part.

“I...wait, what?!!” she asked bewilderedly.

Draco, however, was on a roll. He began frenetically pacing back and forth in front of her, making odd statements that completely baffled Hermione. She tried to catch his attention and correct him soundly, but it was to no avail.

“When you woke up Potter...SON OF A BITCH! Potter was the only one in that room with you. I remember overhearing Weasleby telling his brother about it. He left the room, probably to go stuff his gut, and he came back to find you awake with Potter hovering over you. Potter would have been the first person you saw! It all makes sense now!”

“Good, then maybe you could fill me in,” she said as she arched an eyebrow.

Draco sat back down, reached for her hands, looked her in her eyes and said, “Hermione, you have been under the thrall of a love potion all this time!”

“I'VE BEEN WHAT?!”

Hermione shook her head as she pulled herself out of Draco's grip and stood up.

“Draco, have you even been listening to me? I was already in love with Harry, a potion didn't do that! The Veritaserum, the Wit Sharpening...while I was knocked out they opened my eyes to the truth that had been there all along, though I fought it tooth and nail. The Discordium then tried to use that against me.”

Draco's brow furrowed as he processed what she said.

“Discordium? What the hell is Discordium?”

“The mystery potion,” she answered, sighing dismally as she walked over to the desk. Her voice sounded detached and she kept her back to him.

“Discordium; also referred to as the Elixir of Eris. It roots around inside you, like a virus, looking for something to go to work on, looking for what it needs to make your world crumble round you, and looking for just the right way to cause discord in you and all around you. It's like an anti-Felix Felicis only ten times worse. It's an execrapotio.”

“A potion with a hex cast on it?”

Hermione turned and smiled wanly at Draco. Potions had been his best subject once.

“Fifteen points for Slytherin,” she said.

Draco wasn't impressed by her joke.

“But how would you have gotten something like that in you? Those have been banned for thousands of years. Severus made mention of them once or twice, but that's all. He never told me...”

Draco shook his head in frustration.

“No Potion Master alive today would even know how to brew one of those,” he argued fervently.

“Lucky for me that old Helga's been dead for about that long, huh?”

“But how did you discover that it was Discordium? Pomfrey was at her wits end trying to figure it out.”

At his question a look of guilt settled on her face causing her to look at her feet in shame.

“That's...that's not exactly true.”

“What do you mean by, 'that's not exactly true'?”

Draco stood up. He sounded terribly displeased at this new piece of information. Hermione kicked at the imaginary dust on the floor in order to avoid his reproving gaze.

“What I mean is, though initially Madame Pomfrey was stumped as to what the potion was, after I woke up and was able to tell her some of my symptoms she was able to identify the Discordium.”

Hermione chanced a look up at Draco. He did not look like a happy camper. She tried to make her voice sound light as she continued.

“As you said, excrapotios are rarely seen anymore and the fact that Hufflepuff made one is a fact that you would have to look through the dustiest of books in the Restricted Section to find. Not too many people like to imagine the staid and matronly founder of Hufflepuff House as the closeted sadist she so obviously was!” she peevishly huffed. “Madame Pomfrey never said anything after she diagnosed me because I swore her to her Healer's oath. Not even Minerva was privy to the information. No one has ever known besides me and Madame Pomfrey what the potion was,” she said slowly, hoping for her words to sink in. “That is until now.”

Their eyes met across the small distance between them and Draco got the subtle message. It was one more secret that he was being entrusted with.

“So what exactly is Discordium? What does it do?” he asked resignedly.

Hermione's face twisted in disgust.

“It's vile...and invasive...and...merciless. It searches inside you for what would cause the most strife in your life. It breeds discontent. And worse of all, you are the person who is solely responsible for your misery. It was always there, buried deep; it just makes you act on it. Once you do that...chaos ensues.”

“And what does the Discordium make you want to act on?”

She cast her eyes down, ashamed to look at him.

“My feelings for Harry.”

“I'm confused,” Draco said as he got up and walked towards her. “How would that cause strife?”

“How would that cause strife?” she asked incredulously. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

Her voice became frantic as it went up a few decibels. She began to feverishly pace again, her hands gesturing about wildly. Draco only stepped back to take it all in.

“WE WERE IN THE MIDDLE OF A WAR! I WAS WITH RON! Harry was practically cracking up from the weight of the world on his shoulders! Could you just imagine if in the midst of all that I suddenly turned to Ron and told him that although I loved him very much I was really in love with Harry? That once again he had come in second place to Harry? Do you have any idea how that would have made him feel?”

Hermione shivered at the very thought.

“Fourth Year would have been a bloody stroll through Hyde Park in comparison! And what about Harry? He'd be trapped in the middle; one best friend hating him for something that he had no control of...AGAIN, and the other one having feelings for him that he did not return.”

She paused as she looked back at Draco.

“Harry didn't need that kind of drama, especially with the threat of Voldemort ever present. Our friendship would have been tested. And though I would like to think it would have passed with flying colors, I honestly don't know if that's true. More importantly, I was not going to take that risk! There were bigger things that were more important at the time. Harry needed us, his friends. Even Professor Dumbledore told him that. I would not ruin that for him.”

“Alright, alright I hear you. If that potion is as powerful as you say then I can understand your reasoning for keeping quiet...then. But what about after the War? The Dark Lord was gone, the War was over.”

She looked away.

“I thought it best to leave things as they were.”

“You thought it best?” Draco asked dubiously. He walked up to her and turned her so she could face him.

“Look,” she said defensively as she pulled out of his hold, “I still had this...poison in me. The potion would still try to wreak havoc any which way it saw fit,” she argued. “It made sense to just grin and bear it. And Harry was in love with Ginny anyway. He married her, so what was the point?”

Draco could hear clearly the hurt in her tone.

“That hag?!”

“That hag is gorgeous and sexy and funny–”

“AND A HAG!” he finished for her.

“Yes, well most men seemed to lose the gift of speech at the sight of that hag, as you call her. Harry most of all.” If she had been in a better mood she would have laughed at the picture they were making; she defending Ginny Weasley to an irate Draco Malfoy. Then Hermione remembered that it was Ginny Potter now and winced at the reminder.

“What was wrong with you? You're not that hard to look at,” Draco said helpfully as he leaned back against the desk. She followed suit.

“You flatterer, you.”

Draco rolled his eyes.

“All I'm saying is that it's not that inconceivable of an idea that Potter might have considered a little dally with you if you had just told him how you felt.”

“No Draco,” she answered smiling weakly. “You're thinking of that old Hollywood fairytale where the Plain Jane librarian, or girl next door, or...or even the best friend takes off her glasses, shakes out her hair and suddenly the leading man is all over her like a cheap robe. My life, however, is not a movie. I knew that would never be me. To Harry I would always be just Hermione, and most times I was able to convince myself that that was enough. As long as I had his friendship I could bear the rest.”

However her eyes made Draco doubt her sincerity.

“Do you ever regret drinking from the Cup?” he asked.

“It helped Harry. I would do it again and again if I had to,” she said, staring unseeingly before her. “But yes, I have a treasure chest of regrets.” She sighed. “I used to regret that I even woke up at all.”

“HERMIONE!” Draco exclaimed, taken aback by her heartbreaking honesty.

“When I was in that deep sleep all I did was dream over and over again. Those dreams seemed so true; far more real than the life I went back to each morning. And even when I woke up they didn't stop. Night after night I was visited by the same visions. After the War it got to the point where I started taking Dreamless Sleep to relieve myself of them. After almost two years on the stuff they finally stopped. I don't dream so much anymore now.”

“What were these dreams about?” he cautiously asked.

She turned her face to him and wiped at the unshed tears in her eyes.

“Harry. Loving him, being loved by him; there were times I even saw the faces of our children. But then I'd wake-up and know that the dreams would never come true.”

Her glassy eyes closed, trying to hold the flood of tears back.

“Those dreams could never come true,” she mournfully added.

“Your sacrifice...”

Hermione looked up into Draco's face. It was filled with wonderment and its presence there confused her.

“What?”

“In order for the Cup to be destroyed you had to sacrifice something. I always wondered what it was; just what you would have been willing to part with. But I get it now. You traded in your own happiness, didn't you Hermione?”

Hermione stepped back from Draco nearly stumbling. Her face turned a molten red. She opened her mouth to reply, but at first couldn't find the words. It was as if the question violated her in some way.

“Don't be daft, Draco!” she snapped. “If that isn't the stupidest thing! My happiness?! Honestly! Haven't you been paying attention to me at all? My sacrifice was my denial. It was the one thing I clung the hardest to.”

“So you are telling me that Dumbledore nearly traded his hand in for a bloody stump to destroy a Horcrux and all you had to do was let go of your denial? Come now Pet, you can't really be that thick.”

Hermione did not miss the sarcasm in his voice and she was not pleased.

“I'll have you know that my denial kept everything together! Harry, Ron, and I were doing just fine before the stupid Cup entered the picture! My world was content! I was satisfied with my life! I was–”

“Happy?” he offered cynically.

Hermione felt like hitting him, but chose to stomp off to the settee instead. She threw herself down on it and crossed her arms before her.

“You just don't get it!” she huffed indignantly.

“I do. But somehow I think you don't.”

Hermione turned her head and refused to look at him.

“Merlin! Is there no cure for this thing, the Discordium? An antidote? A counter?”

He came and sat next to her.

“No. The only way to be released from an excrapotio is for it to pass through your system. The only way for it to pass through your system is to give in to it. But I can't do that. I won't,” she forcefully told him. “Not then, not now.”

“Hermione, this thing sounds as strong as an Imperius,” he said warily.

“And?”

“Well, if you fight the effects of an Imperius long enough you...well, you eventually go mad.”

“DO I LOOK MAD TO YOU, DRACO?!” she shrieked as she jumped to her feet and stood over him menacingly. Her eyes blazed with fury.

Draco paused for only a moment before saying, “No?”

“IS THAT IT?” she seethed. “DO YOU THINK I'M CRAZY? D-DO...D-DO YOU THINK I'M INSANE? WOULD YOU LIKE TO LOCK ME UP TOO?!”

Hermione was so agitated that she barely felt her fingernails dig into the skin on her palms as she clenched her hands tightly together.

“Who tried to lock you up?” Draco asked as he slowly stood up, eyes never leaving her face.

At his question her wrathful expression paled to one of fear. Her eyes seemed to enlarge and her mouth formed a round circle. Before he could ask anything else though, she shook her head and smiled ruefully. She scampered back to him, took his hand and sat down, bringing him with her.

“Sorry,” she chuckled falsely. “I tend to get a little touchy when my sanity is called into question.”

“And you act like a right bitch.”

“Yes, and I act like a right bitch.”

That time she smiled for real. It then turned into a grimace.

“ARG! It's just really frustrating now, you know. It's not fair of me to take this out on you, but I just don't know what else to do. It used to be easier to fight this thing, but not so much anymore. Something is wrong. Something has changed. Everything has gone all pear-shaped all of a sudden! I just don't know what it could be, though!”

“How do you mean?”

“It's part of the reason why I'm a little antsy to be around Harry right now,” she confessed. “You see, Discordium has two nasty little side effects. For one; sometimes in my head I hear these voices. Actually a single voice. It sounds like me, but it's not. It's oilier; slicker. It tries to tell me what I want to hear. What it thinks I want to hear.”

“It tries to spur you on, you mean.”

“Yes. And it also warps my perception of things. It used to be that Harry would say something to me, completely innocent sounding like...oh, I don't know, 'are you going to eat that' or 'Remus look a bit shaggier than usual today', and it would sound like...”

“Fancy a shag?”

“Erm...no,” she said, blushing demurely. “Not quite. I mean, the words would still be the same, but sometimes the way Harry would talk to me, or look at me, or smile at me I could almost believe that...”

She shook her head.

“But then I would realize that it was just the potion. Luckily I always caught myself in time before I did something completely stupid and embarrassed myself.”

“To be honest I never noticed it. You never appeared to be under any emotional turmoil. Sure there were the times that you seemed a bit batty, but I always saw that as part of your charm. Of course I mean once I stopped fantasizing of all the many grizzly ends you could meet, that is.”

“Why Draco Malfoy, I think that's the sweetest thing you ever said to me,” she teased.

He chuckled lightly.

“I've never been like you,” she told him. “You never shied away from letting anyone and everyone know just how you felt at any given moment. Loudly. Not me. As a little girl I got very good at hiding my emotions. Kids can be cruel to those who are different. I learned how to show them that I didn't care, even if it were just an act. I guess those coping skills just came in handy.”

Draco patted her hand reassuringly. She smiled at his sweetness and continued on.

“Something is definitely off now, though. When I was away this urge in me was always there, but it was like a dull throb. I still felt it, but it could be easily ignored. But all of a sudden I'm back and...dear lord, the potion...it's like it's working at treble the old pace. I...I'm quite frankly terrified of being alone with Harry now. I...I...goodness, just the other day I could barely keep my eyes off of Harry's crotch!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up.

“And I think I just went deaf.”

“To be fair, how could I not notice it...”

Draco put both of his hands to his ears and shut his eyes tightly.

“I CAN'T HEAR YOU!”

“The way he was just walking around, unabashedly waving it around in my face...JUST WHO IN THE HELL DOES HE THINK HE IS?!”

“You are not talking about Potter's dick...you are not talking about Potter's dick...you are not talking about...OH BALLS!”

He opened his eyes and fumed at her.

“NOW YOU'VE GOT ME TALKING ABOUT POTTER'S DICK!”

“Oh, but I haven't told you the worse of it! I...I...threwmyselfatHarry!” she mumbled out quickly. Hermione then clasped her hands over her mouth as though she had incriminated herself.

Draco, however, hadn't understood a word she had said.

“You re-grew yourself a fat cherry?” he asked her bemusedly.

Her hands plopped in her lap and Hermione looked at him as though he were the dumbest git alive.

“In what parallel universe does that sentence even make sense?!” she exasperatedly asked him.

“Well, there are exercises one can do. And I hear that there's this potion a witch can drink, you see...”

“YOU BIG HONKING PRAT!” she yelled. “GET YOUR HAND OUT OF YOUR TROUSERS FOR ONCE AND BE OF SOME USE! I said that I threw myself at Harry. We were in the kitchen, just fooling around...”

Draco's jaw dropped as he stood up swiftly.

“NO, YOU IDIOT! NOT THAT KIND OF FOOLING AROUND,” she said caustically looking up at him. “We were playing and joking when suddenly I...I don't know how to explain it. It's like some switch got flipped inside me. All of a sudden I practically had my legs wrapped around him in a strangle hold. I heard this voice telling me over and over again that I should kiss him. Just kiss him Hermione. What's one little kiss?”

“Did you?”

“Draco, Harry is a married man. Of course I didn't,” she scoffed primly.

Draco smirked at her perceptively which made Hermione want to punch his smug face. It was just like old times!

“Oh alright, Lizzie got in the way,” she admitted. “DUMB DOG!”

Then realizing her slight to her beloved pet, she collapsed sideways onto the settee, buried her face from sight, and sobbed loudly into the cushion.

“I'M A HORRIBLE PERSON!”

“Um...I know were on this whole Hermione isn't mad as a box of doxies kick, but woman, you are on the verge of a mental collapse!”

“I KNOW!” her muffled voice wailed, face still pressed into the seat. She then quickly sat up and turned frantic eyes on him. “Draco, what in the world possessed me to come back to England?”

“You missed the fine cuisine and the excellent weather?”

The joke, however, was lost on Hermione. Her breathing became rapid and a barrage of words tumbled out of her mouth growing louder and more frenzied with every passing second.

“What made me think that I could actually do this, be near Harry again? Why did I think that being gone so long, and him being married would have changed things? I should have never come back here! Maybe...maybe I am mad for thinking I could do this. Or...or maybe that was my plan all along, to just finally give in. I told myself that I came back for Ron's big day, but deep down I knew what I really came back for. I know what I really want. I know what I...NO! I CAN'T DO THIS! I CAN'T DO THIS, DRACO! I'm almost certain that Harry knew something was amiss yesterday, but he's so sweet and kind that he's willing to pretend that his best friend didn't try to bloody well seduce him! He's just so happy to have his mate back, don't you see?!”

Hermione began to cry bitterly as her body shook with the force of her sobs.

“I'm already cracking under the pressure. I don't know how much longer I can keep this act up! It's not Harry's fault that all he sees me as is his sister, but it's breaking me! It's wearing me! I'm not strong enough anymore. I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH! I'M NOT! I'M NOT! I CAN'T STAY! I CAN'T! I CAN'T!”

Draco dropped back onto the settee and clamped his hands firmly on her shoulders. He looked unflinchingly into her eyes.

“PULL YOURSELF THE FUCK TOGETHER!” he commanded her.

Oddly enough these were just the words she needed to come back to herself. Her crazed ramblings ceased; her rapid drawing of breath began to slow.

“Now you listen to me, Granger; I don't care how addled this poison has your head, I just know that you are not running away again with your tail between your legs. Do you understand me?”

“But−”

“Do you want to be back here, Hermione?”

“I...of course I do! This is my home!”

It was the truth. She had never wanted to leave in the first place really. She had only done what she thought was right at the time, but she knew now that it really solved nothing. Through her travels she had tried to get as far away from England as she could, never even coming near Europe again once she went to the States. But Hermione always knew that no matter where she tried to call home it would only be a poor substitute. She belonged here. The only problem was that something inside her told her that wherever Harry was, that's where she belonged as well.

“Good then,” Draco said, taking her from her thoughts. “You've got your reasons to stay in your own self-imposed Hell. I may not agree with them, but for your sake I will respect them. But I will not listen to this drivel about you not being strong. You are one of the strongest people I know! You've fought this thing for seven years, you can keep fighting it!” he told her. “The difference is that now you don't have to do it alone.”

Hermione stared at him in wonder.

“Draco...”

“You were a good friend to me once, Hermione. Now it's my turn to return the favor. A Malfoy always repays a debt. You need me to run interference with Potter, I'll do it. You need me to help you keep your distance; I'll be your shadow.”

“I can't ask that of you,” she told him sincerely. She didn't want to bring anyone else into her mess. But oh, what Draco was offering...

“You've done this alone for so long, Hermione. Why don't you let someone help you? Let go of this stupid Gryffindor pride. I want to help. Please let me help,” he pleaded with her. The look on his face was free of any duplicity, empty of guile. Draco was honestly offering his support to her.

“OH DRACO!” she cried as she pitched herself at him and engulfed him in a hug. The tears continued to slide down her face and soak his shirt as she pressed her face into it. But for once they were not bitter tears. They were tears of relief now. For the first time in years Hermione felt the heavy weight of her secret slacken as Draco took on some of its heft himself. She felt lighter. She felt more confident. She began to believe that just maybe she could handle being back home at last. She could stand to watch Harry live out the rest of his life with the woman he loved. After all, she had an ally now.

Draco's arms went protectively around her as he held her close. He smoothed her hair like one would do a child.

“Don't worry about a thing, Hermione. Draco will take care of it. We'll figure this thing out together. And I'll make sure Potter's little bitch leaves you alone as well,” he assured her. These words did not have as much of a calming effect on her as the others, though.

She raised her tear stained face up to his.

“Ginny? Why would you think that you need to protect me from Ginny?”

Draco was startled by her question.

“Why would I...well, because she knows doesn't she? She knows what you feel for Potter. That's why you left, isn't it?”

“Oh God no!” Hermione shook her head frantically. “Ginny doesn't know any of this. Are you mad?! Ginny never found out. How would Ginny have found out that? You're the only person that knows Draco. The only person.”

“B-but the fight...the fight that the two of you had. The night before her wedding the two of you had some kind of row. And then...and then the next day you took off.”

The realization of what Draco meant set in and smoothed her harried face.

“Oh,” she whispered softly. “Oh. Ginny doesn't know anything. That's...that's not what we fought about,” she said.

“That's not what you−”

“No. So just put the whole thing out of your head,” she said firmly, jaw set.

“But that night−”

“Nothing happened that night. Water under the bridge, as you said.”

“But you were so upset−”

“I thought you said that you were going to help me?” she asked imploringly. “Ginevra Potter is not a concern. Just leave it alone, Draco.”

“But...”

“Oh,” came a low voice from the door interrupting Draco from saying anything else. “I figured the two of you would be done by now.”

Both Hermione and Draco turned to see Luna standing in the now opened doorway. She had changed into a plain white scoop necked top and a long black skirt. However her normal dreamy eyed expression looked somewhat artificial. Once realizing how they must look to her, wrapped in each others arms, Hermione and Draco simultaneously split apart to opposite ends of the small settee. Hermione might know that it was a perfectly innocent embrace, but she wasn't too sure how she would feel if she found her own boyfriend holding another woman so closely.

She smiled as she wiped at the tears on her cheeks to dry them, and turned her full attention to Luna. She noticed the roll of parchment in Luna's hand.

“We are done,” she said. From the corner of her eye she caught the argumentative expression on Draco's face. Wanting to make sure that he understood that the subject was now closed, she turned to him and said stonily, “We are.”

Luna looked at Draco first, then brought her lazy gaze over to Hermione. Hermione nervously swallowed. She wondered if Luna was picking up on the weird vibes between Draco and herself. Worse, she wondered if Luna was going to make mention of it and what lie she would have to come up with to try and appease her. Even Hermione knew that she wasn't that good. Besides once being in Ravenclaw house, Luna Lovegood was one of the most eerily intuitive people she knew. Thankfully Luna decided not to mention the tense expressions on her and Draco's faces.

“So did you two have a nice chat?” she asked instead.

“Oh yes,” he drolled languidly as he got up and headed towards Luna's direction. He crossed in front of Hermione as he said, “You could even say it was illuminating. Shite!”

Hermione pulled back the foot she had casually stuck out. Luna, however, was there to catch Draco as he stumbled into her arms.

“Careful with that Hermione,” she said serenely. “I may need him later.”

Luna then wrapped a possessive arm around his waist. Draco was too busy scowling down at Hermione to see the look on Luna's face, but Hermione, who gave him a feigned innocent smile in reply, saw it plainly. Hermione couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at the subtle signal that only another woman could read. Mines.

There was once a time when the very mention of Luna Lovegood's name would have made Hermione's once bushy hair stand on end. Though Hermione tried to write off her distaste of the younger girl as just a difference of personalities, it was obvious to anyone with eyes in their head what the real issue was. At Hogwarts they both fancied the same bloke. But that was then. Hermione eventually grew to respect Luna and was quite fond of the woman now. The fact that she had lost some of her odder tics and quirks also helped matters.

Hermione gave a tiny nod of her head to Luna to let her know that the message had been received. The two women then smiled at each other. Draco missed all of this of course.

“By the way, I hope you don't think I overstepped my bounds,” Luna said holding up the scroll in her hands, “but I took the liberty of sending off a note to Harry with Lover's owl.”

“You still have old Pollux?” Hermione asked Draco. For the moment she preferred not thinking about the scroll that Luna was brandishing. She tried telling herself over and over again that no matter what Harry's note said she could handle it. She had Draco backing her up now after all. She could handle it! She could!

“Yes,” said Luna answering for Draco. “And he nips at my fingers every time I go to use him.”

“Well if you would stop teasing him, calling him Polly and such−”

Luna pouted. “I'm just showing him affection.”

“He's a bloody eagle owl! He'd eat you if you were small enough!”

“Children, break it up,” Hermione said sternly cutting off their little squabble. “What did you tell him, Luna?”

“I just told the poor dear that you were safe and sound here, and that Lover was entertaining you.”

“Bet that went over well. He's going to have my head,” Draco said shaking his. He was smiling though and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Draco and Harry spent a lot of time antagonizing each other just for sport.

Then she thought of the secret that Draco now had that he could hold over Harry's head.

But Draco won't tell Harry, she told herself over and over again. Telling Harry would only hurt her. Draco wouldn't want to hurt her. Draco could get no satisfaction out of telling Harry this. The secret was safe.

“I also told him that you would be having dinner with us. Pollux came back with this for you.”

Luna held the scroll out to Hermione. Hermione eyed the parchment with trepidation before standing up and walking over to her. She took the scroll, unfurled it, and read the short note written in what was unmistakably Harry's hand.

“Damn! He says that he's coming over here later,” she said as she began to tear at her bottom lip with her teeth.

“Don't worry, leave him to me,” Draco slyly told her. “I'll be ready for him. I'll give him a tour of the place; conveniently lock him in the portrait gallery. See how he likes it when two centuries worth of Lovegoods natter on for hours about the mating habits of the Blibbering Humdinger.”

Luna's eyes bulged. “Holy hippogriffs! Even I think that's just mean. I told you the first time Daddy did that to you that it was merely an accident,” she told him.

“And I believed you. However the fifth and sixth time it happened, did give me pause.”

“What could poor Harry have possibly done to deserve that kind of treatment?”

Draco and Hermione's eyes met quickly, then skirted away.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty head over, luv,” he said as he left a peck on Luna's nose. “Just being sociable. I'm sure your fourth cousin Casper would just love to tell Potter the difference between Muggle hemorrhoids and the magical kind.”

Despite the nervous rumbling of her stomach, Hermione's interest was piqued.

“Is there a difference?”

“No, not really. Although cousin Casper claims that his can hum the Habanera from Carmen,” Luna answered.

“You can look at that portrait for hours and have no idea where the melody is coming from,” added Draco sniggering at Hermione's mystified expression.

“I thought you were just going to distract Harry for me. That sounds like cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Well you know what they say,” said Luna as she gave Draco a squeeze, “if I don't allow him to torture at home, he'll just do it out in the street somewhere.”

Draco laughed out loud.

Ok, so Luna was still bizarre. Draco, however, seemed to like it so Hermione figured that all was well.

“I think I'll just go and get dinner started,” Luna said.

“What are we having tonight?” Draco asked her as she turned in his arms to face him.

“Shepard's Pie, I'm using Nanny Poe's secret recipe.”

Draco's eyes darkened lustfully as he deeply growled, “I must have been a very good boy today.”

“No. But I'm sure you will be tonight,” Luna answered with a sneaky smile on her lips.

“Ahem, still in the room.”

Hermione felt the need to remind these two of this small fact. She might think that Draco and Luna made a cute couple, but she didn't want to see them shag or anything right in front of her. Judging by the way they practically undressed each other with their eyes, Hermione wouldn't put it past them.

“So,” Hermione said, drawing Luna's attention away from possibly humping Draco's leg, “what makes your Shepard's Pie so secret?”

“Nothing really,” she said as she pulled away from Draco. “Grandmother just had a few unconventional cooking methods. She played around with all kinds of different spices and such. She rarely used her wand. Oh! And she liked to cook in the buff," Luna added, almost as an afterthought. “Would you like to come and help?”

Hermione's mouth hung open as she looked at Luna in abashed silence. Draco was practically bent over laughing.

“Nanny Poe practically made it into an art form really. She cooked just about everything starkers; naked rack of lamb, naked Toad in the Hole, naked Chicken a la King,” Luna said, linking her arm with Hermione's. “According to her, grandfather never complained and cleaned his plate at every sitting.”

Hermione was near speechless. Luna had her almost out the door by time Hermione came to and planted her feet firmly into the carpet to stay put.

“Oh, but don't worry,” she told Hermione noticing her reticence. “You don't have to take off your clothes. You might feel a bit overdressed, though. You see, Lover likes to help in the kitchen too.”

Hermione looked towards Draco and was horrified to see the devilish grin on his face.

“She usually lets me lick her bowl,” he said waggling his eyebrows.

That was just about Hermione's limit!

“Um...I think I'm just fine out here,” Hermione squeaked as she pulled out of Luna's hold.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I uh...I'm useless in a kitchen anyways.”

Luna shrugged her shoulders and said, “Oh, alright.”

She then turned back to Draco.

“Coming?”

Goodness! Did these two ever let up?!

“In a minute,” he told her. She stood on her toes and kissed him lightly on the lips. She turned to walk out the door, but not before removing one slipper from her foot. As Hermione and Draco watched her walk into the hall, she slipped the other one off.

Draco turned back to Hermione with a huge smile on his face.

“She's as mad as a hatter, but I love her!”

“Yes, well her boyfriend is one pancake short of a stack so they really are a well matched set, I should say,” Hermione told him. Draco apparently found it funny because he chortled at the zinger. His eyes then traveled down to the note that Hermione still held tightly.

“Don't worry about Potter, Pet. Everything will be alright. I said I'll take care of it. You believe me don't you?”

Hermione gave a terse nod to her head as she cast her eyes downward.

“Yes,” she lied.

“Good,” he said as he slowly began to back himself out the study doors. It was obvious where his mind was at.

“Now I think I hear my Loony Love calling my name. I need to go give her a hand.”

Hermione snorted. Draco had the decency to smile bashfully as he practically ran for the kitchen.

After watching Draco inelegantly stumble out of his shoes as he went racing into the hall, Hermione sighed and made her way back to the settee. She sat down, and after glancing at the basket of scones on the floor, picked it up and took one out. She bit down on the slightly hard confection and hoped that whatever Draco and Luna were getting up to in the kitchen, they wouldn't be all night about it. She then unfurled the note in her hand and quietly read it to herself again.

Dearest Hermione,

Luna's told me that you are going to be spending the evening over at Lovegood House with her and that git Malfoy. I thought that you and I had plans to be together this evening. You and I and Ron, I mean.

Are you avoiding me? Is this about yesterday? Sorry about yesterday. We can pretend that nothing happened if you want.

I'm having dinner with the Weasleys. I'll be by later to walk you back to the Burrow. Don't shake your head at me. I know that you can take care of yourself, but it will be dark soon and you really shouldn't be walking alone. You know how much I would hate it if anything happened to you. Besides, wouldn't it be nice to spend some more time alone?

Not that I'm trying to get you alone. Bugger, I sound like I'm 15 years old again.

It's just that I miss spending time with you.

Merlin! Now I sound like a 15 year old girl. Sorry. Please just wait for me at Luna's. Please.

Yours always,

Harry

Hermione read and caressed the last three words gently with her fingertips. She leaned back against the settee and closed her eyes wearily as she brought the letter to her side. She didn't notice it as it fell from her hand and fluttered to the floor.

Yours always, Harry. If only it were true, she bitterly thought. If only.

A/N: Next up is Lavender Brown-Pye's POV. Things to look forward to: wedding dress shopping, a near tragedy at the British World Cup, and someone fears that she just might not make it to the altar.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Mrs. Kerr, Fifi, Pollux the eagle owl, Casper Lovegood, Nanny Poe, and Luna's grandfather are canon.

2) Tír na nÓg is a real Irish fairytale that I tweaked for use in this story.

3) Discordium is named after the Roman goddess Discord/Greek goddess Eris, the goddess of strife. Interestingly enough her counter goddess was named Harmonia.

4)“You unimaginable bastard!” is a quote from Titanic.

5) ff.net won't do the strike throughs so in Harry's letter the following words have strikes through them; the “est” in Dearest, that git, are you avoiding me, is this about yesterday. The letter is just to show a bit of Harry's mind frame at this point.

6) The Riverto Spell, the Discordium potion(Elixir of Eris), and the execrapotio concept are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

18. Chapter 15

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 16,128

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: This chapter is from Lavender Brown-Pye's POV. It's all Lav, all the time. R/LB are the featured couple in this one, but there is some sprinkling of Harmony as well.

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.

Wednesday, 06/08/05

Main Entry: kar·ma
Pronunciation: 'kär-m& also 'k&r-
Function: noun
Etymology: Sanskrit karma fate, work
1 often capitalized: the force generated by a person's actions held in Hinduism and Buddhism to perpetuate transmigration and in its ethical consequences to determine the nature of the person's next existence

Merriam-Webster

∫∫∫

Whoso diggeth a pit shall fall therein

Proverbs 26:27

∫∫∫

People pay for what they do, and still more, for what they have allowed themselves to become. And they pay for it simply: by the lives they lead.

James Baldwin

“I just think that something needs to be done about that hem.”

Lavender looked down from her perch atop the short stepping stool at the irate little seamstress on the floor before her. After two hours of fitting and then refitting the silky white robes Lavender had chosen for her wedding ceremony, and sewing the small bundles of Hawthorn leaves and flower petals wrapped in lace throughout the lining of the garment, the woman's temper was starting to show. Especially with Lavender's mother standing over her like a hawk, supervising every stitch that was made. Luckily for Lenore Brown the seamstress' mouth was clamped over a number of small pins so she couldn't express just how grateful she was for Mrs. Brown's unsolicited advice. But if her thick, drawn eyebrows and narrowed eyes were any indication of her true feelings, it was indeed a good thing that Lavender's mother didn't understand a jot of Italian.

“Nothing is wrong with the hem,” said Madame Borghese as she wiped at the moist film of sweat on her forehead.

Since Lavender was the Madame's very own special consult they were working in her office instead of out on the main floor with the shop's other clients. The cooling charms however were not strong enough to alleviate the tension in the room, what with Lavender's mum playing Mother of the Bride to the hilt and spewing hot hair all over the place. For nearly two hours her mother and her wedding planner had been having the same disagreement.

“The hem is just fine Anna,” The Madame assured her trustworthy seamstress.

Anna Bencivenga had been with Blissful Brides from the very first day it had opened its doors. She was not only a talented seamstress able to turn any girl into the epitome of a blissful bride, but she was also a formidable witch whose fertility charms were some of the strongest in Europe. For years the rumor had been floated around that nine out of every ten girls who got married in a Bencivenga charmed robe conceived during their honeymoon without fail. Lavender had heard the stories as well. Of course for all she knew it could have been the Madame who spread the rumors. Even so, Lavender was still willing to give their track record a chance.

“I don't know,” Mrs. Brown said as she bent down to look at Anna's handiwork, determined it seemed to find some flaw in the woman's workmanship, “I really do think it should be lower.”

Mrs. Brown then looked at her oldest daughter who had been sitting in a chair close by, flipping through the pages of InChant's Annual Wedding Spectacular with the bored air of a veteran. In one month she would officially have been Mrs. Theodahad Greenberg, chief Loan Officer for the Sentient Being Department at Gringotts, for one whole year.

“What do you think Kelly?”

“My thoughts exactly, Mummy,” Kelly said through an over exaggerated yawn, barely looking up.

Mrs. Brown triumphantly turned towards the Madame. “See! You just have to lengthen the front!”

It would seem that the Madame had reached her breaking point with one Mrs. Lenore Brown.

“Dio Mio!” she gritted out through clenched teeth. “If we do that it completely takes away from the dramatic fall of the train,” she said as she threw her arms wide.

“Oh I completely see your argument, Madame,” Mrs. Brown said with false graciousness as she placed a fluttery hand across her chest. “I am an avid devotee of Modern Witch Bride and Mrs. Emily Hoppingkirk after all. But you see my little Lavey has rather lumpy ankles...”

“Maeve calls them mankles,” Kelly said, finally finding some interest in the proceedings as she simpered like the empty headed dolt that she was. Merlin, Lavender certainly hoped that she didn't sound like that when she talked.

Mrs. Brown shook her head solemnly as she paid Lavender's ankles a pitying glance.

“Yes, they are quite stout, poor dear. There isn't anything feminine about them at all, I'm afraid.”

Everyone in the room; Kelly, Anna, the Madame, her assistant Paloma, and her mother all took a moment to consider Lavender's ankles. Lavender took the brief pause to wonder if it was possible to self-immolate by sheer strength of will. Since her wand was far from her reach, and she had little to no wandless skills, the likelihood of it happening was quite small. Still, the thought was there.

Lavender began to nervously chew at the little piece of skin that hung next to her smallest fingernail. The disgusting habit, as her mother called it, had been her safety blanket all through her childhood whenever Lavender felt crushed under the weight of her mother's harsh scrutiny.

“Now look at mines,” Mrs. Brown said prideful as she lifted her plum-pink robes to reveal her delicately boned ankles that continued down to her petite feet and the heeled slippers that encased them. “Yaxley and Wallingford; this is what you call good breeding.”

Mercifully she dropped her robes back down. Her face took on that same pitying expression again that made Lavender want to stomp on those oh so ladylike ankles.

“Unfortunately, my little Lavey−”

“Is a vision!” the Madame protested, cutting her off. Lavender timidly smiled in her direction, but it gave way as soon as her mother continued to talk.

“Of course she is! She looks like me...thankfully. But those ankles...”

Mrs. Brown exhaled laboriously as if to show just what hard work she had put into providing the genetic material for her middle child. Funny enough Lavender did resemble their mother, even more so than her other two sisters; same golden hair, same cornflower blue eyes, the same exact perfect bone structure.

Except for Lavender's ankles. Those goddamned ankles.

“They are all her papa's,” she sighed disconsolately. “Poor dear.”

Lavender nearly gnawed the skin clean off her finger.

“Ow,” she said softly. Only Paloma heard her. The younger girl offered her a sad, sympathetic smile.

“Lavey is very, very lucky that that was all she got from him. But tell me who is going to notice that face,” said her mother pointing at her while looking at the others in the room, “when they see those ankles coming down the aisle? Don't you agree, Lavey?”

Hearing no response, Mrs. Brown swung her attention towards Lavender and gave her a hard, appraising glare.

“Well, don't you?” she tried again.

“I–”

“Of course you do,” she said, a self-satisfied smirk spreading on her face as she looked pointedly at the Madame. “We'll just have to pick out another set.”

Lavender was sure she had never been half so miserable in her entire life, and that was including the thirty-two hours she spent in labor. Here she was, an expectant bride, and the only times her face registered any human emotion was when she remembered to pinch the flesh of her underarm. Otherwise she looked like an automaton; lifeless and hollow. And wouldn't that jackass Bozo from the Prophet just love to get a shot of her looking like her heart was breaking. Which it was.

Like now, she was trying on a set of bridal robes that she hoped made her look like a modern and toothsome witch of the ton, and all she could do was feel like the runt of the litter once her mother got finished with her.

Originally Ginny was supposed to accompany her to have her robes fitted and charmed. Ginny had been very irritable as of late though, complaining of sudden sharp pains behind her eyes that were gone as soon as they came. Lavender figured it was the stress of trying to keep her struggling marriage afloat. Just about the whole family knew it; they were all just too polite to say something about it. Ginny didn't help matters either by pretending that everything with Harry was business as usual.

Lavender had decided not to bother her Matron of Honour. When Lenore offered to come, Lavender had found it difficult to say no. Lavender had even foolishly thought that maybe the two of them could use it as a bonding experience. But once Lavender saw her sister Kelly walk through the doors of Blissful Brides, Lavender knew that this day would be like any other Brown family pileup.

“Cara, is this what you want?” the Madame asked Lavender kindly as she came close to the young woman and looked searchingly in her eyes. She took Lavender's hands in her own and gave them an encouraging squeeze. “When you first saw these robes you loved them.”

And she had. But that seemed like a lifetime ago now. That was just the day before her engagement party. Then again everything had seemed so perfect then.

“I...” Lavender tried again, doing her best to avoid her mother's admonishing eyes; eyes so very like her own.

She failed miserably.

“Maybe Mummy is right,” Lavender answered, half-heartedly. This time it was the Madame's gaze she didn't wish to meet.

“Bene,” said the Madame reluctantly as she dropped Lavender's hands. “Go in the first changing room and take those off. I'll send Paloma in with a few more selections in a moment.”

Lavender nodded her head quickly and stepped down from the cushioned stool. She kept her head lowered as she crossed the floor to exit the room.

“Now that's all settled, I think that something with a Sweetheart's neckline would suit Lavey just fine,” said Lavender's mother airily. “Do you have anything with capped sleeves, by chance?”

“CAPPED SLEEVES?!” shrieked the Madame, much in the same way one would say “...in Hell”. Paloma actually crossed her self. Anna just sneered. Mrs. Brown however ignored the insult to her taste and continued on.

“Kelly's wedding robes had capped sleeves. I picked them out myself.”

“Yes, but my robes were prettier than any of the ones here,” Kelly snootily added.

Lavender rolled her eyes as she crossed through the doorway. Everything Kelly had, said, or did had to be better than anything of her younger sister's.

“Yes they were darling,” said Mrs. Brown in an adoring tone. “I think I shall never see a bride even half as lovely as you were, my princess.”

Ouch! Lavender hadn't made it out of the room fast enough to miss that little nugget.

Then again Lavender had long ago reconciled herself to the reality that she was little more than a prop in the stage play that was her mother's life. Lavender after all was the middle child of the Brown household. Kelly was the prized first born of the batch and Maeve was the baby of the family, just finishing up her Seventh Year at Hogwarts. Both had all of the spoils that came with those coveted positions. Lavender just had the bad luck of being born when her mother had finally come to the conclusion that she would never love her husband, even if she was going to have another baby by him.

Lavender was the child that bore the brunt of Lenore's indifference. Lenore Wallingford had dutifully married Mr. Brown under the Rites, but after Lavender's birth she no longer cared to pretend that it was a love match. Her old Hogwarts sweetheart started spending an incalculable amount of time at the Brown home whenever Mr. Brown was away at work. Lavender was told to call him Uncle Mingus.

Mr. Brown, though probably in denial of the situation at first, didn't remain in the dark for long. Although Lenore was discreet enough about it, due to the blood bond Lavender's daddy felt every heated glance like a pin prick; every stolen kiss sent him searching the potion cabinet for a migraine draught. The wife he had believed was a cold fish in bed sent Mr. Brown to St. Mungo's so often with a phantom peptic ulcer that it baffled the Healers for months. He eventually began renting a private room there to avoid any public embarrassment. Although Mrs. Brown eventually ended her affair (for mysterious reasons Uncle Mingus seemed to have recalled the wife and four children he had stashed away in Pretoria), Mr. Brown died soon after Maeve was conceived. Mrs. Brown didn't see any reason not to give the new baby the same last name as her other two children.

Lavender was only 7 years old when her father died. He had been the only person in the Brown household that Lavender never doubted loved her. He called her his little Empress and treated her like one, so his death was a harsh blow to her.

What made matters worse was that it occurred to Lavender that she was the only member of the family that seemed to mourn his passing. Although she was too young to understand why her father seemed so unhappy, she was bright enough to know that her mother had something to do with it. Lavender had seen enough of her playmates' parents together to know that the Brown marriage was as cold and shallow as Lenore's mothering skills. While Kelly was lavished with all of her mother's bright and glowing adoration, Lavender and her daddy had to huddle together in the shadow of those two just to keep themselves warm.

Young Lavender could never understand her mother's ambivalence towards her husband. It was so obvious that Mr. Brown worshiped the ground on which his wife trod, but Lenore never let him forget that she only married him as a consolation. The boy she had wanted was betrothed to another witch so Grandfather Wallingford had introduced her to his young apprentice as a distraction. Mrs. Brown never shied from telling her daughters that she had merely settled for their father. When Mr. Brown passed away Lavender assumed that her father had died from a broken heart. She later found out that it was an overdose of Halcyonian that killed him. He had been taking the potion to dull his senses to the constant ill health that plagued him through out the latter half of his marriage. Lavender didn't bother to change her original opinion.

Lavender trudged into the changing room that Madame Borghese told her to go in and closed the purple curtains behind her. When she turned around her breath caught at the image in the mirror. The bias cut robes with their gauzy bell sleeves that came all the way to her fingertips made her look like an ethereal Celtic goddess; a fairy princess.

To complete the royal picture; though tea length in the front, the back ended in a dramatic extended train. Sparkling moonstones trimmed the edges of it. The first time Lavender got married it was a rushed affair so that she was already Mrs. Pye before she started to show. She had opted not to wear a set of traditional wedding robes then. That impromptu ceremony was just a few ordinary vows spoken quickly to ensure that her child had a name. Corny had been kind enough though; he even offered to buy her a set of bridal robes for the occasion, a trousseau too. But back then as well as now, whenever Lavender envisioned herself wearing wedding whites there was only one wizard she ever saw standing beside her.

Lavender sunk to her knees, watching the fairy princess goddess girl in the mirror do the same. She dropped her face into her hands to muffle the sound, and bitterly began to cry.

Although these were supposed to be the happiest days of her life, Lavender's whole world had officially turned to shite ten days ago and pretending otherwise was slowly taxing her. Though the days following Ron's proposal had been wonderful, they had been hectic as well. There was just so much to do and plan that Lavender barely felt that she had time to exhale; flower arrangements, menu selections, picking a venue, purchasing the wedding ribbon that would be tied around their wrist to officially bind them for life. Lavender had taste tested so many different samples of cakes that she was sure she would be as big as Madame Maxime soon.

But once the day of her Commencement arrived she had been determined to enjoy it to its fullest. She felt that she had earned the privilege. Lavender had committed herself to Ron long ago and now she was finally reaping the rewards. She had been looking particularly forward to being fawned over by all of her and Ron's guests. She had even put out of her head the row their mothers had engaged in that morning. As always, Ron had saved the day. Ron always saved the day! He sat both women side by side and told them that if they made Lavender cry again the couple was eloping. It was a lie, but convincing enough that Molly and Lenore retreated to their separate corners for the rest of the day.

After that everything else felt like a beautiful dream. She was going to marry the man that she loved, that she had always loved. Because she wanted something traditional this time around, she and Ron decided to do the Rites. Her parents' disastrous union barely weighed on her mind. Her marriage would be different, she was sure. Lavender believed that she and Ron's covenant would be a joining of two souls that loved each other wholeheartedly. And most important, unlike her father, Lavender was secure in the belief that she wasn't Ron's second choice.

That sweet dream was shattered by day's end.

The party had been on its last legs. Ron, Harry, and some of their old school mates had gone outside to goof around leaving most of the women to gossip over cake inside the house. Lavender took the time to chat with most of the members of her bridal party in the living room.

Due to her frosty relationship with her own siblings, Lavender was over the moon that not only did she get to be Ron's wife (finally), but that she was also getting four new sisters out of the deal. Fleur and Penelope were the perfect big sisters, always filled with advice and encouragement, and Ginny was fun to gossip and go shopping with. Glinda had her odd quirks (Lavender particularly didn't understand why the Muggle woman got such a kick out of calling Ginny and her Lucy and Ethel), but Lavender liked her despite them.

Trouble was Lavender didn't think Glinda liked her very much at all. That wasn't surprising, though. Lavender might be Glinda's future sister-in-law, but Her...her friend would always be a point of contention between them. Which was a shame; she truly believed that if Glinda gave her a chance they might actually get on well with each other. But Glinda didn't seem interested. Nothing drove this home further than the bored expression on her face as the other Weasley women gabbed on and on about Hannah McMillan's noticeable baby bump or Romilda Vane's tacky augurey feather hat that she claimed was a custom original. Glinda looked as though she would rather be anywhere but there. Her glazed over eyes listlessly wandered around the room.

Lavender, wanting to show Glinda how much she wanted to include her in the conversation, decided to try and draw her out. Lavender had turned to ask her opinion on something, but before the question could pass her lips it died on her tongue the moment she got a good look at Glinda's face. The woman's jaw was slack and her eyes had grown to twice their normal size. Glinda had gone so still that it was hard to tell if she was even breathing. Her attention seemed stapled to some fixed point behind Ginny and Lavender's head on the far wall. Fleur and Penelope, sitting the closest to her, both reached out to ask her what the matter was, but Glinda quickly shook them off and ran out the house. The four women traded worried glances then turned, as if commanded by one single voice, to see what had held Glinda's fascination.

“Mon Dieu!” Fleur whispered as both hands went up to her mouth.

Ginny however came the closest to expressing Lavender's own sentiment.

“BLOODY HELL!”

Indeed.

According to the Weasley family clock Hermione Granger had finally come home.

“You know, back when I was a mere slip of a girl, the only times a pretty thing dressed in wedding robes as beautiful as those wept like a baby, like you are doing now, was either before the ceremony because her padre was forcing her to it. Or afterwards because her mamma had just told her what was to be expected of her on her wedding night. But I must admit that this is a first, Signora Browne-Pye. I've never seen a bride cry just from the mere sight of herself in the mirror, especially when it is such a beautiful sight.”

Lavender raised her head and saw Madame Borghese standing before her in the changing room. Lavender wasn't sure how long she had spent in there, but she had eventually turned to lean back against the mirror, knees drawn up towards her chin. The train was bunched up underneath her. She was only half-aware that she was ruining the fairy princess robes.

“I'm sorry, Madame–”

“Filomena,” Madame Borghese corrected her reproachfully as she turned her back a moment to close the curtains. Lavender heard her cast an Imperturbatus on the curtains.

“I'm sorry, Filomena,” Lavender said, correcting herself once the Madame was facing her again. “I should have taken these off. I'm sorry for destroying these lovely robes,” Lavender glumly said.

“They are not half as lovely as the girl in them.”

Lavender gave her a watery smile. The Madame stepped before Lavender, and offering her a hand, helped to lift her from the floor.

“But tell me, cara, what makes you cry so? Is it...”

The Madame paused to look over her shoulders as though to make sure her charm stuck.

“Is it your madre?” she continued cautiously.

Lavender brows knit, perplexed as to what the Madame meant.

“Do you mean mum?”

The Madame nodded.

Lavender smiled timidly and shook her head.

“No,” she said sounding to some extent embarrassed that the Madame had had a front seat to the Brown family dynamics.

She shrugged her shoulders.

“I'm just used to mum being mum, I guess.”

The Madame shrewdly looked into Lavender's eyes for a brief moment before asking her next question.

“Is it that bit of business in the papers then?”

Lavender found herself wondering once again just why she had ever been sorted into Gryffindor house. She honestly tried to refute the Madame's inquiry, but the brave, grimace-like smile she tried to present first trembled, then completely toppled off as soon as a strangled sob escaped her throat. No longer caring if the whole place flooded with her tears, Lavender threw herself into the Madame's arms. Lavender felt a hand softly brush down the back of her hair, and the gentle caress soothed her as she closed her eyes.

“Oh cara…”

It wasn't like she had ever deluded herself into believing that she was the great love of Ronald Weasley's life. That didn't stop Lavender from believing that there was no one in this lifetime, or several others for that matter, who would ever love him as much as she did. That was the reason that she didn't even entertain the thought of allowing him to actually marry that kook Lovegood. She didn't care that she ended up causing a scene. She didn't care that the shell shocked bride had to be escorted away, too stunned at the proceedings to even cry. She didn't care that she had only been a widow officially for two weeks. Lavender just didn't care!

Besides, she knew that Ron wasn't in love with the bride. She couldn't allow him to trap himself like that! Quite frankly she would have pushed the Loon in front of the Hogwarts Express if she had to. Such drastic measures weren't necessary though; Ron was smart enough to realize that Lavender was right. They consummated their reunion that very night. It had all been so perfect. But now...

Now all bets were off. There would be no wedding. Still continuing to act as though that wasn't the case was foolish. There would be no wedding; all the gifts they had been receiving since the announcement would have to be given back. All Lavender would have left is egg on her face and her mother calling her “poor dear” in that nice-nasty way of hers.

Ron was going to dump her. When had Ron ever failed to dump her when that jumped up bitch batted her eyes at him? It was like Hermione Granger had some sick control over Ron that Lavender could never quite figure out. Argh! What was her hoo-hoo made of anyway, gold or something?! Lavender never understood what Granger had that made so men fawn all over her, but whatever it was she had been using it since they were all kids. How else had she managed to rope Ron and Harry into stomaching her company for so long? Now that she was back it was like nothing had ever changed.

Every time Lavender tried to reach Ron on his two-way that home wrecking tart was with him. Sure Ron would waste no time assuring her that Harry was with them too, but Lavender wasn't deceived. Harry’s presence was little more than a smokescreen. She and Ron had quarreled more in the last few days than they had in their entire relationship.

The last big row had been over the fact that Hermione hadn't been invited to their Naming Tea. A small gathering of those closest to them had come to the Brown home to formally hear who would be in the wedding party. Hermione had been conspicuously absent. Ron bawled her out good and proper for the snub. Lavender had been so hacked off that she neglected to mention that it was Ginny who had been in charge of the Tea invitations.

Ron then tried to coax her into putting Hermione in the wedding somehow to make up for it; she was his best friend after all. When Lavender refused he told her that she was acting like a child. Lavender hexed his hair Oxford blue. They both refused to talk to each other for the rest of the evening. The next day, though she was still annoyed with him, she dutifully came to Ron's big match. She had never missed a single game in his entire professional career and she wouldn't do so now; Hermione Granger be damned. It was quite an ironic turn of events then that when she went to find her seat that was just who she ran into.

“This is the place that the player's wives generally sit. You don't belong.”

As Granger lowered her omnioculars and her head slowly rotated in her direction, Lavender had to control the near shiver that the woman's chilly glare produced in her.

“Then what are you doing here?” she asked maliciously before settling her eyes back before her. Lavender felt as though she had been physically slapped.

The British Cup was being played in a newly built stadium at Glastonbury Tor. The Department of Magical Games and Sports had opened it earlier than the scheduled date to accommodate the large turn out they were expecting for the game. This had led to much controversy. Luna Lovegood’s article in Friday's Quibbler claimed that the Ministry had decided to use a fly-by-night contractor to put in the security wards and safety charms for the stadium. They were trying to save a few galleons by not using the company that had been licensed since Grogan Stump came to office. The Ministry vehemently denied the accusation. The Minister for Magic had assured all those who would be attending the game that they would be perfectly safe. This game was to be the jewel of the season; nothing was allowed to go wrong.

The two best teams in the league, Appleby and Wimbourne, with the biggest rivalry as well, were facing off and just about all of wizarding Great Britain had come to a standstill for this match. Those unlucky souls who hadn't managed to snag tickets would be listening to it on the wireless as it was being transmitted live all over Europe. Still it was early enough that the stadium was still slowly filling up and Granger was sitting relatively by herself.

“Look Lavender, that sign over there says, 'Family and Friends'. Ron asked me to sit here.”

Granger hadn't even bothered to look at her. Lavender wanted to snatch the smirk that had accompanied the statement right off of Granger's smug face.

“Well I don't see why,” Lavender fired back. “You're neither his family, and after the stunt you pulled, you surely aren't his friend.”

Granger gave her a dismissive once over and feigned a bored yawn. She then turned her head again as though Lavender was some annoying fly she was trying to shoo. Although Lavender knew that she should be trying to hold her ground against her old rival, she just couldn't sway the feelings of helplessness that was engulfing her. She trembled with it.

“Why are you here?!” Lavender asked in a choked, small voice.

Granger rolled her eyes as she tittered softly. She looked at Lavender and said, “You know me, just can't stay away when there is a rousing game of Quidditch being played. I can't wait to see Ron Wonky Feint all over the place...or something.”

“Why are you here...in England?! Why did you come back?! Why did you come back now?! Everything was perfect while you were gone! EVERYONE WAS HAPPY!”

Granger's haughty smile wavered for only a second before coming back, strong and nastier than before.

“Lavender,” she said in a cloying voice, “you're becoming hysterical. Do something about it, would you?” she chirped.

She then got up from her seat and went to the nearby railing. But Lavender was too wound up to just let Granger get off that easy. She followed her.

“I HATE YOU!” she said harshly through gritted teeth, eyes malevolently burning as she came up next to her.

“Aww, you hate me, Lavender?” Granger mocked. “Join the queue.”

She then pulled the omnioculars back up and tried to ignore Lavender once again.

“Ron...and Harry, they've always had you on such a high fucking pedestal. But I know the real you, Hermione Granger. I've always known it.”

“Pray enlighten me.”

“You're cold and calculating. You're smug and selfish. You're self-centered; you think the whole world revolves around you. EVERYONE LOVES HERMIONE,” Lavender shrieked as she snatched the omnioculars from Granger and forced the bitch to look at her, “BUT I DON'T!” she said as her voice lowered. “I just wish you'd go away! JUST GO AWAY!”

Granger grabbed Lavender's elbow and painfully pulled her close. Her eyes narrowed as she hissed, “You are causing a scene!”

Lavender looked around her and saw the curious glances they were drawing. People were probably wondering at the identity of the woman who seemed to be having a heated exchange with the fiancée of the Wasps' star Keeper.

Not too many people outside of the family knew that Granger was back. She had been keeping a low profile. Unless you really got a good look at her it was hard to tell that it even was Granger. For one there was the dyed hair. She also was wearing a pair of overly large white sunglasses, to match her white tunic dress, and they all but covered her whole face. Even when looking through the omnioculars she didn't remove them. She looked very chic and sophisticated; worlds different than the mousy little swot she had been all those years ago, and Lavender wavered back and forth between wanting to know where she shopped...and wanting to gouge her eyes out of her head. Right now the latter was winning.

“I'm not in the mood to humor you today,” said Granger as she released Lavender from her grasp and wrenched the omnioculars back. “So if you're looking for a little girl-on-girl action, take it elsewhere. I'M NOT INTERESTED!”

She then raised the omnioculars again and looked around the stands.

Sweet Circe! This just wasn't fair! Lavender wasn't so sure she would have been able to take on the shrew under normal circumstances...but a blonde Hermione Granger?! That was like waving a sirloin steak in front of Ron. Lavender had to wonder what she had ever done to deserve this. Then she remembered Lovegood...the Express...and realized that she had brought this all on herself.

What was it that Parvati had once shared with her? She had gone to spend the night at the Patil home one summer and the two teen girls had stumbled onto Parv's mother's stash of elderflower wine and proceeded to drink until they were sick. During a sketchy conversation about the cosmos, the meaning of life, and predestiny, somewhere after their seventh or perhaps tenth glass of the drink, Parvati had made a wise observation.

“Karma is a bitch.”

And then she threw up.

Parvati had never been any great thinker, not like Padma, but she had been a strong believer in mysticism and spirituality and seemed to know what she was talking about. Lavender had to wonder now if truer words had ever been spoken. She had done Lovegood a dirty trick, now fate seemed to be evening the score. To put it bluntly, Karma was kicking her arse right about now.

“Oh look,” Granger said bringing Lavender's focus back to her. “I see Molly up there with the children.” She then waved as though trying to catch their attention.

Lavender looked up in the same direction as Granger, but couldn't see anything since they were probably too far away.

“You know, we had so much fun the other night; Violet, Felicity, Rosemary, and myself. It was an enjoyable girl's evening. Lizzie was beside herself and even Crookshanks seemed to enjoy the festivities, being the only bloke and all.”

Lavender turned back towards Granger, but she still was looking through the omnioculars.

The afternoon of the Tea the three little girls stayed at the Hollow. Violet and Granger had worked out a shared custody agreement of sorts for the dumb cat (how could Lavender not have recognized that flat faced fleabag) and somehow Violet had managed to con Granger into inviting her and the other two girls along for the visit. Granger laughingly agreed to the manipulation. The children had enjoyed themselves so much that Violet had gone on and on about how much fun “Aunt Hermione” was for days after. Lavender nearly gave herself an aneurysm trying to keep from screaming. It would seem even her own child preferred her nemesis to her.

“You know, that Violet is quite the handful,” Granger continued. “Reminds me of you a bit. Very...headstrong. A bit willful, but in children it can be cute.”

Lavender growled at her. She started to throw a nasty retort right back at her, but Granger's next comment nearly knocked Lavender flat on her bottom.

“She looks just like her daddy however,” continued Granger. She then turned towards Lavender and gave her a kneazle amongst the pixies grin.

Lavender's jaw dropped before she snapped it shut.

“I happen to think she looks more like myself and my Wallingford cousins,” Lavender haughtily informed her as she smoothed down her hair. There, take that, wench!

“Well I guess with the all of the redheads in the Pye family you were pretty much covered either way, now weren't you?”

Lavender let out a horrified cry at these words. Before she could dissolve into a heap of tears right at the heartless bitch's feet, Harry came and thankfully interrupted them. A second more and there would have really been a scene.

“I hope I'm not intruding,” he said as he carefully walked up behind Granger. The brunette froze at his voice before a look of regret crossed her features. She slowly turned around to face Harry and Ginny.

“Hi, Harry,” she mumbled in a tiny, shame filled tone.

Lavender wondered why Granger even pretended to be remorseful. It was evident now that she knew! Lavender didn't know how she had found out, but there was no doubt that she knew. And that meant it was only a matter of time before she told Ron. And when she did that Ron would leave Lavender. He would never forgive her. And Granger would be there...waiting. Just like she had probably planned all along.

Lavender wondered how Granger would do it. Ask Ron to meet her somewhere far from prying eyes and gently kill all of his trust in his fiancée? Or perhaps she would wait until the wedding ceremony and drop the truth in front of the assembled guests. Yes, perhaps that was it. If the shoe had been on the other foot that's the way Lavender would have done it.

“Are you alright, Lavender?” she heard Harry ask. She looked into his kind green eyes and found that they were looking at her with concern. She saw his gaze briefly flicker towards Granger, a look of chastisement in his eyes, before he brought them back to her. Harry was so sweet. It wasn't his fault that his best friend was a world-class bitch.

“I'm just fine, Harry. Thanks,” Lavender said with false cheerfulness. She then smiled at Ginny. “Hi Ginny; my, don't those robes look nice on you.”

Ginny walked up to Lavender and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“I could say the same for you,” she said. “Why hello there, Hermione,” she continued coolly, acknowledging the other woman's presence finally.

Granger however took a moment to respond. She and Harry seemed to be having a wordless argument with their eyes. His looked disappointed, hers read belligerent. Both seemed like they were waiting for the other to surrender to their staring contest.

“Hello, Ginevra,” Granger finally said as she tore her eyes away from Harry's. “Those are rather nice robes. You look quite smart in them.”

Ginny smiled loftily.

“These old things?”

Lavender looked at Ginny questioningly for a moment before adopting a neutral expression. Lavender had been with Ginny in Gladrags when she bought those “old things”. Lavender knew very well how much those “old things” cost. For Ginny's sake Lavender hoped that Harry never found the bill because Ginny would be wearing those “old things” until she was an old thing herself.

“That's a lovely dress by the way,” Ginny replied back. “Where did you get it? Harry so loves it when I wear Muggle clothing,” she said as she looped a possessive arm through her husband's. Lavender watched him stiffen. Granger did too; her eyes had drifted down to where the husband and wife were joined. Ginny pretended not to notice.

“Guess,” Granger said as she raised her eyes to meet Ginny's.

The redhead's brow furrowed.

“Uh...I don't know, Kevin Klein?”

It took a moment for Granger to realize that it wasn't a joke. One of her eyebrows arched up in a superior way making Ginny's ears turn purple. Lavender decided to try and save her friend before she embarrassed herself further.

“Guess is actually a pricey Muggle designer brand and store,” Lavender explained. Lavender, being the clothes horse that she was, often looked through Muggle catalogs and magazines. She considered it part of her Muggle studies to impress her future father-in-law. Lavender found that she actually liked most of the Muggle styles and had often tried some of them herself.

“And I think you meant Calvin Klein,” she added.

Ginny quickly smiled. “Well it really makes you stand out from the rest of the crowd, Hermione. Calls real attention to you. But I guess that was the point.”

Harry frowned at the remark.

“So, were you and Lavender having a nice chat?”

Ginny had looked between Hermione’s stony face and Lavender's tear stained cheeks and had assessed the situation right away.

Granger opened her mouth to reply but Harry, stepping forward, cut her off.

“Can we talk?” He fleetingly looked back at Ginny and then turned back. “Alone.”

His words were formed as a request, but by his tone it was clear that he wouldn't accept no for an answer. Ginny and Granger both balked at the question.

“Harry darling, we really should take our seats.”

“I don't want to miss the game!” Granger protested.

“You barely can tell the difference between a Bludger and a Beater's bat,” said Harry caustically. “Come along.”

He grabbed her arm.

“But the game...OW!”

Harry had dragged her off behind him. He marched with his captive through the now thickening crowd, further down the railing from Lavender and Ginny.

“YOU PROMISED!” she heard Harry tell Granger.

“THE STUPID COW ASKED FOR IT!” she heard Granger's raised voice say before distance and the noise of the crowd swallowed the rest of the conversation.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” asked Ginny suspiciously as they disappeared from view.

“Don't know; don't care as long as Harry keeps her the hell away from me!”

Ginny took Lavender's hand.

“Listen Lav; do not let Hermione get to you. She's good for doing that. Never let her think that she has the upper hand.”

“BUT SHE DOES, GINNY! IT’S JUST A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE SHE TAKES MY RON AWAY FROM ME AGAIN!”

“Well Ron would be an idiot if he allowed that to happen!” Ginny vehemently exclaimed.

She crossed in front of Lavender and continued to try and stare after Harry and Hermione. From their vantage point, all they could see every now and then as people passed back and forth was the two of their heads placed closely together. Ginny put a hand to her head and began to slowly massage the temple.

“After all, Ron wasn't good enough for her then, what would make him think he's good enough for her now?”

Lavender was taken aback by Ginny's hurtful remark. She stumbled and spluttered as she tried to refute what Ginny said. Before she could, Ginny held up a hand to halt her.

“Not that I feel that way, of course. I love my brother, for all I want to shake him at times,” Ginny said affectionately. “But I hated the way that Hermione used to run rough shod over him. It was obvious that she thought herself too good to marry a Weasley. She just liked jerking Ron on her chain, seeing how often she could make him jump through her little hoop. She almost tried to get away with that with Harry until I put a stop to it.”

Ginny smiled proudly when she said this.

“I had to let Hermione know who was boss when it came to Harry. You just have to do the same with Ron.”

Although Ginny had never outright said it, through little things mentioned here and there Lavender had long ago gathered that Ginny had soured on her former friend. This was the first time that Lavender was really seeing it in action, though. First there was the stilted small talk from earlier. Now it seemed like Ginny was outright bashing Granger. From what Lavender could see, the other woman didn't seem particularly fond of Ginny anymore either. It was weird; Ginny had no real reason to hate Granger. Lavender wondered what could possibly be behind their hostility.

“Well that's easy for you to say,” Lavender threw back at her. “Hermione Granger was never the great love of Harry's life.”

Ginny snorted at the comment. “I should hope not!”

The two of them then fell into easy giggles over that. Unluckily, their moment of levity was short.

“Hullo, Red. Hullo, Pye!”

At the sound of the voice, Lavender and Ginny rolled their eyes in tandem, then turned to the right to greet their intruder.

“Daphne.”

“Greengrass.”

The dark eyed Slytherin witch came sauntering towards them, quill and notepad already drawn.

“How are the two luckiest witches in all of England faring this fine day?” she asked in a sugary sweet voice. Lavender had to bite down on her tongue not to say something biting to the woman. She had barely written three words in her column about her and Ron's Commencement ceremony, the hag!

“Just fine, Daphne,” Ginny said diplomatically, smiling benignly. “And yourself?”

“Horrid!” said Greengrass as she pouted. “I've been looking all over these stands for a story to write and there is none to be found.”

“No acts of depravity and debauchery to report on?” Lavender sarcastically muttered.

“No,” the silly woman said with a crestfallen expression on her face.

Ginny hid her smile behind her hand.

“Did you know that the Quibbler's circulation is now gaining on the Prophet's?” Greengrass asked, as though shocked at the very idea. “Rita is in a lather over it. She told us that one of her reporters had better bring in a story worthy of the front page tomorrow or she was sacking the lot of us. I tell you what,” she said conspiratorially as she leaned in closer to Ginny, “I have to wonder if Lovegood isn't putting subliminal charms behind those articles of hers. Why else would anyone actually read them?”

Good journalism, real sources, words larger than a five year old’s vocabulary perhaps, thought Lavender contemptuously before she realized that she was actually defending the Ravenclaw.

I need to come out of the sun, she told herself.

“If I don't find a good story soon I might have to run with the little piece of goss I picked up from Eloise Midgen when we had lunch over at the Dragon's Egg yesterday.”

Lavender's eyes practically popped out of her head and she swallowed nervously.

“Pye, when was the last time you talked to Midgen?” Greengrass asked tauntingly.

“Uh,” said Lavender, voice raising an octave as she looked guiltily at Ginny, then quickly away. “I don't remember.”

Although she did. It was just the other afternoon. She might have invited Eloise and her baby over for a visit. And she might have made her and Eloise's cups of tea a little too “Irish” when she doused them both with Ogden's as they settled in for a chat. And she might have let it slip what Ron told her about the Potters sleeping in separate beds. She might have.

Shite.

“You could always interview Ron,” Lavender quickly proposed. “Once the Wasps wipe the pitch with Appleby that is,” she said with a smile. “I might even be able to arrange it for you.”

“Oh, that's sweet, Pye. But I'm looking for something a little more...oh, I don't know...interesting.”

The smile on Lavender's face plummeted to the ground.

“Like that hot little number talking to your husband down there, Red,” Daphne said as she looked around the other two women. Her eyes were bright with interest at a possible story. “Is she a tourist? Americans seem to like dressing up like Muggles while they are over here on Holiday. Is she a friend of either of yours?”

Lavender and Ginny shared loaded glances. Neither was sure just what to say to Daphne. The answer to both questions was no, but it seemed inappropriate to say that.

“I hope everything is ok in the marriage, Red,” said Daphne with a smirk, catching on to their unease.

Lavender looked uncomfortable. Ginny huffed indignantly. Daphne ignored it, though. She gave Ginny's shoulder a squeeze and let her hand rest there boldly.

“You know, if you ever need a shoulder, I'm here for you.” She then displayed two sets of sharp white teeth.

Lavender wondered if a diver saw a similar image right before he was swallowed whole by a Great White. Ginny however was saved just in the nick of time.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN...WELCOME! WELCOME TO THE FINAL FOR THE BRITISH NATIONAL CUP!”

The sound of clapping and wild screams filled the air. The game was about to get under way.

“It's been a joy talking to you, Greengrass,” Lavender said in a syrupy tone. “But Ginny and I really need to go take our seats with our family. The game is about to start. Ta!”

Lavender then grabbed Ginny by the arm and steered her away from the railing and over to the Family and Friends section.

“She has no shame,” said Ginny in an awed voice.

“Told you she was trying to get in your knickers,” replied Lavender shrewdly.

After fighting their way through the mass of people who were struggling to make it to their seats as well, they eventually found Bill, Fleur, Fred, Glinda, Percy, and Penelope. Arthur and Molly were sitting with all of the children in one of the higher level boxes, and Charlie and George were sitting with the players. As the two women scooted their way to their seats, Lavender's mood had started to improve.

Then she noticed that Luna Lovegood was also sitting with the Weasley group. For whatever reasons that was beyond Lavender, the Loon and Ron had remained friends even after their break-up. Ginny sat down next to her and politely asked after her boyfriend. Lovegood pointed to the stands opposite from them. Lavender wondered why she couldn't have sat with the arse as well. She barely nodded to acknowledge the other blonde's presence. She wasn't on speaking terms with Lovegood. The batty woman had sent over a truly monstrous engagement gift and Ron was actually contemplating placing the “artwork” in their future home. He thought it was a riot.

While Ginny and Lovegood fell into pleasant conversation, Lavender chose to focus on the pitch instead. When Appleby's starting team was being announced to the sound of thunderous applause, Harry finally wandered over with a cagey expression on his face. Lavender made way for him on the bench so he could sit next to his wife.

“Hermione isn't going to sit with us?” Ginny asked her husband as he plopped down next to her. Lavender couldn't tell whether it was really a question or a statement.

“No,” was the only gruff response she got.

“Oh,” said Ginny brightly as she smiled at her husband. “That's too bad.”

Harry missed the smile it was said with. He was craning his neck towards the direction of the railing, trying to keep his eyes on Granger.

“NOW LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, KINDLY WELCOME THE HIGHEST SCORING TEAM IN THE LEAGUE--THE WIMBOURNE WASPS!”

The cheering became near deafening. Lavender clapped her little hands so hard that they ached.

“I GIVE YOU-ADDISON!”

On their side of the stadium a black and yellow clad figure on a broomstick came zooming out onto the field. Their section of the stands actually felt as though it were vibrating with all of the Wasp supporters' excitement.

“IKEMAN! PEPPERS! QUIMBY! TALBOT! VERDON-HALL!”

With each name that was announced the crowd was whipped into frenzy. Lavender's skin seemed to tingle from the thrill of it all. All that was left was just one more name to call out.

“You know, I don't think it's such a smart idea for Hermione to be standing at that railing like that,” Glinda said as she shared an uneasy look with Harry. Harry stared at her mutely for a second before some sort of comprehension snapped into place.

“Oh shite! HERMIONE!”

Harry jumped from his seat and bolted in the direction of his friend.

But it was too late.

“AND LAST, BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST-WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEASLYYYYYYY!”

Quick as a shot, a yellow and black blur came flying out onto the pitch. In a split second the heavy stomping of feet made the stands tremble as dozens of young women and men headed towards the railing singing.

“Weasley is our king,

Weasley is our king

He won't let the Quaffle in

Weasley is our king.

Weasley can save anything,

He never leaves a single ring,

That's why Wasp fans always sing

Weasley is our king.”

Ron's more avid fans, “The Red Heads”, as they called themselves, had adopted the song as their own not too long after Ron began playing for Wimbourne. Not one game went by when they did not serenade their hero with his song as he confidently took the pitch. They usually would rush to the railing on the side where the players would come out; a mob of people with hair charmed to match the flame color of the Keeper. No one wanted to be in their way when they launched into their fight song. Oftentimes innocent bystanders got tossed around or even bruised and battered if they happened to get trapped in the mêlée.

When Lavender first started climbing into the stands she joked to herself that it looked like a Weasley family convention. With it being such an important game the fan turnout was enormous. Now, with all of The Red Heads converging near the railing, it looked like there were an avalanche of Weasleys pouring down from the heavens...directly in Granger's direction.

Maybe they'll do me a favor and just push her off, Lavender mused archly to herself. Glinda's voice however interrupted her dark thoughts.

“JESUS!” shouted Glinda as she stood up. “SHE'S GOING TO BE CRUSHED!”

Their small party was all looking in Granger's direction now, horrified. She had whipped her sunshades off and the expression on her face made it quite clear what she was feeling as Granger realized the danger of the situation. Terror. Her mouth was contorted in a scream to form Harry's name, but it couldn't be heard over the commotion of the crowd.

“Don't worry,” said Lovegood serenely. “Ronald won't let anything happen to Hermione.”

No one else seemed to hear Lovegood say this, but Lavender did. For some reason those cryptic words made Lavender's chest seize painfully as she looked at the other woman wondrously. Her view was then blocked when Ginny agitatedly jumped to her feet. With her attention being drawn from Lovegood, Lavender followed suit.

“HARRY, COME BACK! YOU'LL GET TRAMPLED IN THERE! YOU'LL NEVER GET TO HER IN TIME!”

Ginny's words turned out to be prophetic. As the crowd of fans pressed themselves closer and closer to the railing, the sound of bending metal was heard. In mere seconds the rail in front of Granger gave way with a soul chilling groan. Before Lavender's hands could reach up and cover her eyes, she saw her competition fall over the edge.

It could have been a greater tragedy that day, more people had started to slide through after Granger, but the shoddy safety charms that were supposed to prevent such an accident from happening finally kicked in keeping the rest of the startled mass from going over. But that hardly made an impression on Lavender's guilty conscience.

Dear Merlin, I've killed her.

That was the first thought that came to her before Lavender's feverish mind began shouting the same mantra repeatedly.

I take it back! I take it back! I didn't mean it! I didn't really mean for Hermione to die! Oh Ron, forgive me!

The noise level in the stadium was the equivalent of a sonic boom. All one could hear were screaming, shouting, and the sound of children crying. The Announcer, Lee Jordan, was trying to calm everyone down and regain order, but even with a Sonorus he could barely be heard above the din.

Lavender wondered if she would be deaf by the end of the day. For a moment there, when she finally dropped her hands from her face, she had actually thought she had gone blind. All she saw was hundreds of bright points of light. She assumed that some higher power was punishing her immediately for wishing for her rival's death, even if it had been said in jest. But as her eyes slowly came into focus, she realized that what she had been seeing was actually dozens upon dozens of flash bulbs going off.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, YOU ARE WITNESSING A MONUMENTAL MOMENT,” Lee's voice boomed across the stadium. “IT LOOKS LIKE RONALD WEASLEY DECIDED TO PLAY HIS HAND AT SEEKING TODAY. BUT INSTEAD OF THE SNITCH HE CAUGHT A BIRD!”

The relieved crowd erupted into laughter and exultant cheers. Lavender however had little to smile about. Her lips were in a straight line as she watched her fiancé flying away from the side of the stands where the rail broke. In his arms was cradled his ex-girlfriend who appeared to be unconscious. Harry, who had apparently brought his broom with him, was flying next to them.

“AND IN ANOTHER INTERESTING TURN OF EVENTS, HARRY POTTER IS ON THE FIELD! WHY POTTER IS ON THE FIELD WE DON'T QUITE KNOW YET, BUT THE LAST TIME HE AND WEASLEY FLEW ON A QUIDDITCH PITCH AT THE SAME TIME WAS JANUARY 2001. WHAT A DAY FOR SURPRISES FOLKS!”

Suddenly the image of the two men flying side by side was put up on the huge scoreboard near the Announcer's box. Nearly all of the spectators jumped to their feet and began furiously applauding. The sound of that was all that was needed to rouse Granger from her faint. Her head slowly began to rise up, and as she opened her eyes, her shell shocked face was what filled up the screen next.

A collective gasp rose up from the spellbound audience.

“SWEET FANCY MERLIN!” Lee shouted excitedly. “IS THAT HERMIONE GRANGER?!”

Lavender slowly lowered herself into her seat although those around her were still standing. She closed her eyes. She tried to tell herself that she closed her eyes to spare them from the glare of all of the tiny camera flashbulbs going off continuously. Really it was to hold back any renegade tears that tried to slip past her shut lids.

“LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE GOLDEN TRIO OF GRIFFINDOR RIDES AGAIN!”

Well, at least Greengrass got her story, Lavender bitterly thought.

And what a story! The game had been four days ago yet England was still all abuzz over it. It hardly mattered that the Wasps had won the match by 80 points, or that Ron had been on fire blocking just about every goal; all anyone could to talk about was Granger's sudden reemergence into the magical world. More importantly, everyone wanted to know the significance of her timing.

The editor at Witch Weekly stopped the presses so that the next day the front page featured a picture of Ron flying under Granger as she fell from the sky. In the picture he caught her over and over again. GRANGER'S BACK, BUT CAN HE KEEP-HER, was the title of their story.

The Daily Prophet decided to take a slightly different approach. HERMIONE COMES HOME(WRECKING), the paper said the morning after the game. For six pages it detailed every true and untrue exploit of the woman's love life. Monday’s headline read: WEASLEY WEDDING WILD CARD; WILL THEY OR WON'T THEY. A picture of Ron and Lavender taken at their Commencement ceremony smiled out from it as Lavender's black and white image sneaked adoring peeks at her fiancé. Set right next to it for comparison was a picture of Ron and Granger as they danced at Harry and Ginny's Ending Party the night before their wedding. Both of them looked heartbroken. Granger's head rested on Ron's shoulder and every few moments he would place his lips in her hair and kiss the top of her head. It was gag worthy!

The tabloids like Accio! and the Dublin Daily Comet had all run similar articles within the past few days. The story was even being featured in the Observer in France, the Iron Quill in Bulgaria, and in the International Seer which was sold world wide. The Quibbler was not left out either, though their piece was buried all the way on page ten the first day and page fifteen the next. After that they dropped it, but the other rags didn't. Every day they seemed to pose the same question; just how long would it be before Ron Weasley chucked his current fiancée for his former flame. Lavender was left wondering the same thing.

“There, there my dear,” said the Madame as Lavender continued to sob on her shoulder. She held the younger woman to her tightly, brushing her hair back gently, as she whispered words of endearment in Lavender's ears. After a few minutes Lavender, feeling spent, pulled back from the older witch and tearfully gave her a self-conscious smile.

“Sorry,” she said. “Now I've ruined your robes too.”

The Madame laughed.

“Cara, this is nothing that won't be cured by a freshening spell.”

The Madame then flicked her wand at herself and Lavender and instantaneously their clothes were in order. She then pocketed her wand.

“Now you tell Filomena what is wrong.”

For close to an hour Lavender poured out her very soul to the woman. She told the Madame about how she first came to date Ron. When she had gotten a good look at him at the start of Sixth Year she thought he had gotten quite fanciable over the summer, but the real reason for her sudden interest in Ron Weasley was connected to Granger. Lavender had grown tired of the way that Little Miss Prefect acted as though she barely tolerated associating with Parvati and herself. In the beginning Lavender and Parv honestly tried to reach out to their other room mate; they offered her cosmetic advice, tried to help her with that dreadful hair of hers, even generously included her in all of their late night boy talks, but Granger acted as though she were too good to associate with the other two Gryffindor girls.

Things completely went south between them at the start of Fifth Year. True Lavender had let herself get swept up in all of the mounting anti-Harry hysteria, and she might have accused him of lying about You-Know-Who's return, but she did not deserve the telling off that Granger meted out to her. From that day on she acted as though she had nothing but disdain for Lavender. Lavender, wanting to try and make her see that all was forgiven even joined the DA later, but the damage had already been done. Lavender had maligned Harry, and in Granger's opinion was no longer worthy of her attention.

At first this bothered Lavender. She hated the idea of someone, anyone, not liking her. But eventually a bit of the prideful nature she had inherited from her mother came to the forefront. If Granger thought she was so much better than her, Lavender would strike back at her where it would hurt the most. She'd show her!

“I just never intended on falling in love with him,” said Lavender pitifully as she dried her face with a handkerchief the Madame handed her.

“How does that Muggle song go? Love happen when you are busy making other plans,” the Madame chuckled.

Lavender sniffed.

“It's life,” she corrected her. “John Lennon. Don't ask me how I know that,” Lavender continued smiling bashfully.

“Ah yes, but the sentiment is the same, no?”

“I thought that finally Ron and I would have a real chance, but with the ex back in the picture I might as well give up. He would never choose me over her. She's his soul mate.”

“Says who?”

“Glenda Chittock. She dedicated an hour of sappy love songs to them last night on the wireless.”

The Madame tutted at her answer.

“And you think that this woman you dislike so is your fiancé's soul mate because of that?”

“She was his first love.”

“First love does not necessarily mean forever love.”

Lavender sighed.

“Well maybe Ron and I weren't meant to be a forever kind of love. Maybe I've been just a placeholder all of this time. Maybe I should just do the adult thing and step out of the way; let Ron and Hermione be together.”

Though it might kill me, thought Lavender sadly as she fidgeted with her sleeves.

The Madame stared at her for what seemed like ages. Lavender began to feel foolish under the scrutinizing green eyes. She began to bounce her weight from foot to foot nervously and was about to ask the Madame if everything was alright when the woman broke the silence herself.

“Did you know that the ancient Greeks are the ones who came up with this whole ridiculous nonsense of soul mates? They once believed that the original human race had been created with four arms, four legs, and a single head that contained two faces.”

Lavender's face screwed up in confusion at the odd turn of the conversation. The only response that she could come up with was, “Eww.”

The Madame's eyes glittered mirthfully.

“Zeus, a drama queen if ever there were one, thought this race of mortals were far too powerful. So he split them up. For the rest of their lives the two halves were doomed to search endlessly for each other to feel whole.”

“That's...depressing.”

“Very,” said the Madame. “And quite an over-simplification of love in my opinion,” she continued. “Don't get me wrong bella; I do believe there are people who simply belong together. But to call them soul mates...cheapens it. I fall more towards the belief that love is an organic, living thing. It needs nourishment to live and thrive. If tended, given light and air, and allowed to grow; love can last forever.”

Lavender was captivated by the Madame's speech. She felt as though she could hardly breathe. In her mind's eye all she could see was Ron's smiling face as the old witch talked on.

“There is another side, though. Love can also be smothered or starved to death. It can be neglected and ignored; left out in the cold to die, leaving only a frozen, shriveled corpse behind.”

She then placed a soothing hand on Lavender's cheek and patted it.

“Do you understand what I mean?” she asked.

Lavender bewilderedly shook her head. The Madame only smiled.

“That's alright, you're still so young,” she told her. “What I mean is that you have to work for real love and most importantly lay all of your trust in it. Do you love your Signor Weasley, cara?”

“Madly!” Lavender said fervently.

“Then you never give up on him. Trust in him,” she said simply as she looked into Lavender's eyes. “And if you can do that you two are what is meant to be.”

Lavender saw the sincere affection for her in the Madame's eyes and nearly wept because of it. But she was no longer depressed and unhappy. Instead the Madame's words had invigorated her. Her belief that she and Ron belonged together was renewed and the thought of that seemed to fill her with lightness.

“Thank you, Madame!” Lavender gushed as she pulled the Madame into a tight hug.

“Filomena,” corrected the Madame lightheartedly as she squeezed Lavender back. Lavender giggled as she pulled back from her.

“Filomena. Thank you. Thank you! Thank you so much!”

“It is my pleasure, cara. I've been in this business far too long not to know when a couple is meant to be. With you and your Signor Weasley there was never a question.”

“Thank you,” Lavender softly said again.

She then realized that her mother and sister must have been wondering what was taking her so long. It seemed like she had been hiding in the changing room for hours.

“I guess it's time I took these off,” she said referring to the wedding robes she still had on.

“Before you do I would just like to see something,” said the Madame as she dashed out of the room.

A minute later she was coming back through the curtains. In her hands was a garland of small white flowers. The woman held it to her chest reverently for a moment before she approached Lavender.

“When I got married...” the Madame paused to smother a giggle, “eons ago...I wore a wreath on my head made of Madagascar jasmine. This was it. Stephanotis. They symbolize marital happiness. Most brides prefer to wear the traditional veil. In the years long passed, a young girl about to be wed would meet her future husband head bare, hair tumbling down her back. It was a sign that she was his virgin, pure and untouched. Somewhere along the line we witches adopted our Muggle counterpart’s use of the veil to represent our virtue. But when I married my husband I chose to wear this.”

She lifted the wreath to Lavender's head. Lavender barely blinked an eye as she bowed her head to receive it.

“I wanted to see my love clearly as I came down the aisle. I wanted to see my future as I walked towards it.”

The Madame turned Lavender around so she could see herself. Lavender barely noticed the few tears that slid down her face as she looked at the fairy princess, now turned queen, before her.

“There,” said the Madame as she smiled at Lavender. “Magnifico! Just as lovely as I thought it would be.”

With tears still glistening in her eyes, Lavender tore her gaze away from the mirror.

“Madame, could you please tell my mum that I've found the robes I'll be wearing when I get married.”

The Madame could barely contain her glee.

“Signora Brown-Pye, it would be my pleasure.”

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

After leaving Blissful Brides, Lavender decided to pop over to see Ron; the Madame's advice still ringing in her ears. She Apparated into his and George's flat, but was dismayed to find that he wasn't there. To quiet her mind she decided to try and straighten the place; the two young men were anything but neat freaks. She washed all of the dirty dishes in the kitchen and vanished the trash, put all of Ron's Quidditch training robes in the hamper to be laundered, and dusted around the living room. Once that was done she settled on the couch to wait for Ron.

She waited all of six minutes before she pulled out her two-way mirror to see where he was...and just who was with him. As she opened the little pink compact and spoke Ron's name into it, she prayed that he wasn't with his ex-girlfriend.

“Lav?” came Ron's voice from the mirror as Lavender saw his tiny image appear. She smiled down at it.

“Hi, luv,” she said trying to control her trembling lips.

“How'd things with your mum go? Was Lenore on her best behavior? I don't have to give her another talking to, do I?” he asked as his eyes twinkled. Ron knew just how much her mother could get under her skin.

“No. Everything was fine; no blood shed.”

Ron laughed.

“So where are you?”

“The flat.” Lavender paused to gather her strength and ask her own question. “And you?” she squeaked.

“The pitch,” was Ron's reply making Lavender exhale gratefully. “Which Broomstick wants me for the next cover! Can you believe it?! Me! It was a last minute thing. I've been taking pictures all day.” His words came out in an excited rush.

“That's fabulous, Ron!” she said as she shared in his infectious happiness. “Sounds like we'll be celebrating tonight.”

“Lav!” a scandalized Ron said in a mocking tone. “I'm not that kind of a wizard.”

“Don't be so cheeky. You don't get that again until we're officially man and wife,” she said giggling. “I'm going to fix you a feast tonight, everything that's your favorite.”

Ron however didn't seem too enthused at the idea. That was odd. Sometimes the smell of a simple roast could get Ron to do some mundane chore or run some errand that even the kinkiest piece of lingerie imaginable could not.

“What's wrong? My tenderloin with the pineapple mango salsa is usually enough to get you to carry my shopping bags all through Diagon,” she teased.

Lavender's excellent culinary skills however didn't seem enough to tempt Ron. He had other plans apparently.

“Can I get a rain check, hon?” he asked. “It's just that I was going to go over to Remus' with Hermione and Harry later. That is if it's alright with you,” he quickly added. “Is it alright with you?” he asked nervously.

Lavender put on her perkiest face and lied through her teeth.

“Of course it is.”

“Are you sure?”

Lavender bravely nodded her head.

“You're the best!” said Ron as his worried face broke into a smile of relief. “Then I'll see you tomorrow?”

She absently nodded her head up and down again.

“Great! Then I have to go, sweetheart,” he said before quickly ending their call.

With a soft click, the two-way was closed.

“Love you too,” she said meekly.

What was Lavender to do? Her fiancé was off gallivanting with a woman who had designs on him. It was painfully obvious. Everyone else might have bought into Granger's little story about wanting to come home, but Lavender would not be taken in.

Granger's whole act reeked of a pathetic last ditch effort to win Ron back; the glamour girl make-over, the expensive looking clothes, the money she was throwing around like there was no tomorrow. Granger's bitten down nails of old gave way to perfectly manicured hands now. The former Plain Jane wore nothing but designer labels and was dripping in jewels. Holy hippogriffs, she had a diamond around her neck that was roughly the size of Rubeus Hagrid's thumbnail! And for a woman with no job, and seemingly no intent to get one, she spent money as liberally as though it would never dry up.

Lavender had pointed this last fact out to Ron when they agreed to meet a few of the family for drinks and dinner at Presto's, Granger's treat. Well, Ron was the one who had actually done the accepting. Granger claimed that she wanted to thank Ron for saving her life. I'll bet she wants to “thank” him, thought Lavender. Probably would try to “thank” him under the table if she could get away with it, the tramp. Lavender was determined not to let Ron out of her sight the whole night.

“Hermione's always had money,” Ron explained easily. “Her parents were like some kind of Healers, but for your teeth. Apparently Muggle teeth Healers make a killing.”

“I think she's up to something,” said Lavender as she tried to plant a seed of doubt in Ron's mind concerning Granger's true motives. He wasn't buying it, though. He actually snapped at her harshly.

“DROP IT LAVENDER!”

When they got to Presto's later that evening there had been a brief delay at the door. The maître d' had actually refused to seat them before he recognized who Ron was. After bowing and scraping accordingly, he showed them to the table where their group was waiting.

Harry, Hermione, Glinda, and Fred were seated on one side of the booth while George and Charlie sat across from them. When they reached the group, Fred and George burst into laughter while the rest of the table's occupants stared at her and Ron in stunned silence.

Though Lavender had come dressed in one of her prettiest robes, Ron's get-up was a complete contrast to hers. On his feet was a pair of expensive trainers that were unlaced. His jeans were at least three sizes too big and they hung off of him revealing the garter of his boxers with the frolicking green dragons. Though Lavender loved his muscular arms, she didn't think it was appropriate to have them on such display in his sleeveless white singlet. But the topper, the thing that completed the entire ridiculous costume, was the brimmed cap Ron had cocked to an angle on his head. On it was printed the message, “I Break for Fat Chicks”. Lavender had no idea what that even meant.

It was Granger who eventually broke the silence.

“Well hello there, K-Fed.”

Glinda threw her head back as a merry stream of tears slid down her face. Her whole body shook as she struggled not to laugh out loud. It was a losing battle.

“Huh?” Ron looked at Glinda and then Granger inquiringly before shaking his head. “You know what, never mind. Knowing you two it can’t be good.”

The men's laughter soon joined Glinda and Granger’s.

“Merlin’s Beard, Ron!” exclaimed Charlie as he eyed his youngest brother up and down. “Why on Earth are you dressed like that? The seat of your trousers is dragging the floor. I hope you won’t let mum see you like that.”

Ron looked at Charlie as though he were insane.

“ARE YOU DAFT?!”

He and Lavender slid into the plush vermilion love seat-like booth next to Charlie and George.

“I had an interview with a big time celebrity reporter from the States today,” Ron told the table excitedly. After being congratulated by everyone, Glinda asked Ron the name of the publication he was going to be featured in.

“Warlock’s Quarterly,” Lavender answered for him, eyes filled with pride.

Those eyes then narrowed as she set Fred and George in her sights. Their amusement quickly dried up. They each slunk back in their seats and tried to avoid her gaze.

“Ron’s dressed like a vagrant however because someone…”

She looked at Fred.

“...and his idiot brother…”

She looked at George.

“...convinced Ron that this was what wizards over in the States wore.” Lavender then crossed her arms before her angrily.

Harry guffawed loudly as he teased Ron.

“You just never learn, do you mate? Taking any kind of a suggestion from those two is never a good idea.”

“Well they were right actually,” Granger said. “I often saw people who were so obviously magical and they were rarely ever wearing robes. None of them kept it as...um...'gangsta',” she paused to smother a chortle, “as all of that, though.”

Glinda burst out laughing again.

“Eh, the writer thought it was funny,” Ron replied, unaffected by the ribbing. “He loved me. What was it he said, ‘Ron Weasley is a bona fide star in his own right now’. Saving your arse yesterday didn’t hurt either.” He winked at Hermione.

Lavender pursed her lips irritably.

“You’re welcome. Next time I’ll arrange to be tied to a set of railroad tracks.”

Ron laughed, stood up to bend across the table, and laid a smacking kiss on Granger’s forehead. She squirmed and tossed her head back and forth complaining about icky boy germs. Harry hooted at their act. Lavender didn’t think it was all that funny, though. For all Ron was ignoring his fiancée, he would have been showing the whole restaurant all of his lily white arse if it hadn't been for her! When he had refused to change his get up after the interview she cast a spell so that his pants would at least stay up.

A waiter came to take their drink orders. Ron and Fred’s drink of choice was Firewhiskey. Harry, George, and Charlie ordered a large pitcher of beer; 'Ye Olde Troll. Granger asked to see the wine list. After perusing it for a few moments and seeing that the restaurant had some Muggle varieties, she asked for a bottle of the Chateau d’Yquem. Glinda licked her lips; she seemed to approve of Hermione’s selection. Not that they offered; Lavender preferred to have a Blue Fairitini herself.

When the drinks were floated out, the whole table wasted no time getting properly sloshed. Glinda and Granger practically had the bottle of wine emptied in minutes. With every glass Glinda’s mouth got filthier and filthier while Granger’s giggles rose higher and higher. She sounded like a hyena. The men were content to just sit back and let the two women dominate the conversation. Feeling left out, Lavender silently nursed her drink.

“Oh my God! Oh my God! OH MY GOD!”

Glinda was practically standing up in her seat. She was gawking at a very attractive man and his date who were seated far across the room.

“Is that Jude Law sitting over there?” she asked in wonder.

Granger craned her neck to see who Glinda was referring to.

“Looks like. Little Miss Size Two however does not appear to be his fiancée. Men!”

“I do believe I resemble that remark,” quipped George.

Granger threw her napkin ring at him.

Glinda was still reeling from her discovery.

“Do you mean to tell me that Jude-bleeding-Law is a wizard?!” she asked as she looked around the table.

“Well, yes,” Granger answered. She shrugged her shoulders. “I thought everyone knew that. I mean come on; he was in like fifty movies in this last year alone. That bloke has got a Time-Turner stashed somewhere or my name is Pythia the Portly. And it’s not.”

“I remember Law,” shared Charlie after tipping back his mug. “He was a Hufflepuff in my year. Never met a mirror that he didn’t like. He ended up leaving Hogwarts midterm; said that the yellow in his robes clashed with his eyes.”

“A valid complaint if ever there were one,” said Glinda with a nod of her head making Granger giggle. “Goodness, he is utterly fuckable.”

Ron’s jaw nearly hit the table. He looked across it towards his brother.

“FRED! Are you just going to stand by and let your wife talk like that in front of you?!”

Glinda folded her arms and sneered at Ron. “And just what is he supposed to do about it Fifty Pence? Put me 'cross his knee and spank me?”

George snorted.

“She’d enjoy that too much.”

Fred pulled his wife close to his side and grinned.

“It’s alright. Law is on the list, right?” When Glinda nodded her head he added, “He’s allowed then.”

“Allowed?” questioned Charlie.

“What list?” asked Harry. Lavender had to admit she was curious too.

“Oh nothing too big, Freddy and I each just put together a list of the three people we both are allowed to shag if ever given the opportunity.”

It took a moment for the statement to sink in.

“You’re both bloody bonkers.”

“Hang on Ron; it’s genius if you think about it really,” said Fred. “You can’t cheat if the person isn’t on the list.”

“That sounds like Vengadasalaam reasoning if ever I've heard it.”

Glinda pointed her middle finger at her friend. Lavender was pretty damned sure that she wasn’t telling Granger that she was number 1. Granger found the whole thing hilarious, though.

“So who made your illustrious Top Three?” she asked as she licked a droplet of the spirit off of her bottom lip. Out of the corner of her eyes Lavender saw Harry shift in his seat with discomfort.

“Are you ok, Harry?” Lavender asked him.

Everyone turned to look at Harry.

“Uh, y-yes,” he managed to get out before lowering his voice and answering the question again. Feeling uncomfortable with everyone’s attention on him, he turned to Glinda.

“So...erm...list...”

“Well, pretty boy Law, for one. He’s at the very bottom, though. It used to be Hayden Christensen; I mean who wouldn’t want that light saber pointing at them? But I began to feel like a letch lusting after such a young boy.”

Granger scoffed. “You’re not that old.”

“No, but he looks like he has no hair down there. Hair down there is very important.”

“Here, here!” responded Granger as she raised her drink in toast. The two of them then clinked their wine goblets together.

“HERMIONE!” cried Harry and Ron. They sounded shocked, horrified, and a trifle amused; all at the same time.

“If I had a set of pearls I’d be clutching them right about now,” Harry joked, causing her to giggle louder.

Harry shook his head.

“That’s it young lady, no more wine for you.”

He reached for her glass.

“But I’ve only had three,” Granger whinged as she tried to throw back the remaining drabbles in her glass. Harry eventually rested it away from her.

“I know. I should have taken the bottle away from you two glasses ago,” he said lightly as he placed his lips on the goblet where her faint lipstick print was, and drank the rest of its contents. The action came off oddly intimate and rather sensual to Lavender. Granger seemed in a daze as she watched the muscles in Harry's neck cord, then undulate as the liquid went down.

Ron's voice seemed to finally shake her from her spell.

“I don’t think I like the idea of you women trying to turn us poor blokes into sexual objects,” Ron said sarcastically as he motioned for the waiter to refill his tumbler.

They all laughed, Granger the loudest. What was she trying to prove? Show-off!

Lavender made a show of grabbing hold of Ron's hand as he brought it back to the table. Ron gave her a bemused smile, but patted her hand tenderly as he turned his attention to his newly freshened mug. Lavender knew Granger had been paying attention to it all because she rolled her eyes.

“You know, I don’t think I would mind it so much,” Charlie said mirthfully. “Being treated as a sex object, that is. Turnabout is fair play as they say, right?”

He looked across the table at Granger and she grinned and nodded her head.

“Well I say objectify me all you want. Hell, until you’re blue in the face! And twice on Sundays, if you like.”

Granger laughed uproariously as did Glinda, Fred, George, and Ron. Harry didn't seem to find it as amusing, though.

“Charlie, you flirt!” Granger scolded in jest. Charlie did his best to look angelic.

Harry once again tried to steer the conversation back on track, this time a little more aggressively. His tone was annoyed as he said, “As you were saying Glinda.”

“Well Colin Firth is my number two.”

Granger's eyes rolled to the back of her head as she closed them languidly.

“Mmm…Mr. Darcy. Good choice!”

“I know! That’s the kind of man you’d give up Jimmy Choos, indoor plumbing, and suffrage for.”

Lavender couldn't stop herself from laughing then. Despite her reluctance from earlier, she found herself slipping into the ease of the conversation and enjoying it greatly. She even shocked herself by understanding a good deal of what Granger and Glinda were talking about.

“So who’s number one then, Glinda?” she asked, joining in the easy-going fun. Glinda's eyes twinkled at Lavender as she answered her.

“James Bond.”

Granger's brow furrowed.

“Pierce Brosnan?”

“No, James Bond.”

“Oh, you mean Sean Connery,” she tried again.

“NO!” said Glinda irritably as she poured herself out another glass of the d'Yquem. “I mean James-bloody-Bond! You know, shaken, not stirred and all that.”

“But you do realize–”

“Believe me Blondie, she realizes,” Fred snickered.

“So who made the cut for you, Fred?” asked Charlie. Fred wasted no time in answering. The names rolled off his tongue as easily as his jinxes.

“Elikapeka Kapulani, Inez Toledo, and Nwadinobi Ouedraogo.”

Granger's bewildered expression changed once Harry filled the details in for her.

“Chasers for the Oahu Balls of Fire, the Guadalajara Gravediggers, and the Seeker for the Silver Spears of Swaziland.”

“Oh.”

Once that sunk in she turned in her seat to look at Glinda.

“The level of thought that you two have put behind all of this is frightening.”

“Thank you.” Glinda didn't even miss a beat. She then nudged Fred. “But dear husband of mine, don’t think I didn’t see you practically licking the screen the other night when we were watching Die Another Day.”

If Fred was ashamed of his actions his playful grin didn't belie it.

“That Berry chit isn’t that hard on the eyes, I must admit.”

“Yes, yes luv. But unless one of those other little bitches gets chucked the hell off poor Halle just won’t make the cut, now will she?”

She then kissed him grandly on the lips as everyone at the table laughed. Fred pulled her in closer.

“I take it all back,” said Ron as he shook his head. “The both of you are so far from bonkers that you’re not even in the same room with it anymore.”

The couple however ignored him and everyone else around them. Lavender had thought it a cute moment. Then Granger had to go and completely ruin it.

“Aww, I think it’s kind of sweet. It’s like the two of them got to marry their best friend. Who wouldn’t want that? I know I would,” she wistfully said, watching Fred and Glinda snog away. There was only a hint of envy in her voice, but Lavender caught it.

She might as well have thrown the gauntlet down. But at last Lavender had indisputable evidence that Granger was after Ron again. And she wasn't the only one who knew.

Lavender had caught the way Harry's head snapped towards Granger when she had spoken. Granger didn't notice because she was too busy talking to Charlie across the table. Harry appeared to study her for a moment before retreating into himself. It looked like something was working itself out in his head and he was trying to make sense of it. Feeling eyes on him, Harry looked across the table at Lavender and then reddened when their eyes met. Guiltily, he swiftly cut his eyes away from hers.

Probably coming to the realization that his best mate is a slag of the first order, thought Lavender bitterly.

And not a very smart one, for all her hype. The alcohol seemed to have loosened Granger's tongue to the point that she let that one slip by. Really, what best friend could she have been talking about?

But in a way Lavender was glad that it was all out in the open. The battle lines could be clearly drawn now. The only question was just how to handle the situation. She couldn't bad mouth Granger to Ron, he wouldn't stand for it. She couldn't outright accuse her or tell her off like Ginny suggested; Granger might then bring up things that Lavender rather not have made public. Just what could she do to make sure that Ron stayed with her? That he knew that she was the right one for him? What would it take? What would Lavender have to do?

She felt a warm, calloused hand gently stroke her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw a pair of blue eyes lovingly staring down at her.

“Ron,” she groggily murmured as she pressed her cheek into the caress. She felt a weight settle beside her.

“No, it is I, your Argentinean lover Rrrrrrrr-amon.”

Lavender pressed down on her lips tightly so as not to smile.

“Well Rrrrrrrr-amon, as much as it hurts me to have to tell you this, I don't think you're really from Argentina. Your accent is the worst I’ve ever heard.”

“Ah, that is only because you are not to be hearing my Sanjay from Calcutta yet,” said Ron in a horrible Punjab accent which made the Latin one sound authentic in comparison.

“You are a nut,” she said as she playfully swatted his arm.

They both laughed.

“Yeah, but I’m your nut.”

Her head felt giddy and light at his words.

Lavender took her eyes off of him for a moment and pulled herself up into a reclining position on the couch, leaning back on her bent arms. She realized that she must have fallen asleep in the flat after she talked to him earlier. Ron was sitting next to her.

“It’s still light outside.”

“It’s only four.”

Her brows furrowed. “I thought you were going over to Mr. Lupin’s,” she said.

“I was. But then your voice kept playing over and over again in my head. You sounded so sad. So I decided to ditch Harry and Hermione and spend time with you instead,” he said, giving her a quirky grin.

“With me?” Lavender asked, eyes going glossy with tears.

“Yeah, with you,” he said as though there was little doubt. “I mean more than likely all we would have wound up doing was talking about the good old days anyways. Which were good, for the most part. But I think I like today worlds better.”

With his thumb, he wiped at a lonely tear drop on her cheek.

“So are you going to tell me why you were so sad earlier?”

“I wasn’t sad.”

“C’mon, I think I know my Lav-Lav pretty well to know when she's down.” He folded his arms and gave her an expectant look.

“I guess I was just having a few of those pre-wedding jitters you hear so much about. Just some stupid, unfounded fears. But I’m working through them.”

The answer was enough to satisfy Ron.

“So,” she said coyly, “did you come here straight to see me?”

“No.”

Lavender's cheery expression fell.

“I spent some time alone with this beautiful blonde who has got me wrapped around her pinky.” He paused a moment before adding, “Violet sends hugs and kisses by the way. I stopped at mum and dad’s. The midget was just getting in from school.”

Lavender's mouth hung open dumbly before she tackled Ron and pushed him down on the couch. He landed on his back with Lavender on top of him. Both were giggling like children as they tumbled around on the sofa. The roughhousing became a hug, which segued into a peck on the lips, which eventually developed into a heavy bout of snogging. After briefly debating whether or not a hand job counted as sex and deciding in a land slide victory vote of two to none that it most certainly did NOT, the two cuddled as Lavender lay back against Ron.

How could she have been so stupid? Lavender wondered to herself. Here she was, so concerned about what Granger was plotting and planning, that she had lost sight of what was truly important. Ron had never given her any reason not to have any faith in him. When they got back together after Cornelius' death, Lavender never felt that she was a consolation prize for him. He proved to her time and again that she was the only one he wanted to be with. He wanted to be a real family with her and Violet, and in just a few weeks that would finally happen. Ron gave no hint that he wanted to change his mind now, so why was she worrying herself sick thinking that he would?

“Ron?”

By the sound of his breathing in her ear he had just been drifting off to sleep.

“Hmm?” he murmured.

“I’m thirsty.”

She said it again after there was a brief pause that was punctuated with a snore.

“There should be some butterbeer in the fridge,” his tired voice informed her.

Lavender turned her body around slightly so she could look at his face, his dear freckled face, which was still and in repose.

“Actually I was thinking you could floo Mr. Lupin’s and see if Harry and Hermione would like to meet up somewhere after. The four of us could go to the Cauldron for a drink or something.”

One surprised blue eye shot open. “You mean that?”

“Harry and Hermione are important to you. What ever is important to you is important to me. What you care about I want to care about too.”

Both of Ron's eyes were open now as he looked at her with a trace of skepticism. Lavender really couldn't blame him for the doubt.

“Even Hermione?”

She curled her fingers in his hair and looked at him earnestly.

“I can try. I’m willing to work on it, for you. If it makes you happy, it makes me happy. You make me happy...” she said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “...Rrrrrrrr-amon.”

A laugh from deep in his belly made Lavender bounce up and down.

“How did I get so lucky?” he asked as he pulled her down and laid her head on his chest.

Lavender shrugged as the corners of her lips turned up.

“Maybe you did something really good in another life.”

Love conquers all, even Karma.

Unknown

A/N: Next up is Harry's POV. Things to look forward to: a little Good Auror/Bad Auror, Hermione runs into someone from her Dallas past, and Harry finds out some things that he probably wish he hadn't.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Lenore Brown, Mr. Brown, Anna Bencivenga, Mrs. Emily Hoppingkirk, “Uncle” Mingus, Grandfather Wallingford, Addison, Ikeman, Peppers, Quimby, Verdon-Hall, Presto's Maître d', Pythia the Portly, Elikapeka Kapulani, Inez Toledo, and Nwadinobi Ouedraogo are canon.

2) The leaves and flowers that were being sewn into Lavender's robes were from the Hawthorne (also called Whitethorn) tree. It is closely associated with witch craft and fertility.

3) “Weasley is Our King” is from OotP of course. There was no way I was going to let my chance to use that slip by. LOL!

4) "Life is just what happens to you, while your busy making other plans" is from John Lennon's Beautiful Boy(Darling Boy).

5) The soulmate theory is from Plato's Symposium.

6) The Stephanotis is usually used in bridal bouquets.

7) Just to make sure it's clear, Mr. Brown did not die because of the blood bond. But if you've guessed that the level of illness or pain of the offended spouse varies depending on the degree of the “cheating” you are correct.

8) Fred and Glinda's list is a shout out to the Friends episode “The One With Frank Jr.”.

9) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them an augurey(the Irish Phoenix) is a thin, mournful looking bird, greenish-black in color, that resembles a vulture. It's cry, once believed to foretell death, actually announces rain.

10) The British National Cup Stadium, Modern Witch Bride magazine, InChant magazine, Accio! tabloid, The Dublin Daily Comet newspaper, The Iron Quill newspaper, The Red Heads, Warlock's Quarterly, ‘Ye Old Troll beer, the Blue Fairitini, as well as the Oahu Balls of Fire, the Guadalajara Gravediggers, and the Silver Spears of Swaziland Quidditch teams are all original to this story.

11) And for those who may have guessed it (and even those that didn't), Ron, unbeknownst to him, is Violet's biological father. Interestingly enough Hermione isn't the only person in the story who has figured it out. Guess who.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

19. Chapter 16

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 21,677

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: None! Have fun!

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.

Thursday, 06/09/05

That clock is mocking me.

Harry's eyes had been glancing religiously at the double sided wall clock mounted above the door to Interrogation Berth C for the last fifteen minutes. Since entering the sweltering, close spaced room he had been on edge and the belief that the chrome plated chronometer was playing him for a fool was not helping the situation.

The clock had to be mocking him! Really; it was the only line of reasoning. Every time its ivory dial swiveled around in its bracket the alternate side would actually taunt him. FIVE MINUTES SINCE THE LAST TIME YOU CHECKED SHITFACE, it would say in neon green lettering. How pleasant. Really, just whose brilliant idea was it to buy a clock that needed an attitude adjustment, he wondered? Harry ignored the fact that the mind games the clock employed were for the benefit of the criminals and suspects that were led into the room for questioning. Sometimes a perp would think that they had been held for little more than ten minutes when really a whole day might have passed them by.

But all of that barely registered with Harry. His thoughts were too preoccupied with the floo call he was expecting at any moment. The smart arsed timepiece, however, was driving him nutty! And though he couldn't be sure, he had an unrelenting suspicion that the goddamned minute hand had not moved since the last time he looked up. In fact he was almost inclined to believe that it had actually gone backwards.

Fucking clock!

“DO YOU TWO DUNDERHEADS HAVE EVEN THE SLIGHTEST IDEA WHAT ENORMOUS IDIOTS YOU ARE?!”

Harry's eyes drifted away from the clock, and instead of obsessing on the time, he tried to focus his concentration on his partner as the irritable blond laid into the room’s other inhabitants. Draco Malfoy's pale complexion was almost ashen and his gray eyes looked like thunder heads had swooped in and replaced the actual pupils. As Malfoy railed away at the two young people seated across the table, Harry casually leaned against the wall, arms folded, and continued to hold his peace while the drama unfolded before him. If the observation window by the door hadn't been spelled to look as though the room were empty, any passerby would have thought that they were being treated to a show of Good Auror, Bad Auror. Thing was Jacoby and O'Shea, the unlucky pair that was getting the business end of Malfoy's sharp tongue, were actually members of the Department themselves.

“No, really,” began Malfoy again, “do you even have a FUCKING CLUE?!”

Jacoby tentatively raised his hand.

“Um, sir–”

Malfoy's eyes bore down on him as he rose from his seat and braced his arms against the top of the table. His hands were resting on the Cadmus case file.

“DID I TELL YOU THAT YOU COULD SPEAK, ROOKIE?!”

Jacoby's hand plopped down limply in his lap.

“Do you two great brain trusts even understand the enormity of this situation?! We are on the verge of what could possibly be an International incident!”

Both Jacoby and O'Shea sat by meekly as Malfoy's eyes raked back and forth between them.

“WELL?! DO YOU EVEN HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY FOR YOURSELVES?” he barked.

“Auror Malfoy,” O'Shea began hesitantly, her voice coming out as little more than a squeak. She cast a hesitant glance towards her partner, but finding no help there, tried to work up the courage to try again. “Sir, we can exp–”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!!!”

“Well, alright then,” she whimpered haplessly.

Malfoy's hands began to pluck angrily at the bit of hair he had left on the top of his head.

“Do you two useless sacks of shit mean to tell me that you didn't know that all the stupid Muggle-y fairy tales about Father Christmas, Kris Kringle, jolly old Saint-fucking-Nick or whatever other pansy arsed names they've used through out the years, were actually real?!”

Malfoy scanned both of their faces for a moment, eyes narrowed, and waited for some sort of response. When it looked like there would be none forthcoming, he reached for the glass of water that had been sitting in front of Jacoby and threw it against the far wall behind the two Aurors causing each to jump in their seats.

Harry leaned forward a little from the wall.

“I'd answer that one if I were you, mates,” he said helpfully before striking his indifferent pose yet again.

“Well, the thing is...”

“Auror Malfoy, if you would just give Peggy and me a chance to tell you...”

“...it's all been an honest mistake really...”

“...we had no idea...”

“NO BLOODY IDEA?!” boomed Malfoy wrathfully.

O'Shea's glass of water met the same fate as Jacoby's.

“WE ARE TALKING SIXTH YEAR HISTORY OF MAGIC YOU DUMBARSES! WHAT DID YOU DO, SLEEP THROUGH IT?!”

Though he tried valiantly, Harry could not stop the ill-timed snort that broke free from him. Malfoy gave him a scathing look before turning back to the younger Aurors, but Harry couldn't help but feel some sympathy for the two kids. Catching a few winks during Binns' class was a long held Hogwarts tradition. Hell, when the shriveled up ghost started droning away even Hermione was known to take a short kip, though she steadfastly maintained that she had merely been resting her eyes. Harry really couldn't fault Jacoby and O'Shea for committing a crime that he or Ron would have easily been guilty of themselves.

The reason behind Malfoy's tirade was currently sitting in Interrogation Berth D being watched over by Romilda Vane as a favor to Harry. Actually the hacked off Bavarian was ranting and raving away in a strange goulash of languages that would baffle any linguist. But with her ears plugged and her concentration focused on her nail file, Romilda hardly noticed. Luckily Zelig Klaussen had been relieved of his wand before he was brought in so all of the threats he was issuing were empty for the moment. However as Malfoy had stated before, they had the makings of a large-scale catastrophe on their hands!

Zelig Klaussen was the descendant of a line of beings whose ancestors had been wizards and who were also closely related to the Eldar; the higher Elves. They called themselves the Álfari. Unlike their Eldar cousins or wizards, the Álfari felt it was actually their duty to assist Muggles. Some chose to fight alongside them in great wars. Others simply would help a poor struggling milliner or shoemaker make ends meet.

The Klaussen branch was a more adventurous sort; they were demon hunters and one demon in particular. The dynasty; which could trace their lineage as far back as ancient Anatolia and would eventually spread to modern day Austria, the Netherlands, Germany, and beyond, was a clan that hunted the villages of Central Europe in search of krampus demons. The red skinned krampus was a cloven footed, two horned beast that possessed a foot long tongue and terrorized small Muggle hamlets. The krampus would crawl out of the pits of Hell each year during the winter solstice to mate with any poor, unprotected woman that crossed its path and spread its demon seed across the lands. He was a horny little bugger, and how! Of course every now and then the creature would find a willing victim; the krampus did possess a foot long tongue after all.

For the most part Muggles lived in fear of him, especially children. When the krampus broke into a home it would often slit open the bellies of any and all small children as they slept, or stuff them up the fireplace before they were fully awake. The sound of a crying child had the power to drive the krampus into impotency. The demon would kill any little ones in the town first, then try to have its way with their mothers afterwards. Wizard families had long possessed the means to ward off the krampus, a well aimed Patronus did the trick every time, but their Muggle counterparts were not so lucky.

For centuries the Klaussen family did their best to thwart the creatures. One night a year Klaussens from all over would journey far and wide looking for the beasts and having found one, its head would be lopped off and thrown in a magical bottomless sack. If some child happened to witness the slaying, the Álfari would buy the child's silence with some sweet or small token before being on his way. Despite the bribery, stories of “The Klaussen”, who traveled the world in one single night, still managed to spread from the old world and into the new. Harry never quite understood just how Muggles eventually turned him into the obese bloke with the reindeer fetish and the army of toy making house-elves he was today, but he had come to accept long ago that Muggles were just dotty about most things in general.

The Álfari usually married within their own family groups which led to a few distinct traits emerging in certain clans. With the Klaussens, though higher Elves tended to fall into the tall and willowy variety, due to the strain of human ancestry the Klaussens were a very short, roly-poly branch. Neither did they possess eternal life or youth. In fact a snowy white beard usually signaled the onset of puberty. The women were even known to grow a whisker or two. Zelig Klaussen was a jolly looking old fellow who was nearing the end of his years at 210, and possessed a beard that nearly reached his knees. It was the envy at many a family gathering.

It also gave him a passing resemblance to one Ptolemy Cadmus.

“You see, I just want to make sure that I have the right of it, is all,” continued Malfoy, words oozing sarcasm. “I mean, Klaussen just happens to pop off to have some alone time at a spa. Who can blame him for wanting to have a mani and a pedi, what with him usually elbow deep in demon guts. I'm sure that when you two bumbling oafs stunned him from behind, tackled him to the ground, confiscated his wand, and stuffed a bloody sock in his mouth he just thought he was getting the Platinum Package!”

“Aurors Jacoby and O'Shea,” said Harry, rubbing at the spot on his nose just under the bridge of his glasses, trying to make some sense out of the whole debacle, “besides forgetting that Munich is outside our jurisdiction, didn't it occur to you that Klaussen didn't speak English?”

O'Shea turned to face Harry.

“Squad Leader Potter, sir, I'm so sorry. I guess...I guess Donovan and I just got carried away. Knowing how important capturing Cadmus is, I'm afraid we got a little ahead of ourselves. We thought we had a clean collar. I honestly thought that Mr. Klaussen was Cadmus, and that he was just trying to throw us off by using a clever ruse.”

“A CLEVER RUSE?!”

Judging by Malfoy's disgusted sneer Harry could see that his partner found the woman's answer...lacking.

“O'Shea, I sure hope you're a better lay than you are an Auror, because you have got to be the dumbest cun–”

The rest of the insult was lost in the sound of O'Shea's affronted gasp and the scraping of Jacoby's chair across the stone floor as the younger man stood up from his seat and glared hostilely at the blond.

“HEEL, MALFOY!” said Harry authoritatively, effectively calling his partner off and calming down Jacoby who took his seat again. He had let Malfoy blow off his steam, but enough was enough. When he received the interoffice memo from Jacoby telling him that Cadmus had been brought in, Harry nearly ran over several Ministry employees trying to get back to Level 2.

But as soon as he got a good look at the “suspect”, Harry's enthusiasm withered away so fast he felt as though someone had let the air out of him. When Malfoy started tearing into the two Aurors responsible for the mess, Harry let him. Malfoy enjoyed yelling at people and Jacoby and O'Shea deserved a good telling off. Harry would have been lying if he said he wasn't just as hacked off. But he was the Squad Leader; it was his responsibility to rectify the situation. And though Malfoy was basically his second in command, he couldn't allow him to abuse the two Aurors any longer.

Harry pushed himself away from the wall and approached the table.

“I believe Jacoby and O'Shea understand the error they have made,” he sternly added.

Malfoy scoffed at this.

“Do you now? Well I wish they would help me understand how they were able to mistake this son of a bitch here,” he said as he reached for the file and pulled out a copy of the sketch of the real Cadmus, “for that five foot four fat fuck in the next room?!”

He waved the picture around wildly before throwing it back down on the table. Jacoby and O'Shea both hung their heads in shame.

“I ought to bust you both down to Fourth Squad.”

The reaction to Malfoy's threat was instantaneous.

O'Shea's head snapped up and she looked horrified as she spoke.

“BUT SQUAD LEADER POTTER IS OUR DIVISION LEAD!”

“YOU CAN'T DO THAT!” Jacoby shouted belligerently.

“Oh yes I can!” said Malfoy snottily.

“No you can't,” Harry said in a world-wearied tone. Malfoy was always threatening to chuck someone off of the team.

“FINE!” he snitted like some spoiled child while crossing his arms. “Potty will do it then.”

Harry only rolled his eyes at the statement.

“Potty will do no such thing. The only person with the authority to demote an Auror would be Commander Hanes, but Hanes will never know about any of this because as far as the four people in this room are concerned today's little mishap never happened. Am I making myself understood?”

Harry took a moment to look each and every one of them in the eye just so they could understand that he meant business. His gaze fell on Malfoy last.

“Am I?”

His partner's lips thinned indignantly before snarling out, “What Bavarian?”

“Good.”

Harry was smart enough to conceal the smirk that threatened to show itself. Malfoy, however, still wouldn't shut up about the whole thing.

“Just tell me this, what were you two even doing in Erding at that spa? O'Shea, you're supposed to be on medical leave. And Jacoby, I thought Shacklebolt borrowed you for that case his Squad has been working in Dover?”

“Squad Leader Shacklebolt told me that he wouldn't be needing another Metamorphmagus, sir.” Though Malfoy asked the question, Jacoby directed the answer towards Harry. “Auror Lupin is b-back from her leave, you see. And...w-well...”

Jacoby went on, stumbling over his words as his eyes briefly held with O'Shea's.

“P-Peggy owled me about how l-lonely she was over there in Munich all be herself and...”

The sound of Malfoy's amused snicker stopped Jacoby from finishing. Both he and O'Shea slunk down in their seats nervously, and at first Harry wasn't sure what had caused their discomfort. Malfoy, being the dear that he was, ended up providing the answer. Something that resembled a grin, but was more like a sneer, spread across his face from ear to ear.

“You two are fucking.”

The couple's matching pink cheeks confirmed for Harry the truth is Malfoy's assessment.

“Ok Malfoy, shove off. Leave them alone!”

“Potter, you and I both know how dangerous a situation like this could be!” he argued, turning to Harry.

He then faced the two younger Aurors again.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELVES KILLED?! There is no fraternization between partners and for good reason! Let's say that Potter and I were fucking–”

“Uh, let's not...”

“The relationship you share with your partner must always maintain a steady balance. When working a case your life is in their hands. You have to trust your partner implicitly and you can't allow petty outside matters complicate that alliance. You're supposed to concentrate on being an extra set of eyes and ears and have their back. Not try to figure out how to get them on their back,” he said as he gave Jacoby a pointed look.

O'Shea worriedly looked up at Harry. “Are we going to get written up?”

Harry sighed.

“Look guys, far be it from me to tell anyone who they should or shouldn't love...”

Though Harry was facing the couple, he could see the revolted look on Malfoy's face from out the corner of his eye.

“...but as much issue I take with Auror Malfoy's methods of getting a point across, I can't fault his logic.”

Jacoby and O'Shea shared an apprehensive look, then turned back towards their superior.

“I'm not going to put you on report. However I will suggest to Commander Hanes that you two be reassigned to new partners.”

It was a fair solution and both Jacoby and O'Shea's relieved expressions reflected this. They both stood from their seats.

“Oh thank you Har–” began O'Shea before her hand clamped over her mouth and she realized her slip. “I mean, thank you Squad Leader Potter,” she said as she held out her hand to him. He shook it, then shook Jacoby’s hand.

“Thank you for your understanding sir. As always I'm grateful for the opportunity to serve on Potter's Posse,” he said. He made sure to look at Malfoy briefly when emphasizing Harry's name.

“GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!!!” Malfoy bellowed, sending both Aurors scurrying for the door and out the room. His gray eyes followed them before falling on Harry.

“WHY DON'T YOU JUST TUCK THEM IN AND READ THEM A BEDTIME STORY NEXT TIME?!”

Harry ignored him. One of Malfoy's constant nitpicks, when he wasn't mocking Harry's hair that is, was that he was far too easy on the Aurors that were under his command. In truth Harry never cared for holding a position of leadership. When he first joined the Department all he really wanted to do was go out in the field, do his job to the best of his capabilities, and not worry about stupid office politics.

However when the Squad Leader position was foisted upon him, one of the things he prided himself on was that he tried to be a fair leader. He listened to what his Aurors had to say and he only used his authority when he felt the situation called for it. Really Malfoy was the only one on their Squad that ever got any harsh treatment from him, and that was only because they were so used to antagonizing each other that it had become little more than a reflex action between them now. It was hardly the battle of wills that it had been one upon a time.

“One doesn't have to be a tyrant to be a good leader.”

Harry settled next to Malfoy and turned to lean back against the table. Malfoy, arms still folded, turned so that he could face in the same direction.

“Thank you, oh wise one. Next time I run into Caligula at the baths I'll be sure to pass that one on.”

“Shut up, Malfoy!”

For a moment both men stewed in their own turbulent thoughts. It was Harry that eventually broke the silence.

“Dammit! I almost got my hopes up there for a moment,” said Harry dismally. “It’s never taken us this long to bring in a perp. Cadmus is somewhere having a good laugh at our expense. And with Hermione's picture on the cover of every paper now...”

Harry couldn't even finish the statement, he was that perturbed by the whole state of affairs. He sighed dejectedly.

“If you’re so worried, maybe we should just tell Hermione about the case and–”

“No!” said Harry bluntly.

“But if she's in danger from the toe-rag, and I'm not even so sure that she is mind you, at least she would know what's going on and–”

“I SAID, NO!”

Harry wasn’t about to add this Cadmus mess to whatever other drama Hermione might have gotten herself into. If only he would get that damned floo call already!

Malfoy looked at him and said, “You know, Hermione doesn't need you to treat her like a child.”

“As though you're some expert on what Hermione wants or needs.”

The words were spoken arrogantly and punctuated with a flippant wave of the hands. Malfoy's eyes glittered hatefully for a moment and he opened his mouth, on the cusp of saying something. Harry saw it plainly on his face and almost welcomed the reprieve from their current troubles a spirited row with Malfoy would provide. But before the heated words could fall from Malfoy's lips, he clamped them together tightly and swallowed whatever he was going to say.

“What are we going to do about the fat Bavarian fairy?” he asked instead.

The tension in the room dissipated quickly.

Harry folded his arms and looked at the clock over the door. SUCK IT, it read. Well that suggestion certainly wasn't going to help solve matters.

Harry shook his head cheerlessly and looked up at the ceiling. Clock-blocked again.

“That’s Álfari, Malfoy. And I don’t have a clue. Do you know that there are over thirty-four common Elvish dialects?” he asked tonelessly. “And the Álfari don't even have a name for theirs.”

“We're fucked.”

Harry couldn't deny Malfoy's succinct observation. Instead he looked to him, hoping to find a solution for their dilemma.

“Don't we have a bloke on our team who is one quarter Álfari or something? Maybe he could talk to Klaussen,” he said hopefully.

“Krispens,” Malfoy answered. “He claims his great-grandmother was one. Never stops flapping his jaw about it, the plonker,” he added for good measure. “Fur-Face is a notorious brownnoser. He'll sell us down the river to Hanes in the Arse in a heartbeat.”

“Bugger!”

“That's exactly what Hanes in the Arse will do to us!”

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances, Harry still cracked a smile. He then dropped his face into his hands before asking, “Do you suppose Klaussen speaks German?”

“It's a distinct possibility.”

One green eye peeked at Malfoy from between Harry's splayed fingers.

“Don't you speak German?”

“My old Nanny might have taught me how to turn a clever expletive filled phrase or two,” he said absently. He then looked at Harry askance. “Why?”

Harry dropped his hands and gave Malfoy “the look”. The look that Malfoy hated. The look that told him that Harry was about to make him do something he wasn’t going to like.

“HELL NO!” Malfoy told him. “You are not sending me in there with that Bavarian crème puff!”

“Scared you're going to get a lump of coal in your stocking?” Harry joked.

“Funny,” Draco said snidely. “Rather I prefer not to have that fucker keep track of when I've been sleeping or when I'm awake. I might get up one morning and find the head of one of his horned friends under my pillow.”

“You've been watching too many Muggle films.”

Harry pushed off from the table and crossed to the door. He opened it and looked back at his partner.

“However I think ickle Drakeypoo is just going to have to shut it up and take one for the team, now isn't he?”

Malfoy let out an obnoxious growl.

“Fine, fine, fine! I HAVE TO DO EVERYTHING AROUND HERE!” he fumed as he stomped towards the exit. “If you need me later I'll be in the Archives!” he snarled as he slammed the door behind him.

As he watched Malfoy storm pass the observation window and barrel through a crowd of startled trainees, Harry exhaled in relief. Although Malfoy was a jackarse, the jackarse had an unfailing talent for browbeating and bending most people to his will that often came in handy in times like these. Harry was sure that if there was a way to clean up this mess with Klaussen Malfoy would find a way to do it. Of course Harry might not agree with whatever methods his partner chose to get the job done; he decided that he would just have to worry about that when the time came. He only hoped that the wanker was smart enough to calm Klaussen down before he gave the Álfari back his wand. Harry's opinion of Malfoy wasn't that generous at the moment.

Though he hated to admit it, Harry was still smarting a bit from the small verbal skirmish he and his partner had engaged in over Hermione. Really, just who in the hell did Malfoy think he was giving him advice on how to deal with his own best friend? Idiot! Harry tried to ignore the little voice of doubt that told him that maybe he didn’t really know all there was to his best friend either.

This whole week he and Malfoy had been partaking in similar squabbles. It was starting to threaten the tenuous tolerable relationship that the two Aurors had built these last few years. He and Malfoy could be talking about anything; a perp being held in detainment, just what exactly had crawled up Hanes' arse and died, or whether or not the attractive dark haired new hire down in Transportation, Dorian Greyson, was actually a witch or a wizard. Malfoy swore he knew a bloke that knew a bloke that knew a bloke that had discovered the answer the hard way. But somehow Hermione's name would get brought up in the conversation and the two of them would come out swinging. The worse part was that each time they argued Harry began to think that he had somehow landed on the losing end of things.

The woman was just damned frustrating! She blew so hot and cold, sometimes all at once. He was never sure what exactly was going on inside Hermione's head. But it seemed like Malfoy did. And it irked Harry to think that maybe Malfoy could be right. Maybe he was coddling Hermione. This was a witch who had taken on a slew of Death Eaters when she was still just a girl. Maybe he was letting his romantic feelings towards her cloud his better judgment. That thought made Harry wonder if he was missing a great many things in regards to his best friend because he was thinking with the wrong head ... to put it bluntly. That idea in turn made him irate at the knowledge that it was Malfoy, of all people, who was making him question himself.

The fact that Hermione was hiding something did little to help matters either.

It was the evening that he went to collect her from Lovegood House that really began to enforce this belief. Up until that point everything had seemed far simpler. Sure he couldn’t have the woman he wanted because he was already married, but Harry naively thought that all of that could be fixed. It was like that little shot of Hermione he had on that kitchen counter had intoxicated him, and like a drunkard stumbling into the night after last call, he had believed himself invincible. Nothing could touch him! He would be able to have Hermione because he wanted it badly enough; whatever it took to make it happen he would do.

He and Ginny would sit down and both accept the failure of their relationship like the two mature adults that they were. Next he would find the means to dissolve the union. Once that was done he...well...he hadn't thought things out that far yet. But in that bitterly short-lived moment that Harry had held Hermione in his arms he knew he felt a spark, a tingle that told him that there could be something between them; all she would have to do was give it a chance. In order to convince her of this he knew that he couldn’t still be married. That wouldn't be fair to her, but more importantly that wouldn't be fair to Ginny.

After leaving the Hollow, he ended up walking around Diagon Alley for hours as he strengthened his “plan”. It was nearing midnight by time he Apparated back to the Palace. When he got there he found Dobby waiting patiently with a hot plate of food and a glass of ale. When he asked after Ginny the house-elf informed him that his cooking hadn't agreed with her and that she had retired to bed early. Dobby offered to bang his head with the tea kettle for a few minutes for being responsible for such a grievous infraction, but Harry firmly told him that it wouldn't be necessary.

That night Harry slept at the desk in his study, his head pillowed by a copy of the Cadmus case file.

Early the next morning, before the sun had even fully risen, he was striding out of one of the gilded fireplaces that led into the Atrium of the Ministry. Harry had been in a great mood. He had plans to see Hermione that evening. Of course he had to practically strong arm her into agreeing to it, she seemed reluctant to spend time with just him alone, but as soon as he dangled the promise of meeting the newest addition to the Lupin family she became more agreeable. He even suggested that Ron could tag along, any fears that she was still in love with the redhead seemed ludicrous to Harry now.

Yes, there was a decided pep to his step. Everyone who saw him that morning remarked on it. When he stopped by Tonks' cubicle to see if the three friends could stop by Grimmauld later, she even pointed out his glowing smile and suggestively mentioned, “that it looked like someone's hairy potter had finally been able to make it to the hole”. Since this was Tonks he didn't dignify her statement with a response. After checking to see if Malfoy had bothered to show his face yet, he let Romilda know that if he was needed for the rest of the day he could be found in the Ministry Archives. It was around this time that his good mood went the way of the phoenix and burst into flames. Only Harry wasn't sure if it was ever coming back again.

Harry figured that the Archives were a good enough place to start looking for any information he could find on the Olde Rites. Hogwarts might have been a better option, but the sight of Auror Potter lurking around the dusty library on Level 1 would draw less attention.

The Archives was under the supervision of a hag who was a drunk and a distant relative of Scrimgeour’s wife, if the Ministry gossip was to be believed. The hag’s bleary eyes followed Harry as he made his way to the stacks in the back where the books on old and obscure laws were kept. It was early, but she was already bladdered so he didn’t bother asking her for any help. Even if he had it would have been a lost cause. Rituals and Customs of Olde Briton, Blood Magic and the Ties that Bind, Magus Lex Legis; Harry must have searched through over a dozen books that didn't help him in the least.

They all seemed to say the same thing, the Rites were irreversible. He couldn't find any evidence of any marriages that had been successfully overturned. Although he understood that wizards were ambivalent towards the idea of divorce, Harry knew that there had to be at least one on record somewhere. He could still remember Hermione telling him that the Rites could be revoked as long as there were no children born into the marriage. That right there convinced him that there had to be a case that set the precedent. But after nearly going blind reading through several texts in both English and Latin, all hope seemed lost.

Then luck chose to shine upon Harry Potter. While putting a book back on its shelf, he knocked down a larger one by accident. When Harry bent down to pick it up and return the huge tome to its proper place, a battered old pamphlet fell from between its pages. The strange booklet, The Wrong and Right of the Rites, featured a very crude stick figure drawing of a man and a woman chained together at the wrists, both tugging at their shackles. Its brown cover was splotched with dark stains as well as some of the pages and smelled strongly of nettle tea that had been brewed for too long.

Before Harry could study it further he heard Hanes barking his name through out the library as the old crone caretaker threatened to prick the Department Head with a spinning wheel needle if he didn't lower his voice. Knowing it was against the rules; Harry slipped the pamphlet into his robes and stepped out from between the stacks to greet his commanding officer. Without pause Hanes chewed him out for not being at his desk, for breathing, and for not being Malfoy who he really wanted to play merry-hell to. He then ordered Harry to assemble the Second Squad and head out to Woodcroft. For the last day or two the town had endured vicious spurts of Muggle baiting that had finally spiraled so far out of control that it had claimed the life of the Third Squad Leader originally in charge of the mission to quell the disturbances.

Potter's Posse was home before dinnertime with an hour or two to spare.

As soon as all of the proper paper work was filled out and filed, Harry exited the Ministry and Apparated himself into the cottage at Godric's Hollow. He was dismayed to find an empty house and yard; no truck, no dog, and no Hermione. He calmly told himself not to panic. He placed a floo call over to the Burrow and learned from Fleur that Hermione had been over earlier. When he arrived there he found her truck parked outside, Lizzie playing with the children in the back near the pond, and was told that Hermione had walked over to Luna's.

During dinner that night at the Burrow he practically wallowed in his disappointment, discouraged at how fast his world had gone from bright and hopeful to dull and disheartening in less than 24 hours. The fear that Hermione was avoiding him began to blacken his thoughts. He just knew that she had been in Lovegood House when he stopped by there earlier! He could feel it. It wasn’t clear to him why Malfoy would lie about it, but when he got the note from Luna later it only confirmed his previous hunch.

Harry then had a furious Ginny to contend with. Harry had let the fact that he hadn't exactly told his wife about Hermione's living arrangements slip his mind. Given the fact that Hermione and Ginny weren't that close anymore, it didn’t come as that huge of a surprise that his wife wasn’t pleased about the situation. But since she never gave a damn about the cottage before Harry didn’t think it should have been that big a deal if Hermione lived there indefinitely. Merlin let it be indefinitely! Since the family was around Ginny didn’t express her displeasure. But her stony silence spoke volumes on the subject. Even though they sat next to each other at the family table, neither of them said a word to the other.

After the meal, Ginny Disapparated out of the Burrow in a fit of pique. Harry debated for a moment whether or not he should just follow her back to the Palace and maybe broach the sensitive topic of their failed relationship right then, but he hated the thought of leaving things in such limbo between him and Hermione. He needed to find out if she truly was avoiding him now. After making his excuses to his in-laws, Harry walked over to Lovegood House with Lizzie following at his heels to keep him company.

When he got to the house the atmosphere was tense, Hermione's smiles were forced, and Malfoy was being an even bigger tosser than usual. When Mr. Lovegood invited Harry in for tea, Malfoy made sure that he sat nowhere near Hermione. Every time Harry tried to ask her a question or even just catch her eye Malfoy would rudely interrupt and Hermione would actually ignore him in favor of the Slytherin. And Harry suspected that the Ferret purposely sent him to the wrong room when he asked for directions to the loo. The fifteen minutes he spent locked in that room with all of those old doolally paintings he wouldn't ever get back. And for the life of him Harry almost imagined he'd never get that infernal humming out of his head! Just where in the hell was it coming from anyway?!

Something was definitely up. But when he questioned Hermione and Malfoy about it they denied that there was anything amiss. Harry knew that they were lying though, because whatever was going on, Luna seemed somewhat privy to it. The only ones who appeared to be in the dark, besides him, were Mr. Lovegood and Lizzie. For Harry the only bright spot of the whole evening was that Lizzie did not care for Malfoy in the least. She even barked viciously when she first laid eyes on him and nearly took his hand off when he tried to pet her. The lovable, clownish dog fairly growled every time Malfoy opened his mouth to speak. Hermione apologized to the git profusely and said over and over again that she had no idea what could have gotten into her.

Probably never saw anyone that unnaturally blond before in her life, thought Harry spitefully. Damn, did he love that dumb dog!

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

Harry and Hermione walked back to the Burrow side by side, neither speaking to the other. The only sound that could be heard was the brush of the grass at their feet, the occasional screech of an owl making a kill, the giddy yipping and yapping of the dog as she capered back and forth, and the uneasy tension that practically vibrated the air around them.

It was a beautiful night, the sky was dusted with its twinkling array of stars, and the moon hung in the sky as a silver sliver. But the beauty of all of this was lost on the two young people. Hermione walked as though she were on autopilot. Her arms were wrapped around her middle as though that was all that was holding her intact, and her blonde head hung down low. Her eyes studied her feet as she walked at a sloth-like pace. Harry’s unfocused gaze was straight ahead, but he was so lost in his own thoughts that he barely acknowledged what direction they were heading in, or that Lizzie had taken off ahead of them. Although Harry would have given anything to know what was in Hermione's mind, his own thoughts were jumbled and distraught.

She hates me.

That could be the only explanation for Hermione’s cold treatment of him, he figured. When he almost kissed her the night before he had broken some unspoken trust that lay between them and now she was punishing him for the heinous transgression. He had crossed the line of all lines that she obviously had no intention of ever stepping over with him. She hated him. That's why she wouldn't speak to him, even look at him. That's why she seemed to prefer Malfoy to him. That's why Luna looked at him so pityingly. Hermione hated him. And now, not only had he lost any chance to be with her, he had also lost her in the process it seemed.

“You dropped your book.”

The sound of her voice nearly made Harry jump out of his own skin.

“WHAT?!” he asked as he turned back to face Hermione. She had stopped walking a few paces behind him.

“Your book,” she said again. “It fell from your robes. Here, let me get it for you.”

Hermione slowly bent down to pick up the brown object that lay in the grass.

“NO!” Harry yelled as he dove for the book. In his haste to get to it before she did, the two of their heads collided together in a hard, hollow thwack that sounded like a pair of Bludgers knocking together. The force of it made both fall back on the ground; each grabbing for their own head.

“Ow,” whinged Hermione as she rubbed at her forehead.

Harry's response was a tad more colorful as he went through a litany of swear words that would have made his partner proud. Even Hermione was amazed at his dexterous turn of phrase. She gaped at him, an expression of marvel on her face, as she still held her hand to her head. Harry's wild oaths died down as soon as he realized that he had her rapt attention. They both stared at each other in wonderment before that ever present pressure around them suddenly popped and released itself in a spate of hysterical laughter and carefree giggles. Hermione laughed so hard that she actually collapsed on the grass and turned on her side. Harry started hiccupping. He had to pat the grass beside him to find his glasses and that only amused him more. Every time their merriment threatened to die they would each cast side long glances at the other and start back up again.

“From all of those falls you took from your broom I always knew your head had to be made of granite,” she said when she was finally able to speak coherently. “I just never figured that I would ever have such intimate knowledge of just hard it is.”

A giggle managed to escape behind every other word. She sat up and brought her knees to her chest.

Harry's smile was so large it practically lit up the sky on its own.

“Yes, and I suppose yours is made of feather down of course,” he snickered.

“Is that your clever way of calling me a bird brain, Mr. Potter?” An impish grin accompanied the question.

Harry adopted a very serious face, and in affected solemnity said, “Never that.” Then he began to laugh again.

Hermione joined him. On all fours, she crawled over to where Harry was and sat up on her knees. Because he had been slipping his glasses back on his face, it took him a moment or two to realize that she had the pamphlet in her hands.

“Your book.”

She held it out to him, never glancing down. Instead her beautiful brown eyes were lit up like fairy lights as they held with Harry's. Those eyes were almost his undoing as he fought down the urge to just gather her in his arms and never let go. But realizing that such actions would not solve anything, he opted to take the book from her hands and slip it back into his robes.

“Thank you.”

He then asked the question that had been worrying his heart that whole evening.

“Are you ever going to speak to me again?”

Harry could have kicked himself for sounding like such a weepy git, but he needed to know if his thoughtless actions from the day before had cost him the only thing he had ever allowed himself to truly want for himself.

Hermione's cheery smile slowly faded at his question and her eyes began to pool. Her miserable expression made Harry's heart constrict and he started to apologize for any harm he had ever caused her. But before the words could leave his lips, she flung her arms around him and buried her face in his neck. Harry could feel her hot tears sear his skin. Without thought, his arms encircled her waist and he began to gently rock back and forth.

“I'm so sorry, Harry.”

Her apology mystified him. She was sorry? What could Hermione possibly have to be sorry for, to apologize to him for? Was she talking about the other day? He was the one who had buggered up their near fourteen year friendship, not her. Harry pulled back so he could look at her and try and tell her this, but she kept her eyes closed tightly. Still, the tears trailed down her face torrent-like.

“I've been such a bitch!”

Now Harry was truly flummoxed.

“Hermione, what? Why would you even say something like that about yourself?” he asked as he tenderly wiped at the tears on her cheeks.

“Because it's true! I'm a horrible, horrible person. I've been so selfish; so bloody concerned about my own feelings when you...”

She opened her eyes to look at him, but quickly closed them tight as her face crumbled and she began to sob again. The only thing Harry could think to do was hold her again.

“You're my best friend, Harry. The very best friend I've ever had or will ever have. And I've been so unfair to you. So unfair.”

Then she said something that threw him completely.

“It's my entire fault. Not yours. I'm so sorry.”

Before Harry could puzzle the odd statement out, or even deny it, she began babbling so erratically that Harry felt he couldn’t keep up with the haste of her words.

“It's all just been too much. I thought that I could handle it. I thought...I th-thought I was stronger than this, but I was wrong. I try to come off as though I have it all t-together, l-like I have all the answers, but I don't! I'm so fucking clueless, Harry! And I'm weak, so weak.”

Her voice became so small and wretched that Harry had to strain to hear it.

“But that's not your fault, Harry, and I shouldn't take it out on you. I just don't know what else to do!”

He held her closer then and tried to get her to calm down.

“Hermione, whatever is wrong I can help,” he murmured in her ears.

She shook her head violently. “No you can't! YOU CAN'T!”

“Yes I can! I can help if you would just let me. Why won't you let me? I'd do anything for you. Anything!”

He had pulled away again so she could see the sincerity in his words, in his face, in his heart. Her teary face lay trapped between his palms, and he tilted it up just so that his face was all she could see. At that angle the moonlight seemed to make her eyes into twin pools of liquid amber.

Her voice croaked as she asked, “Anything?”

He shook his head to focus it clearly.

“Just ask it,” he said.

“Then I need time.”

Harry's brow furrowed. “Time?”

“Time to regroup, time to settle in; time to get myself accustomed to the way things are now.”

“Time away from me.” He tried not to say it as bitterly as he felt in that moment.

“NO! No, no, no. That's not it. Not really.” She wiped clumsily at her face, trying to dry it. “I've just had to deal with seven years of baggage in four days and...and it's all been a little too much. I've cried more in the last few days than I have my entire life, it seems. My coping skills are shot. And I'm just afraid that I won't be any good to anyone if this keeps up. I just need some time to be by myself is all,” she said pleadingly.

“How much time?”

“Two days. Or...or three,” she said, sniffling. “Four at the most.”

“Ron's game is Saturday.”

She smiled a little.

“That's just perfect then. Two days. In two days this blubbering wreck you see before you will be back to your bossy, nagging best mate of old. Just like old times. Like how we've always been. That should make you happy right?”

Happy? He was almost tempted in that very moment to tell her exactly what could make him happy; the least of which was what she was offering him. He didn't want things back like the way they were. He didn't want "old times". He didn't want to keep pretending that all she was to him was just a friend. He wanted her! And he should have said that. And he would have said it if she hadn't been looking at him...pleading with him so desperately in that wordless language they shared. But because he promised her anything, he now had to give it to her.

“Two days?”

Hermione lifted his hand and held it close to her. Harry could feel her heart beating, almost in time with his own.

“Two days,” she said.

She then turned her head from side to side and surveyed the area surrounding them.

“Where's my dog?” Hermione asked him, puzzled.

Harry chuckled dryly. “Probably halfway to Timbuktu by now, I reckon.”

Hermione then laughed and the sound of it dulled at least a little of the ache from Harry's dismal spirits.

“Goodness, I would have been a disaster as a mother,” she said lightly. “Come on then.”

She stood up and offered him a hand.

“Let's not keep her waiting.”

The rest of the short walk continued in silence, but the mood was decidedly lighter. A time or two Harry felt himself reaching to hold Hermione's hand, but every time that urge rose up he fought it back. As they neared the stone broom shed a few feet from the Burrow, they could hear Lizzie barking in the distance. As they got closer, Harry could make out the forms of Bill and Fleur sitting in chairs outside the house keeping the dog company. Once Lizzie caught sight of them, she ran pell-mell in their direction, jumping on Hermione first, then Harry. The big sheepdog licked at Harry's face adoringly and he let her. Hermione joked that yet another female had fallen victim to the Potter charm which made him threaten to spank her bottom if she didn't shut it.

After waving at Bill and Fleur, and watching them go back into the house, Harry walked Hermione to her truck. She reached into the pocket of her sports coat and pulled out a set of keys. She then unlocked the driver's door and opened the door to the back seat so that the dog could get in. Harry could see her handbag sitting on the passenger seat and he wondered if she had actually taken his advice to carry his mum's wand with her at all times. Then again it's not like it would have mattered anyway, she hadn't even bothered to bring the bag with her when she went to Luna's, he fretted inwardly. He didn't bring it up, though. He knew that it would only serve to make her cross and he hated to break the easy peace between them so soon. He also made note of her mobile sitting in the cup tray; its little red light blinking rapidly.

He turned his attention from it and back to her.

“So two days, right?”

Hermione turned to face him and bobbed her head in answer.

“Two days. We'll rendezvous at the Cup,” she replied.

A frown crossed his face. He couldn't help it.

“What? What's wrong? What's with the face?”

Against his better judgment, Harry once again tried to push the issue.

“Are you sure you want to go to the game?” he asked. “The press will be crawling all over and you don't even like Quidditch.”

“No, but I like Ron. And this game is going to be his big moment in the sun; his chance to shine. He deserves no less and I want to be there to witness it. As many times as he stood by and cheered you or I on while we had our time in the spotlight, I owe this to him. Besides, no one will even pay me any notice. They'll be too focused on the game.”

“I guess you're right. It's just...I don't know, I have this really bad feeling...”

Hermione's eyebrows knitted together. “Hmm, the Potter hunch, you say? Tell me, what could possibly go wrong at a Quidditch match?”

“Speaking from experience? A great many things.”

“I suppose you're right," she replied off-handedly. The corner of her lips then twitched. “Then again I'm not the one with the Harry Potter Memorial bed at Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled bashfully. “That was awful mean of Poppy to put that plaque up like that.”

Hermione tried not to giggle.

“And it was mean of you to make it for her.”

That made her laugh outright. She then turned around and lifted herself into the truck. After putting the keys into the ignition and starting the engine, the hulking beast revved into life. As she pulled her door shut and pushed a button to send her window down, he saw her casually glance down at her phone. Although the inside of the truck afforded him very little light in which to see, he didn't fail to spot the blink and you miss it annoyance that crossed her face.

It was gone though by time she gave him a small smile as she pulled the straps of her seatbelt across her. Harry quietly watched all of this as he racked his brain for something profound and well meaning to say to her before she drove off into the night. Finding nothing that didn't involve him confessing his feelings, asking her to run away with him, and convincing her to be the mother of every one of his nearsighted, hair challenged children; he decided that the less is more treatment would probably work best.

Plus it won't scare the crap out of her, he told himself.

“Two days?” he said as he came closer to the window, his eyes drinking up everything about her to help sustain him for the sheer hell the next forty-eight hours would surely be.

She gravely nodded her head. She then lowered her head out of the window. Harry felt a soft pair of lips brush his cheek. They lingered on his skin for just a moment, just a fraction of a heartbeat really, before she inched back and whispered, “Two days.”

As Harry watched the off-roader drive down the lane, his hand absently rubbing at the spot where she kissed him, he couldn't know what the next forty-eight hours would bring. He couldn't see the look on Hermione's face as she thought she was going to die; the sound of his name the last thing tearing from her lungs as she went over. He didn't yet know the burning sensation of his heart leaping into his throat and lodging there as he watched Sirius fall through the veil...no...Hermione going over that railing. He had no inner eye, no crystal ball; no tea leaves of which to speak. At the time he just fervently hoped that the next two days went by without incident and quickly enough so that he didn't end up flying his Firebolt down to Godric's Hollow, storming the cottage, and going back on his promise.

Nobility was a right kick in the arse!

Harry strolled into the Archives as nonchalantly as he could manage. He scanned the large room, and not finding the hag at her desk, headed straight towards the back. He was returning to the scene of the crime; returning the pamphlet he had nicked the week before. Fortunately there was something to return, because after Harry finally got a chance to read through The Wrongs and Right of the Rites he nearly ripped the damned thing to shreds. The good news was that he had found the information he was looking for. The bad news was that he had found the information he was looking for.

There were three unions on record that had been overturned in the UK, even though the Rites had been performed. In all three cases the wizard in the match was the one who petitioned the Wizengamot for the dissolution of his marriage. Although almost 100 years separated each case, the earliest being in 1689, they all had one thing in common. All three wizards claimed that their wives married them in bad faith, thus making the Rites invalid.

After forty-seven childless years together Hezikiah Burnermacher threw his wife Patience out of the house after he learned that she had purposely planned never to have children by him. Even before they officially became man and wife she had been peppering his food with monksroot, a plant that made him sterile. He found this out after he finally questioned his Healer why he wasn't able to get her or any of his five mistresses, for that matter, with child. Since the Wizengamot back then was anything but progressive, he was allowed to get rid of his treacherous wife in favor of her sister Constance, mistress number one. No one was really surprised when Hezikiah and Constance died in that tragic Mountain troll accident a year later. Patience was the one who “accidentally” set the Mountain Troll on them.

Samuel Nott and Wallace Smethwyck each married women who weren't what they claimed to be. Despite sharing separate rooms and never seeing her before six in the evening, Nott seemed to be the last person in his small village that didn't know that he had married a dhampir woman; the child of a mortal woman and her vampire father. True, half the bride's guests at his midnight ceremony were quite pale, and his father in-law did look a bit long in the tooth (literally); Nott just figured they were all so odd because they were foreigners not because they were the living dead! Nott wasn't that bright.

Neither was Smethwyck. When Georgina Boyle walked into his life he often wondered aloud if there was anything that could ever make him stop loving her. Finding out that his bride had originally begun life as George almost did the trick. It took about a year and a half to make Wallace realize that he was wrong, but by then his marriage had already been stricken from the books. Despite the small setback, the couple eventually got back together and lived out the rest of their years as two very old, but very happy wizards.

In all three cases the Wizengamot ruled that the offending spouse had perpetrated a fraud, thus invalidating the blood bond.

After reading this Harry was nearly inconsolable. Although he often questioned it when she was in a temper, Harry was pretty sure that Ginny was human. After five years of marriage, he sure as hell hoped she was a girl. And she definitely wanted to start a family. If anything he was the one who had married her under fraudulent circumstances. It was beginning to become unquestioningly clear that if his marriage was going to come to an end it would have to be Ginny who initiated it.

In the words of Draco Malfoy, “fuck...all”.

Since learning that Hermione was living at the Hollow, Ginny barely spoke to him anymore. Oh, when they were out in public the Potters seemed to be the perfect couple. When others were around Ginny was the most loving wife, the most adoring spouse. But behind closed doors it was a different story. When he returned to the Palace most nights, Ginny was already in bed; the door to the room locked. She started leaving the house earlier than he did. In the rare instances that he did manage to get her alone and tried to broach the subject of their marriage she begged off, usually citing a headache as the reason. It was almost like she was avoiding him. If Harry didn't know any better he would think that she had guessed that he didn't want to be married to her any longer.

Oh Merlin!

Had she guessed that he didn't want to be married to her any longer?! Did she know the reason why? Was he that transparent? And if Ginny wouldn't divorce him what exactly could he do about it? Could life possibly get any more complicated?

The answer appeared to be yes.

Because since the Quidditch match Hermione had been sending him such mixed signals that Harry never knew whether he was coming or going most days. Whereas he had begun to fear that Hermione might try to make another run for it, especially after how emotionally wrung out she was when she begged him for some space; these days she looked like that was the farthest thing from her mind.

She was even making the cottage into a real home. Linens, knickknacks, picture frames, state of the art appliances, an enormous bookshelf and a monster of a television set that he and Ron had to shrink down just to get it into the house; with so much free time on her hand Hermione had taken to redecorating the whole place with zeal. There wasn't a corner of the house that didn't have a bit of her personal touch.

When she asked him if he minded it at all, Harry did his best to downplay just how over the moon he really was about the whole thing. He even offered to pay for what ever she needed, but she told him that it wasn't necessary. She did, however, ask him his opinion; what he liked, what he thought the house might need. Harry never thought that the sight of such girlie, frilly throw pillows could make him so happy. You just don't buy throw pillows if you're planning on taking off any day. At least in Harry's humble opinion you didn't.

Hermione's attitude towards him was also maddening. One moment she would be holding him at arms length. In the next, it was like she couldn't keep her eyes off of him. He should know, his were very rarely not glued to her every movement if she entered the same room he was in. When their eyes would make contact she would usually turn red and become flustered. It was cute. It was confusing as hell, but still cute.

And then there was the flirting. Sometimes Harry felt the need to wipe the steam from his glasses. Coy side long glances, sly words; it was bloody verbal foreplay was what it was! If they had never bothered to venture into this forbidden territory before, they were making up for lost time now. Then, right when it would start to get really spirited, she would back off so quickly that it would give him whiplash. The funniest part was that Ron, who was often wedged between them like some unofficial chaperon, acted as though he didn't notice a thing. Either Harry was making more out of it than there really was, or Ron had to be the thickest bastard in all of England.

God bless him.

But what baffled Harry the most were the things Hermione would say in her more unguarded moments. Those were few and hard to come by; she was usually so zealously in control of the situation most times. But when she allowed the mask to slip, the peek that Harry would get made him wonder if this whole shambolic state of affairs he found himself in wasn't so one-sided after all.

Like when she tried to make it seem that what happened on the kitchen counter was all her fault. What was that about? She had almost sounded guilty; like she had wanted it too. Did that mean she had wanted it too? Was that what she was so upset about? Thoughts like that had the power to make him giddy and nauseous, hopeful and scared as hell. It was a wonder he could stand upright. Because these thoughts began to foster in him the crazy, wonderful, unbelievable notion that maybe Hermione could be attracted to him despite the fact that he was her best friend. Maybe even attracted to him because they were each other’s very best friend and understood each other in ways no one else ever could.

“The two of them got to marry their best friend. Who wouldn’t want that? I know I would.”

Even now he could still hear those words in his head. Of course it could have meant nothing, Hermione had been just this side of tipsy when she said it, but Harry wasn't so sure. Maybe Hermione had actually thought about what it could be like to be with her best friend; her very best friend. He was positive she wasn't talking about Ron. As she told him already, that ship had long since sailed. So if she didn't mean that best friend just who was she referring to? Dared he hope?

Where there hell was that floo call?! He really needed to take that call before he allowed his thoughts to go down that road.

Harry was passing through the potions section, heading towards the front of the library, when he caught sight of Malfoy at a desk near a window. A pile of books and parchments were spread out over the table before him. He and the hag were arguing about a book or something and their loud voices were carrying. From the mutinous look on his face, Harry could tell that Malfoy was being his usual pleasant self. Since he wanted to find out how things had gone with Klaussen, Harry waited for the hag to leave before approaching the table.

“Listen you Ogden embalmed bag of bones, either you get me that book or I’ll drop a house on you!” he heard Malfoy order her.

The crone merely bobbed and weaved unsteadily as she listened to the blond's empty threat.

“If I didn’t suspect that you were already heartless, Auror Malfoy, I would threaten to cut it out myself dearie,” she slurred in a scratchy voice. She then cackled wildly at her own joke, drawing stares from those nearby.

As she shuffled away from Malfoy's table, she left the stench and near visible trail of stale ale in her wake. Malfoy made a series of impolite gestures at her retreating back.

“Wooing the witches as usual, Malfoy?” asked Harry as he sauntered towards his partner.

“I hate that dried up old bitch!” he stated, his brow line creased angrily. “She's always threatening to lock someone in a tower or bake them in a pie.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders noncommittally. “She's a hag, that's what they do.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes in reply.

“So how went things with Klaussen?”

“Swimmingly," he said drolly, lowering his eyes to the page he had opened before him. “I think I might have betrothed myself to him.”

An amused smirk played at Harry's face. “I'm sure Luna will just love that.”

“Well she's the one always after me to make more friends.”

The absurdity of the remark actually made Harry chuckle. The sound caused Malfoy to raise his head and bring his attention back to Harry.

“What are you doing in here, anyway? You rarely come in the stacks. I always assumed you were allergic to books.”

Harry ignored the insult.

“The Bulwark Charm I put up,” Harry said, lying through his teeth. He wasn’t about to tell Malfoy what he was really up to. “I was browsing through one of those how-to manuals looking for some tips. The spell's been messing with the electricity in the cottage.”

That part was actually true. The charm was too strong to be used around so many electronics. It was wreaking havoc. Hermione's computer was instant messaging with the dead, the telly was broadcasting what was going on in the houses of the other residents of the village, and though they didn’t have conclusive evidence to prove it, he and Hermione had come to the conclusion that the microwave might have tried to eat Lizzie! The poor dog seemed terrified to go anywhere near it.

Draco studied him hard for a second before returning to his book.

“Either you’ve gotten better at lying or I’m just tired,” he said as he turned a page. “For a Ministry designed spell of that magnitude you would have to calibrate the biorhythms of all of the occupants in the house in order to make it work properly,” he said in a bored manner. “That includes the stupid mongrel. Any idiot would know that.”

“That's good to know,” said Harry gingerly, “idiot.”

Malfoy scowled down at his book.

Harry began to drum his fingers distractedly against the table. His mind wandered off for a moment as he wondered at the time once again.

“So I suppose you’ll be going over to the cottage later?”

Malfoy's query took Harry away from his inner musings.

“I suppose I might.”

In truth, since the British Cup, not a night had gone by that he hadn't spent at least an hour or two (or three) at the Hollow.

“Do you suppose that’s a good idea?” Malfoy wondered aloud. It was the artful disinterest in which the question was asked that made Harry's teeth grind together.

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” asked Harry, trying to control the instant flicker of doubt coupled with rage that sprang to life inside his chest.

Malfoy didn't spare Harry a glance as he answered him. The annoying prat just dipped his goshawk feather quill in a small ink pot near Harry's hand and began to jot down some notes on a piece of parchment.

“It just seems like you've been spending a copious amount of time around Hermione, is all. I'd be surprised if the woman had been able to put on a fresh pair of knickers; you're always under her so. Besides, don't you have a wife?”

The ink pot exploded sending little shards of glass all over the desk. Funny enough, only Malfoy seemed to get soaked in the indigo goop. He muttered a curse or two as he pulled out his wand to clean the mess up. Malfoy absolutely abhorred having even a speck on his Auror robes.

Harry menacingly bent down over the table as he put his face right up to Malfoy's. Harry's eyes became furious slits, and through his gritted teeth he laid down the law.

“I am going to say this once and then the case is closed, Ferret. What goes on between me and my best friend is none of your fucking business! You could never hope to understand a friendship like ours, so stop trying to! If she wanted me gone she would tell me. She tells me everything!”

Malfoy's silver eyes looked up into his, devoid of malice or spite.

“Does she?”

“You've been keeping something from me, Miss Granger,” Harry said teasingly.

He and Hermione had been idly strolling through Piccadilly Circus; looking in shop windows, gossiping about their friends, nipping at food they bought from street vendors. Harry had knocked off work early to spend the afternoon with her. They actually had been on their way to drop in at Remus', but Hermione had wanted to take the detour. She looked completely at ease being around the huge crowds of Muggle London and Harry couldn't be more pleased at that. You couldn't walk down Diagon Alley without seeing her face staring out from every newsstand these days. Even though they had to use old photos of her, some from right after the Final Defeat, the tiny images of Hermione still tried to shield their faces from view.

Thankfully no one knew where she was living or Hermione would have never gotten any peace. Because their owls couldn't find her due to the Bulwarvivivus he had set up around the cottage, people began sending letters, requests for interviews, and more than a few howlers to him and Ron. It seemed like everyone was waiting with bated breath to see if Hermione would stop Ron and Lavender's wedding, and everyone had an opinion on the matter. Harry felt that they all needed to get a ruddy life!

They had dropped in at a record shop and perused some of the CDs. She bought a few disks; some classical, some rock, a few jazz artists that she told him he absolutely had to give a listen to. She threw them in the large camel handbag she carried on her shoulder and then they were on their way. She then pointed out some of the sites to him; he very rarely ventured this far into London if he could help it. When they finally took a moment to catch a breath, they found themselves standing in front of the large fountain with its winged statue atop it.

“Cupid, right?” he had asked her.

She smiled in good humor as she shook her head.

“A common misconception. It's actually his younger sibling, Anteros. Eros begged his mum and dad for a little brother to boss around.”

“Alas...The pain of being an only child,” he said jokingly.

She swatted him on the shoulder.

“So if Eros is the God of love what is Anteros, anti-love or something?”

“No,” she said as her smile died and she turned solemn eyes up at the statue. “Anteros is the God of unrequited love.”

Harry looked over at her upturned face and felt the subtle stir of longing flutter some where deep within him.

“Oh.”

She turned to look at him then, and Harry felt that longing sensation do a handstand.

“Yeah, oh,” she said.

After that they drifted along in a comfortable silence that was only disturbed every now and then when one would catch the other staring, and the guilty party would mumble an apology as they nervously looked the other way. At one point they wandered over to Glasshouse Street. Harry didn't know exactly when her hand had worked itself into his, but even a flagon of Felix Felicis wouldn't have rivaled the feeling it filled him with.

Hermione tilted her head curiously, a small smile on her lips.

“I've been keeping something from you, have I?”

“The name of the wizard who's taking you to the Ball,” Harry said as he playfully swung their arms between them.

The Victory Ball was in just a matter of days and all of the women in their little circle had been in a tizzy trying to get themselves and their men ready for it. Ginny had bought him a new set of robes and had hung it up in his study the other night before he got in from work; the note attached to it telling him in no uncertain terms what time she expected him back at the Palace that night so he could escort her to the function.

Fred had mentioned in passing that Glinda had offered to set Hermione up with someone for the night so she wouldn't feel awkward going to the big Ministry function all alone. That news didn’t sit well with Harry and he almost said something rude to Fred about his busybody wife, but he figured all was forgiven when the Weasley twin said that Hermione turned her down. He then added that she turned Glinda down because she already had a date. Fred didn’t know who it was because Hermione was being secretive about the whole thing.

Although Harry was smiling on the outside as he asked her about the big mystery escort, inside he was seething. Just who the hell was this twat who so obviously had a death wish?!

“So who is the lucky bloke?” So I can rip his spleen out through his ear.

Harry smiled brightly at her.

“I'm not telling,” Hermione teased as her eyes sparkled.

“How very Fourth Year of you, Hermione,” he said dryly causing her to laugh.

“A girl has got to have some secrets.”

Harry had opened his mouth to say something profoundly brilliant, he was sure, when off in the distance he heard a twanging voice call out.

“HARMONY?”

Before he knew what was happening, Hermione had dropped his hand and without ceremony, pushed him so hard that he nearly lost his balance. He felt himself stumbling sideways into a little cramped shop. It took him only a second to get his bearings together.

“BLOODY HELL, HERMIONE! WHAT THE HELL YOU DO THAT FOR?!” he groused as he rubbed at the sore spot on his upper arm where she had pushed him. To look at her one would never know that she was that strong. Son of a bitch, it hurt!

If Hermione had heard him she didn't betray it. Instead she stood at the dirty glass window of the store, furtively staring out at the sidewalk they had just come from. Her head whipped back and forth like she was searching for something.

“Hermione?”

It was as if she couldn't even hear him. He tried again.

“Hermione? What's wrong?” he asked as he walked towards her. “What are you looking for?”

She whirled around; her eyes practically popping out of her head. She looked as though she had seen a ghost.

“Huh? What? Wrong?! W-why would you think something was wrong?! Nothing is wrong!”

She gnawed at her bottom lip as she turned her head to look out the window again.

Now this was strange.

“Well, you pushed me, you see...” Harry said slowly.

“I DIDN'T PUSH YOU!” she protested sharply as she stepped away from the window. “I...we were going to pass this shop and I...uh...I wanted to go in. I didn't push you,” she defensively said again.

For the first time since coming into the store, Harry looked at his surroundings. His mouth fell open.

He could hear the soft pounding beat of drums being played from a hidden stereo. He saw shelves of candles with the pictures of various saints on them; the scent of incense wafted through the air. That too was being sold in bins littered all across the floor along with trinkets, amulets, aerosol cans, cowry shells, and wooden statues of various sizes and shapes. Colorful flags and festoons hung from the ceiling. About a year before Professor Lermontant, the Hogwarts Defense professor, had given a special seminar at the Ministry for the Department. The class was to help teach the Aurors the differences between the vast array of religions in Africa, the Caribbean, and other regions that were based on magical traditions, as opposed to real black magic that tried to dress itself up as a faith. Harry could only wonder which one they had stumbled upon in this place.

“You wanted to come in here?” he asked Hermione dubiously.

She nodded quickly as she stepped further into the shop and turned her back to him.

“Yes I...I saw something in the window that caught my eye.”

Her head swung back and forth as though casing the place. She began to examine a shelf that held several wooden idols and other bobbins.

“In this store?” he asked her, dumbfounded. Her odd behavior was unnerving him.

“YES, HARRY!” she snapped, her eyes narrowing as she turned to look at him. “IN THIS SHOP! In fact...”

She paused as she lifted up the statue of a beautiful, dark bronze woman with a tiny mirror in her hand. She held it out towards him.

“This is what I saw.”

Harry came closer to where she was standing and looked down at the wooden statue. He then looked back at her face, completely stymied by her total change in temperament. Had it only been five minutes ago they had been smiling and laughing together? What happened to kill that?

“Hermione–”

“Yes, I saw this and just had to have it,” she said cutting him off. Her voice continued to nervously raise as the shopkeeper, a dark mahogany skinned woman dressed in kente printed robes and wearing an ornate African head wrap with little silver coins hanging off of it, wandered over to them. “I knew that I just had to have it no matter the cos--£350?!”

She had just gotten a look at the price tag. Her outraged expression gave way to a sheepish grin however once she realized that both Harry and the shopkeeper were looking at her oddly. The few other customers in the store also stopped to see what the commotion was about.

Hermione tittered uneasily.

“Do you take traveler’s checks?” she asked the woman with chagrin, then lowered her burning face from view and dug into her purse.

As Hermione finished her transaction with the sales lady, Harry tried to make sense out of what had just happened. They had been walking along when all of a sudden Hermione freaked out and pushed him into the store. What had he missed?

“Dere ya go dear 'eart,” said the woman in a thick West Indian accent. She had just finished wrapping Hermione's purchase and was handing her the bag. “An' may Oshun grant 'er favor to ya an' ye man dere.”

Hermione's hand faltered for a moment as she reached out for the bag. After taking it, in a tight voice she said, “He's not mine.”

Harry grumbled under his breath. Did she have to be so adamant about it?

The shopkeeper seemed to find this news surprising. Her dark eyes raked back and forth between the two of them.

“'im not?” she asked. “De way ya went straight to Oshun I figure dis was ye 'usband.”

Hermione's lips stretched thinly.

“He's not my husband.”

Well!

“But ya do 'ave one, right?”

“What does that have to do with anything?” asked Harry.

The woman turned to look at Harry.

“Well I t'ought ya knew what Oshun was fe'. Ya do 'ave de touch.”

Both he and Hermione inhaled sharply.

“Oh don' worry chil'run, Aunt Nancy 'as de touch too,” she said as she placed her hand on her chest. “Course not like dis gal ‘ere...”

She looked at Hermione.

“An' n'where near as much as ya,” she said as she turned back to him. “But it dere.”

“What do you mean by, 'what Oshun is for'?” Harry asked skeptically, leery of the answer.

The woman appeared to be offended by the question.

“I don' do nunna dat star,” Aunt Nancy chided him. “Ya not g'wine find no 'oodoo or obea' ‘ere my frien’. I worship de Orishas of my ances'tas. I bow down before Olodumare,” she said proudly, a lift to her head. “And Oshun is my guide,” she explained as she stepped near a shelf and picked up a wooden statue similar to the one Hermione bought. She brought it close to them. “Dis is Shango 'oman 'ere. She is de light in ye eyes and de power 'tween ye t'ighs daugh'ta,” said Aunt Nancy as she gave Hermione's cheek a friendly pinch.

Hermione timidly smiled. Aunt Nancy's eyes sparkled at her merrily.

“An' best of all, Oshun brings you lots o' babies.”

The smile on Hermione’s face fell quickly.

“BABIES?!”

Aunt Nancy softly chuckled at Hermione’s horrified expression.

“Why yes gal. Oshun is de Yoruban goddess of love, sex, and fertility. Ya place ‘er by ye bed an' in no time ya ‘ave a ‘ouse full a pic’ney.”

It was about this time that Harry lost it.

“SHUT UP HARRY! IT'S NOT THAT FUNNY!” Hermione fumed at him as he nearly doubled over from laughing so hard. She even stamped her foot which made him laugh harder. Through the tears he wiped from his eyes he saw her turn back to Aunt Nancy and say, “This is going nowhere near my bed.”

Aunt Nancy was not deterred.

“Don’ worry ya none daugh'ta. Oshun will work fe’ ya in any of de room ya house ya choose. Put ‘er in ye show’a. On de kitchen coun'ta, per'aps?”

Hermione’s cheeks were aflame at the sly, knowing grin the woman gave her.

“She’ll be going on my bookshelf,” Hermione primly declared as she dropped the bag in her purse.

Aunt Nancy merely shrugged her shoulders. “Might be a bit uncomfortable fe' ya an’ ye man dere, but dat could work too,” she said with a wink.

Hermione glowered at Aunt Nancy, but she held her tongue.

“Come on chuckles!” she ordered Harry as she marched off in the direction of the door.

Harry politely waved goodbye to the shopkeeper and turned on his heel to catch up with her. However she hadn't gotten that far. She was hanging halfway outside the door; her head swinging from left to right.

Harry stealthily crept up behind her. He bent down and whispered in her ear.

“Looking for somebody?”

Hermione jolted around and stared at him, eyes wide. She slowly backed out onto the sidewalk and Harry followed her out. He shrewdly studied her face. The skittish behavior, the shifting eyes, the rapid fire breathing; Harry had seen too many suspects not to recognize the telltale signs of someone who was caught with nowhere to run.

“Or are you hiding from them?” he tried again, a little more forcefully.

“I-I-I’m not h-hiding! I don’t even know what you’re talking abou–”

“Harmony?”

“Fuck,” he saw Hermione lips mouth.

She then turned around and Harry witnessed one of the most frightening occurrences he was sure he had ever seen. Right there in the midst of Glasshouse; with the sound of drums still pounding in his ear and a horde of Japanese tourist nearby snapping pictures, he watched his best friend, a woman who up until that point he was sure he knew better than his own self, morph into an exaggerated over the top copy of Lavender Brown-Pye. It was enough to give him nightmares for days.

“Bertina!” Hermione called in a dripping, saccharine voice.

A woman, probably only eight or ten years older than them and wearing an ostentatiously large pale pink hat and matching suit, practically wiggled (there was really no other way to describe it) across the street in their direction. Trudging behind the woman was a squat, balding man in a seersucker suit that was the same color as his companion’s outfit, his arms weighed down with bags and packages. The man looked like he would rather be anywhere than where he was currently. Despite their loud clothing, it was hard to miss that both of their suits were finely tailored and that they carried themselves like royalty. The woman herself looked like a Christmas tree; she was covered in so many sparkling jewels.

“Well land sakes!” the woman cried as she reached them. “As I live and breathe, what are you doing here?!”

The woman latched on to both of Hermione’s shoulders and gave a fake kiss to each cheek. Harry didn’t know what shocked him more; Hermione allowing the woman to do it or that she returned the favor. It was like he had entered some parallel dimension.

“I saw you and I said to myself, ‘self, now that looks like our Harmony scampering into that there li’l ole store'.”

The woman turned towards the gentleman that was with her.

“Didn’t I say that, Hamp? Didn't I say that looked like Harmony?” she asked him.

Before Hamp could give an answer she was continuing on.

“That’s exactly what I said!” she answered for the mute Hamp. “Then again it’s a wonder I recognized you at all! Just look at that hair! Did Alejandro do it or John Paul?”

“Actually my friend, you remember Benitez don’t you, he did it for me in his kitchen sink.”

The woman's smile dimmed slightly.

“Oh, you mean Mr. Cohen, that little artistic fellow? Yes, I remember him. That's...nice. However as soon as I saw that purse I knew it had to be you. I still remember when you and I both bought ours. I called out to you honey. Didn’t you hear me?”

A phony smile grafted itself onto Hermione’s face. Her eyes on the other hand were dead looking. They reminded Harry of a preying shark's.

“I can’t say that I did.”

“Well that’s alright, sugar,” she said as her eyes drifted towards Harry’s direction. She looked at him with a little too much interest and Harry couldn’t fight off the feeling that maybe he should be covering the family goods.

“Harmony, aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Hermione tittered uneasily and cast a worried eye towards Harry. She then looked back at the woman.

“Of course; how rude of me. Harry Potter,” she said motioning towards him, “I would like you to meet Bertina and Hampton Beauregard.”

“Of the Houston Beauregards,” Bertina said, full of pride, as she stepped closer to Harry and held out her hand to him, practically shoving it into his face.

Harry was lost as to what to do for a moment; Hermione actually looked pale at the proceedings, but Harry decided to play along. He took Bertina’s hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it.

“Ooh,” she bubbled as she held his hand in a near death-like grip, “I just love foreigners. They are just so European!”

Harry could only stare at the woman. Was she for real?! He very politely tried to get his hand back before he had to result to gnawing it off.

“You can call me Bert by the way,” she said once she finally let him go. “All of my friends call me Bert.”

It did not escape his attention that Hermione had called her Bertina.

“So what are you doing here Harmony all the way here in jolly ole England? I mean of course everyone knew that you were from ‘cross the pond’,” she simpered as though she had made the cleverest of jokes, “but you never seemed interested in heading over this way before.”

Bertina turned to look at her husband.

“Isn’t that right, Hamp?”

Hamp opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Bertina was talking again.

“Are you in town for the Season too? Do you know I went to that li'l ole flower show, and I think I actually met myself a Duchess?”

“Fancy that,” said Hermione in the most insincere voice one could imagine.

“The Season?” interrupted Harry, looking between the two women.

“The Castle Season,” Hermione explained as a quick aside to him. “No Bertina, nothing as fabulous as all that, I’m afraid. I’m just here for a short spell, visiting some friends. An old school chum of mine is getting married.”

Bertina saddened at that news and looked covetously at Harry.

“No, no Bertina dear, not this one. This one is already married.” Hermione edged possessively closer to him and Harry was eternally grateful for it. “It’s another friend of mine.”

“Well doesn’t that just beat all? You know, I ran into Laurie and Cynthia at the Babineaux’s supper party…you remember what a horrible debut the youngest Babineaux girl had last year don’t you, bless her heart…Anyway I asked them where in the world you were and Laurie said that you were off in some clinic somewhere.”

“Is that what Laurie said?” Hermione asked in a tight voice.

“Why yes, but I couldn’t imagine what you would go away to have done. Of course this is my third nose.”

Her laughter gradually decreased as she realized that no one else was laughing with her. She coughed to cover her embarrassment.

“But you should have seen the look on Collier’s face, Harmony,” continued Bertina. “Hamp, didn’t Collier look like that was the first time he was hearing about it? Collier looked fit to be tied!”

“Imagine that. Listen Bertina, my friend and I really have to be running.”

“Oh of course, of course, we have got to go too. Hamp has been spoiling me so today. We’ve been shopping like the dickens! We were just about to hail a taxi and go back to the hotel. I bought about seven or eight different suits I might wear to see the Queen troop the color. I have no idea what that even means, but I’m terribly excited about it!”

“I bet you are!” Hermione said with a smirk. “Say Bertina, why don't we get together sometime while were both still in town?”

Harry peered down at her quizzically, but she ignored him.

“Oh let's!”

“Where are you staying?

“Well everyone says if you come to London that you must stay at the Savoy, so of course Hamp got us a luxury suite,” she simpered haughtily. “Isn't that right, darling?”

Harry, Hermione, and Bertina all turned to look at Hampton. Hampton appeared to be sleeping standing upright. His chin rested on his chest and he snored softly in the middle of all of the hustle and bustle.

“HAMP!”

Hampton Beauregard sluggishly came back to life.

“Yes dear,” he managed to say while yawning, eyes blinking as they tried to focus.

Bertina turned back to Hermione and Harry.

“Should I give you a ring?” she asked.

“'Fraid not,” Hermione said in an exaggerated disappointed tone. “I really can't be reached. I guess I'll just have to drop in on you.”

Bertina seemed agreeable to that proposal.

“Sounds like a plan!”

She then leaned in and gave Hermione another kiss on the cheek. Next she turned to Harry and held out her hand to him again. Harry looked at Hermione and she very casually tilted her head. Just do it, the gesture seemed to say. Because Harry wanted the woman gone, he gave in. He bent down to kiss her hand making her giggle like a love struck Third Year. Bertina Beauregard then revived her husband who had fallen asleep yet again, and started down the walk; the poor hapless bastard following in her wake.

“Just wait until I call everyone and tell them who I saw!” he heard her exclaim excitedly as she paraded down the walk.

For a moment he and Hermione watched Bertina and Hampton walk away in silence before she finally spoke.

“You know, I've heard Juan Miguel Benitez Cohen called many things; his personal favorite being Fabulous Diva Jewban, but never have I ever heard him referred to as 'artistic',” Hermione said scathingly. “Honestly, that woman!”

Before she could say anything else, Harry grabbed her by the upper arm, hauled her down the sidewalk until they came to a deserted alley next to a restaurant, and pushed her up against the brick wall of the building.

“Harry! Harry...OW! YOU'RE HURTING ME! Harry?! WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?!” she cried until they were hidden from view behind a large metal skip. Once she was propped up against the wall her pleas quieted. All it took was the look on Harry's face to make her swallow her protests.

He was incensed!

Harry had sat back quietly, for the most part, and played a silent witness to the little show Hermione had been putting on for the benefit of whoever that ghastly woman was, but enough was enough! Now was the time for some answers.

“Harry?”

“That's it, Hermione,” he said in a direct and authoritative voice. “That's it! You are going to tell me right now what the hell that was all about!”

The tone in which he spoke to her was deathly calm. It was his interrogation voice. Hermione didn't appear to agree with it. Her brows pulled together harshly and her eyes seemed to grow dark.

“Harry, if you wish to speak civilly with me I advise you take your bloody hands off of me.”

Harry’s grip slowly loosened. His arms stretched out before him and he placed his hands on the wall on either side of her head. He leaned in to the point that their noses almost touched. He would have been lying if he said he wasn't a bit turned on; having her pressed up against the wall like this, no one for miles to see what they were getting up to, her heavy breathing making her chest rise and fall...rise and fall...rise and...

Focus Potter!

Now was not the time to let his more prurient thoughts about Hermione get the better of him, his conscience scolded. He was starting to suspect that that's what had been wrong in the first place ever since she had come back home.

“What the hell was that all about?” he asked after he calmed down a bit.

She didn't bat an eye. “What do you mean?”

“Who was that woman?”

“Bertina Julia Beauregard; second wife, spoiled rich, and a man eater, if ever there were one. I swear, the woman can’t keep a gardener pass a fortnight and–”

“You’re trying to redirect me.”

Hermione's jaw lowered slightly and she looked hurt at what he said. Or guilty. Harry leaned more towards guilty.

“I assume you knew this woman in Dallas?”

“Well yes, I–”

“How did you know her?”

“Harry, I–”

“HOW DO YOU KNOW HER, HERMIONE?!”

Hermione's mouth closed and she frowned. She then crossed her arms in front of her.

“You saw the husband, Mr. Motormouth? He was on the Board of Directors for the center I worked at.”

“Why did she call you Harmony?”

That was the question Harry was really after. Hermione was very particular when it came to people pronouncing her name right. The only person he ever knew her to give a pass to was Viktor Krum, and that was only because the Bulgarian's English wasn't that good.

“Answer the damned question, Hermione. Why does she think your name is Harmony?”

“HOW THE HELL SHOULD I KNOW?!” she finally screeched in answer, losing her well maintained cool.

One of his eyebrows slowly ticked up and she made a small sound of disgust at the sight of it.

“Look, Bertina never took the time to learn to pronounce my name correctly. I was never fond enough of the woman to correct her,” she said defensively.

Harry took a moment to thoroughly weigh his options. If he were to try to probe her mind once more, Hermione would probably never trust him again as long as she lived. But she was hiding something and the fact that she was so stubborn, so unwilling to tell him what it was cut him deeply. Just how long had it been since she stopped telling him everything? And just when had he stopped noticing?

“Are you in trouble?”

She looked him directly in the eye.

“No.”

Harry's arms dropped to his side, but he didn't break eye contact. His eyes begged her, willed her to tell him the truth. He was almost convinced she had. He wanted so desperately to believe she had, but then she began to speak again.

“And even if I was, it wouldn’t be anything I couldn’t get myself out of.”

It was then that Harry began to believe that she just might be lying.

“Now come on,” she said as she took his hand and led him out of the alley and back out to the sidewalk. Harry allowed her to pull him along even though his feet dragged. “We’ve dawdled enough, don't you think?”

He had begun to say something to that when she cut him off.

“Oh bother.”

“What?” he asked warily.

“I meant to pick up a gift for the baby.”

“Remus and Tonks won’t care.”

A rather condescending smile appeared on her face.

“But I will.”

“Alright,” he said carefully as he took her hand. “Well, I guess we could go to that big store over on Regent.” Harry began to walk with her up the street in that direction.

Hermione took a few steps then stopped in her tracks.

“I have a better idea. Why don’t I run over there and I’ll meet you at Grimmauld?”

Harry almost gawked at her in disbelief, but he controlled the warring emotions that threatened to play out on his face.

“Why don’t we both go?”

“Harry, don’t be difficult,” she said in a lighthearted voice. “Ron has probably been over there for ages wondering where we’ve been all of this time. You can go back behind that restaurant and Apparate to the house and I’ll just pop over to Hamleys. When I'm done I’ll just have a cab drop me in front of number 11. Grimmauld is still hidden, correct?”

He dully nodded his head.

“Good. Then I'll meet you there.”

“Ok,” Harry said in a hollow voice.

Her lips smiled; her eyes didn't.

“Good.”

She rose up on her toes to give him a small peck on his cheek. He looked into her face, searching it for some clue as to what was going on, but finding none he turned around and began to walk towards the alley they had been in just a moment before. Before he got too far he turned back.

“Hermione?”

She had been looking in the direction he was going, but it was as if her eyes were glazed over. It took them a moment to focus at the sound of her name. Her face was a blank mask before that shark eyed smile showed itself again.

“Don’t be too long,” he told her.

“I won’t,” she promised.

Harry then turned and hastened away.

He reentered the alley. Once hidden in its shadows he peeked around the skip just in time to see Hermione come sprinting by, her mobile at her ear as she spoke hurriedly into it. She didn't see him thanks to a hastily cast Disillusionment Charm. She did look over her shoulder at one point, probably sensing eyes on her, but shook her head and kept on her way.

He watched as she tried to hail a cab.

He watched as one stopped and she jumped into it a moment later.

And he watched as the cab drove off in the opposite direction of Regent Street.

“Here's your book!”

Harry heard the scratchy voice first, before looking up and seeing the enormous reference volume magically teetering over Malfoy's head. There was no inner monologue, no little voice of intuition that told him what to do. He simply put a foot out behind him and stepped back quickly. It was only after the near 4000 pager came toppling down on Malfoy with a cringe inducing thud that Harry's mind began to stir again. As the Slytherin let out an earsplitting yowl and tumbled backwards out of his seat head first, Harry watched him go over and made a mental note to never piss off the hag when she was half-drunk and coming off of a bender.

The wizened old witch in question sauntered over to where Malfoy was lying on the floor and bent over him.

“Will you be needing anything else, Auror Malfoy?” she asked sweetly before shuffling off; cackling all the way to her desk.

The first few times Malfoy tried to get up he kept slipping on the papers and spilled ink that were knocked down during his fall. Harry finally took pity on him and hauled him up by his under arms. He then ended up having to restrain Malfoy when he tried to charge forward and give chase after the crone. Even all the way from her desk her laughter could still be heard through out the Archive room.

“LET ME AT HER! LET ME AT HER!” shouted Malfoy as he tried to break free from Harry's grip. “I AM GOING TO TEAR ALL FIVE TEETH OUT OF HER HEAD!”

Harry practically had to hold him around his middle and lift the bastard off the floor so he couldn't get away.

“You can't do that, Malfoy,” Harry tried to convince him. “She's a woman!”

That argument didn't hold water with Malfoy.

“I DEMAND PROOF!!!” he roared.

“Sit your pale arse down!” Harry said as he righted the chair and threw the git into it.

He then took out his wand and quickly tidied the mess on the floor, vanishing the spilled ink and floating the papers and books back to where they had been. There was one sheet of parchment he missed; it was under the table, so Harry got down on his haunches to get it. He then handed it back to Malfoy, not that the prat was grateful or anything! He snatched it out of Harry's hands.

“Malfoy, why are you even in the Archives again?” he asked irritably as he stood back up. “I've had to drag you out of here by your robes for the last few days. What are you looking for? What are you up to?”

“None of your business,” he priggishly said. “Shoo fly, you're bothering me!”

He hunched over the parchment and tried to ignore Harry. Harry shook his head, rolled his eyes, and glanced down at the vellum sheet.

“Discordium,” he read from the parchment, the tone of recognition clear in his voice. “Hmm… interesting.”

Harry then walked off heading in the direction of the exit. He only got a few feet away before Malfoy came bounding up to him in a rush, calling his name. Harry was really tired of dealing with the Slytherin's nasty attitude and he was this close to just pretending that he hadn't heard him, but he relented and turned around.

“What?”

Malfoy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off into one of the secluded alcoves where they could be hidden from any of the other employees in the room. People usually used the alcoves when they wanted to have a private conversation. The little niches were sound proof; once inside no one could hear what they were talking about.

“What did you mean by, ‘hmm … interesting’? What does, 'hmm ... interesting' mean?” the blond asked in a harried voice.

“For starters, Malfoy, you are standing far too close to me. Secondly, you might want to look into a breath mint. And third, what’s it to you?”

Malfoy growled in aggravation.

“POTTY, STOP BEING SUCH A TIGHT ARSE FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE AND JUST ANSWER THE FUCKING QUESTION! Do you know what Discordium is?”

“I may have read about it,” Harry said as he straightened his glasses.

“You read?!”

“Malfoy you’re being a wanker again, and wankers don’t get their stupid little questions answered, now do they?”

Malfoy pointed a finger at him. “LOOK BANGS BOY,” he tried again, “TELL ME WHERE YOU'VE READ ABOUT DISCORDIUM!”

Tiring of this little game, Harry decided to just answer him and be done with it.

“Advanced Potion-Making.”

“What are you playing at? Advanced Potion-Making doesn’t cover Discordium. That's a Ministry approved, NEWT level book. As if they would allow a bunch of Sixth Years to study a potion of that magnitude. Besides, I had that book too, remember? It wasn't in there,” Malfoy said pompously.

“Well maybe not in your copy but I assure you it was in mine.”

He started to exit the alcove, but Malfoy blocked his way.

“In your copy?” Malfoy asked, frowning.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Does the name, 'Half-Blood Prince' ring any bells for you?”

Malfoy's eyes goggled. “You mean Severus?”

Harry felt the usual momentary twinge of anger any time that name was spoken.

“Yes. He seemed very interested in Discordium; its properties, its side effects. There were tons of handwritten notes towards the back of the book about it. I guess he was doing some sort of research or something maybe?”

“Potter, this is very, very important. Where is that book now?” Malfoy asked anxiously. He seemed deathly interested in the answer. Of course that fact only made Harry want to torture him for kicks.

“I don't think I want to tell you,” he cheekily said.

“POTTER!!”

“Why is it so important anyway?” questioned Harry before a more important question crossed his mind. “What are you up to?” he asked, tone a tad harsher than before.

“Why do I always have to fucking be up to something?!” he asked resentfully. If Harry didn't know any better, he would think that Malfoy almost sounded hurt as well.

“Fine, just answer me this,” said Harry looking at him squarely. “Would knowing what this is all about make me very cross?”

“Potter, I can say with full honesty that knowing what this is all about would make ten foot flames shoot out of that very tight arsehole of yours.”

After taking a moment to cringe at the mental picture, Harry gave in.

“Very well, the Squad is not to be involved in this. And don't come running to me when it all blows up in your face.”

“Done and done!”

Harry sighed resignedly.

“Room 39, Janus Thickey ward, St. Mungo's.” Harry saw the instant recognition on Malfoy's face. “A few years ago I returned it to its proper owner.”

Malfoy's pinched face relaxed some. He actually looked genuinely grateful.

“Well thanks, Potter,” he said.

His eyes then bulged and he froze.

It took Harry's mind a few seconds to catch up. Did Malfoy...did he just...did he...

“Did you just thank me?” Harry asked, clearly astounded.

Malfoy looked as though he was going to be ill.

“Yes,” he said, shuddering.

“Oh.”

In all of the years that Harry had known the prat, Draco Malfoy had never willingly said a kind word to him. Today was shaping up to be one for the record books.

“Did you mean to thank me?” Harry asked him bewilderedly.

Malfoy looked just as disturbed at the whole odd turn of events as he did.

“I don't know,” he groaned in disgust.

Harry wracked his brain for something fitting to say. Finding nothing better, he settled on, “You're welcome?”

Malfoy closed his eyes and rubbed at his temple.

“Listen Potter; let's never speak of this again.”

“Works for me,” Harry said only too gladly.

They both began to leave through the archway of the tiny room when Malfoy suddenly put out an arm to hold him back.

“What is it now, you ponce?!” Harry asked irritably. “I do have things to do!”

“Shhh ... did you hear that?” Malfoy's head was cocked to the side.

“Hear what?”

“It sounded like someone was saying my name.”

“You always think someone is saying your name.”

“Four-eyes, I heard your name as well. It sounded like–”

Before he could finish his statement, Malfoy pulled Harry to the side of the wall next to him and flattened himself against it. He peeked a bit of his head out and Harry, ducking down, followed suit. They watched as a group of women, Ministry employees all, came from out of the stacks and came to a stop near where they were hidden. Romilda and Peggy O'Shea were among them. The pregnant blonde standing next to Romilda Harry had seen a time or two in the Portkey Office, though he couldn't recall her name, but he most certainly knew who the last female in the quartet was. Marilyn Yaxley-Pickering. She was fittingly on the Pest Advisory Board. Most of the gossip that floated around the Ministry usually started at her door. Harry did his best to avoid her whenever he could.

“I'm telling you they were back there together,” Marilyn said to the women who were paying her court, hanging off of her every word.

“I don't know Marilyn, I think you've finally let this little obsession of yours get the better of you,” said the blonde amusedly as she eased herself into a chair nearby. Marilyn playfully tutted at the remark.

“I have not! Potter was back there and then not fifteen minutes later his lover,” she emphasized the word salaciously and batted her eyes, “went in after him. I saw it with mine own two eyes.”

LOVER?!

Malfoy's gray eyes looked down at him, clearly tickled by the conversation.

“Been keeping something from your partner, Potter?”

Harry only narrowed his eyes at him in answer. He started to throw a cutting remark back at the bastard, but then the blonde began speaking again.

“I just don't think that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are shagging,” she said.

Malfoy's mouth flew open.

Well that shut him up, Harry thought with a smirk before turning back to the women. The two Aurors could only stare at the group in amazement as they continued to dish.

“Potter seems so... straight laced, pardon the pun. I just can't see him stepping out on his wife, much less with Malfoy of all people. In the back of the Archive room, no less!”

“Well it would make sense in a way Samantha,” Romilda said to the blonde, sitting in the chair next to her. “Circe only knows how many times I've let Harry know that I'd be willing to do anything ... and I do mean anything that povvy little Weasley of a wife of his won't...”

Harry was this close to stepping out and telling Vane off for the slight to Ginny. How dare she insult the Weasleys like that! It took Malfoy pulling him back to stop him.

“But has he ever taken me up on it?” continued Romilda. “What else could be the reason?”

“Maybe because you're a slag, you whoring crumpet!” snarled Malfoy in a biting tone. Harry nodded his head in agreement.

“But the way they go at it...”

“Exactly my point, Samantha!” Marilyn said to her companion. “With all of that unresolved sexual tension can you just imagine the hate sex?”

Her eyes exaggeratedly rolled to the back at her head causing the other three women to laugh.

“My Morgana, what I wouldn't pay to watch them go at it!”

Malfoy looked down at Harry.

“As though I'd have the bad taste to waste a roll with you! Do women actually talk like this?”

“Have you never met Fred Weasley's wife?” said Harry in answer, tilting his head to look back up at him.

“But they don't hate each other.”

The voice of their fellow Second Squad member caught both of them off-guard. O'Shea, looking far more relaxed than she had earlier, perceptively said, “Sure they're constantly sniping at each other...and threatening each other’s lives...and calling each other the most horrible of names; I just don't think they hate each other. In fact in an odd, twisted about sort of a way I think they are rather fond of one another.”

Both Harry and Malfoy looked absolutely horrified at the suggestion. They inched as far away from each other as they could manage without tumbling out and into the open.

Marilyn pouted. “Oh poo, there goes all those lovely fantasies of hate sex down the drain."

The laughter that remark produced was so boisterous that the hag drifted by and gave each and every single one of them the evil eye until they were properly quieted. Once the hag was gone, Marilyn started up again.

“If all of that hot sexual tension is no more they must have broken up. That can be the only answer.”

“Who would have dumped who?” asked the one they called Samantha.

The four women paused for only a second before all answering, “Harry.”

They practically crowed with laughter at their cleverness afterwards. Despite the ridiculousness of the conversation, Harry snickered and sent Malfoy a pleased look.

“Oh don't be so smug, I wanted to see other people anyway!” Malfoy grumbled obnoxiously.

“Well I don't think Harry is in here any longer,” Romilda said as she stood from her chair. "I just wish I knew where he was. I don't know how much longer this Yank is going to stay on the floo for hi–”

“ROMILDA!” said Harry, stepping through the archway, scaring the hell out of the women. One of them even shrieked.

“Oh no!” whimpered O'Shea as her hand flew to her mouth. The pink shade she turned clashed monstrously with her scarlet work robes.

“Sweet Circe!” the witch named Samantha gasped as Malfoy came striding out of the alcove.

Yaxley-Pickering was beside herself.

“I KNEW IT!” she declared triumphantly pointing a long, red nailed finger. Malfoy looked enraged. Harry ignored them all.

“Romilda, you said that I have a call?” Harry asked, advancing on Romilda so aggressively that the woman took a panicky step back from him. Later, when he turned a thought back to the scene, he would think it was because Romilda was ashamed of getting caught gossiping about him. In actuality it was the look on Harry's face that had sent chills, and not the good kind, down the addled woman's spine. He looked fiercely determined and almost...animalistic. His emerald eyes burned a deep, dark viridian.

“Oh y-yes!” she stammered out breathlessly. “A Trans-Atlantic floo call from B-Baton Rouge. A Marshal Rabinowitz is holding for you in Booth 1.”

“Thanks!” Harry yelled as he took off in the direction of the exit. He entered into the hall and made a sharp right. He was heading to the lifts. Harry was halfway there when he realized that he was being followed.

“POTTER!” called Malfoy as he lagged behind Harry, trying to catch up with him.

Both of them ignored the stares they were drawing from the other wizards and witches in the corridor.

“POTTER, WAIT UP! Who is Rabinowitz? Potter, I am your partner! I DEAMND TO KNOW WHO RABINOWITZ IS!”

Harry turned around, but kept walking backwards. He was almost jogging. Two paper airplane memos flew by his head and he watched his partner duck and swerve to avoid them.

“Nothing for you to worry your pretty head about, Malfoy!” said Harry. He turned right back around and broke into a trot. There was no way he was telling his partner anything. If Malfoy wanted to have his little secrets, fine. He had secrets of his own.

“POTTER!” Malfoy yelled, incensed at Harry's refusal to answer him.

Harry reached the hall where the lifts were. He saw a large crowd standing before the last golden grille all the way to the end. The lift had just come up and the grille was pulling back to allow the group to go inside. Harry had just managed to squeeze himself onto it before the gate closed again. Malfoy stopped short as they banged shut in his face. The clanking and clattering sound that signaled that the lift was moving started up.

“WHO IS RABINOWITZ, POTTER?!!”

Harry smiled, joker-like, into Malfoy's wrathful face. As the lift slowly started to creep downwards he waved jovially at him.

“Bye bye, Malfoy.”

The smile only left his face once Malfoy's visage had passed out of sight.

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

“So what do you have for me, Gabe?”

Harry was sitting on a small cushioned bench as he stared into the floo grate before him. The Ministry floo booths from the outside looked like cramped water cabinets, hardly big enough for someone to bend their knees in. However they were far nicer inside. The ceilings were lined with lighted tiles, the sides were oak paneled, and they were spacious enough to allow one person to sit on one side while they conversed with their party in the grate directly in front of them. Gabriel Rabinowitz was the face that Harry was currently staring at.

Gabe was an Auror, or rather a Marshal, as they were called in the States, who Harry had known for about four years. He had first become acquainted with the young officer back when Gabe was working at the American Ministry in Salem; an employee in a department that was somewhat similar to the British MMBA Office. He had been the contact that Arthur consulted with when they discovered that Hermione might be living in the States all those years ago. Although Gabe had worked tirelessly on the case back then, nothing had come of it. But he was such a likable guy that he and Harry easily struck up a friendship. When Gabe decided to leave his cushy job to train and become a Marshall a few years later, Harry, having made a similar career move, encouraged him and gave him advice. They had maintained their acquaintance ever since then, even after Gabe and his young family relocated to Louisiana.

As soon as Harry had Apparated to Remus' the day before he had gruffly greeted his former school teacher and instantly asked to use the floo in the library. He briefly wondered where Ron was, but didn't spare it that much thought. Remus had asked after Hermione, but Harry shook off his inquiry and once again asked to use the floo. Remus had looked at him strangely, Harry could only imagine the expression that was on his face, but the older man told him that he didn't even have to ask. Harry thanked him, then made a beeline for the library and locked himself in. He immediately placed a call to Gabe, never thinking about the time difference. Luckily it was still early enough that Gabe was on his lunch break and could speak with him. He was agreeable when Harry asked him to do him a huge favor. Gabe told Harry that he would be giving him a call the next day if he had something for him.

It looked like Gabe had something for him.

“Well let me just say that having an actual city to base the search from this time helped tremendously,” said Gabe mirthfully, adjusting his large red wire rimmed glasses as he spoke.

Harry felt his heart dip painfully.

“You found her,” was all he said.

Gabe shook his head. “I didn't say that. I couldn't find a single trace of a witch by the name of Harmony Granger living in Dallas during the time frame that you gave me.”

Harry didn't know whether to be relieved or perplexed at that. Then again they wouldn't have been looking for a witch.

“She would have been pretending to be a Muggle then.”

“Oh no, you made that quite clear. Just every now and then an undercover will make a slip-up here, say the wrong thing there...”

Harry was just this side of getting his hopes up. Maybe he had been worried about nothing. Maybe there really was no cause for him to be suspicious, concerned. Maybe…

“So you found nothing then?”

Gabe shook his head again. “I didn't say that.”

Harry's jaw stiffened in irritation. Gabe was a good enough bloke, but dear Merlin was he chafing his arse right now! Gabe must have sensed Harry's aggravation because he immediately continued to speak.

“I have a friend, an investigator of sorts. He belongs to this group, this organization if you will, of...” Gabe paused, searching for the word, “psychic detectives,” he finally settled on. “I think that's the best way to describe them. Get this, their motto is, 'We watch, and we're always there'. Bunch of wack-a-doos, but they are more or less harmless,” he said softly chuckling. “My friend has been tracking this family we have in New Orleans for quite some time now. We've been tracking him. That's how we came to know each other. So I mention to this buddy of mines everything you've told me about the woman you were trying to find info on. Sometimes my friend’s work takes him into Houston; Dallas occasionally. According to him he thinks he knows your witch. Not personally of course. But she made a big enough impression on him to start a file on her. Something to do with a garden party, a water hose, and an angry shar pei.”

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in a muddled manner.

“I know, I know. I didn't ask too many details. But I think we might have a match; young, pretty enough, daycare worker with a British accent? The name he gave me was Harmony Darlington.”

It was as though suddenly the tiny cabinet was full of locusts buzzing, humming directly in his ear. Harry barely heard anything else Gabe was saying.

“She worked for the Deering Corporation. Big to do's over there in Dallas. Other than that one incident, my friend said that Darlington kept a relatively low profile. Then she disappeared about a month ago so the case file on her has been temporarily shut. No one seems to know what happened to her, where she ran off to. Her...Harry, pal, you still there?”

“That's her,” Harry said swallowing the lump in his throat. “That's her mother's maiden name. That's her.”

Gabe quirked a smile. “Well I guess we found your girl.”

“I guess,” said Harry wearily. He cast his eyes to the ground as though searching for answers there. Finding none, he looked back up. “Gabe, I need another favor.”

“Shoot!”

“I need that file!”

Gabe pulled a face. He looked very uncomfortable.

“I don't think I can help you on that one, pal,” he said shaking his head. “These guys are pretty anal when it comes to those files. I mean really anal,” he said stressing the point.

“Gabe, I wouldn't ask it of you if it weren't important,” said Harry feverishly.

The Marshal took in Harry's troubled expression for a moment and then sighed.

“My buddy owes me a favor. Maybe I can call it in, see what I can do.”

Harry brightened at that.

“I'd be eternally grateful.”

“I can't make any promises, but I'll do my best.”

“Thanks, Gabe! I'm going to send my Hedwig to you. She should get there in a couple of days or so. As soon as you get that file you can send it by her. I really don't trust any other lines of communication for this.”

“It might take some time.”

“Hedwig won't mind. She's been through worse.”

Gabe nodded his head and snickered.

“Perhaps, but I have twin two year olds at home who have discovered the joys of pulling things apart. I'm sure that your Voldemort would look like a kitten in comparison.”

Harry told himself that he should smile at the joke. It was a very painful looking smile.

“Thank you again, Gabe.”

“Anytime, Harry,” he said before his head popped out of sight.

Harry sat in the floo booth for what might have been hours; he really wasn't sure nor did he care. His legs were spread far apart, his hands braced on top of them, as he stared unseeingly before him.

Hermione was in trouble. That's what his gut was telling him. She was running scared from something. The fact that she would have used an alias when she left England wasn't so surprising. They often assumed that was the reason why it was so hard to find her in the first place. But why had she left Dallas in such a rush? Harry wasn't sure, but he knew that something was definitely up. She had told the family that she had left Texas to take a holiday. At the time Harry had thought it odd that she would have gone to such an out of the way location as Cyprus on vacation, but he had shrugged that thought off at the time. He was just so happy to have her home that he would have eaten up anything she tossed him. He had, in fact. But now with all this new information Gabe had told him, Harry was starting to look at everything from a much different angle, and he didn't quite like what he was seeing.

For some reason Hermione had totally dropped out of sight in Dallas, just like she had done in England years before. Had she gone to such a far flung locale to hide? Why would she feel the need to hide? What had she done? What had been done to her? Those thoughts made Harry's throat tighten. The phone calls she seemed reluctant to take, the inconsistent stories, her odd behavior with that Bertina woman…THE HAIR?!

How could he have been so stupid? So blind?! He was smarter than this!

Hermione wasn't on holiday. She didn’t come to England for the wedding or on some extended visit like she had told them all. This was no grand, triumphant homecoming.

She was in hiding.

Well that settled it. Whatever was going on with her, Harry knew for damned sure that he was going to take care of it! If she wanted to be stubborn and not tell him what the problem was he would go around her. Damn straight he had a saving people thing! And he would save her too, even if she yelled, scratched, or kicked at him while he did so. No matter what else lay between them, Hermione was his best friend and he would always take care of her; just as he would if it were Ron who was possibly in trouble. Harry was going to get down to the bottom of all of this. He would find out what had happened to her in Texas. He would find out who this fucking Collier person was who kept calling, and Merlin help him...

And for now Harry would shelve his quest to obtain a divorce. He would put to the side this whole drama with Ginny. He would fight his romantic feelings for Hermione as best he could, though that task seemed far more daunting than facing a cave full of half-starved ogres from where he was sitting at the moment.

And he would try to ignore the light he imagined he saw in Hermione's eyes when he caught her looking at him. He would do all of this because right now her safety was what was important. Nothing else mattered half as much. There were bigger things to worry about than which woman lay in his bed at night. There were bigger things to concern himself with than who he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. There were bigger things than pleasing his selfish heart. There were just far bigger things! Harry would make the sacrifice for now. Really, he didn't mind it so much.

At that thought, the panel of tiled lights above Harry's head began blinking furiously in a crazy series of patterns before exploding in flying sparks. He was plunged into darkness instantly.

Well maybe he minded a little.

A/N: Next up is Hermione's POV. Things to look forward to: visions of past and present H/Hr fluff , Glinda Vengadasalam Weasley's first introduction to the world of magic, Victory Ball shopping and girl talk, and at the end of the chapter another surprise visitor drops in.

A few more points of interest:

1) All characters other than Peggy O’Shea, Zelig Klaussen, Auror Krispens, Dorian Greyson, the Ministry Archive hag, Hezikiah Burnermacher, Patience Burnermacher, Constance Burnermacher, Samuel Nott, Mrs. Samuel Nott, Wallace Smethwyck, Georgina (George) Boyle, Aunt Nancy, Hampton Beauregard, Bertina Beauregard, Alejandro, Jean Paul, Marilyn Yaxley-Pickering, Samantha, and Marshal Gabe Rabinowitz are canon.

2) My Santa Claus legend is my own twisted creation, but krampus (who RAWKS) is not. He is a companion of Saint Nicholas.

3) Àlfari is my bastardization of the elves of Norse mythology called the Àfar. Of course the Eldar are from LotR.

4) A dhampir is a being out of Balkan folklore that is the child of a mortal mother and a vampire father.

5) I know nothing about England except what I have read. If my imagining of Piccadilly Circus doesn't jibe...alas. The fountain with Anteros gave me too much inspiration, however, and I had to include it.

6) Miss Nancy is based on a woman who I know. I tried to reproduce her accent phonetically because trust me, you wouldn't have understood a thing if it was actually written in patois.

7) The shop probably looks more like a Santeria or Candomblé shop than an Olodumare one, but I know what the first two look like and I don't know what the other does. So...yeah. Hee!

8) Oshun is a Yuruban goddess of love and intimacy and a few other things. I threw in the babies for fun.

9) £350 works out to about $682.00

10) I don't know what a Texan socialite would sound like, but I know what a Charleston one would. So that's what I based Bertina off of.

11) Yes, that is a Talamasca reference for any Witching Hour or Vampire Chronicles fans out there.

12) The Álfari, the Bulwark Charm(Bulwarvivivus), as well as the books Blood Magic and the Ties that Bind, Magus Lex Legis , the pamphlet The Wrong and Right of the Rites,the Ministry floo booths, and the Oshun statue are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

20. Chapter 17

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.

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.

21. Chapter 18a

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 22,199

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine

WARNING: It’s a Ginny-palooza!

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.

Saturday, 06/11/05

You are 3 years old the first time you hear his name.

You haven't learned your letters yet, but you are bright and you know instantly that it is a name that should be remembered.

Mum fixes all of their favorites because Bill and Charlie are home from school. Everyone is pleased except for Ron. He refuses to eat his carrots. He says that they are dangerously too close to the peas for his liking. Mum ignores this and instead reaches across the table to fix the mended table serviette beneath his chin. She clucks her tongue and confidently states that little Harry would most certainly eat all of his carrots.

Don't you want to grow up and be just like him Ronnie?

A tear quickly escapes her eye.

Dear little Harry.

Ron scowls down at his plate and sullenly folds his reed thin arms across his chest. George (or perhaps it’s Fred) starts in on his baby brother calling him, “The Boy Who Bibbed” as mashed potatoes dribble slovenly down his chin. At the other end of the table your two older brothers laugh, dad hides his smile behind his serviette, while you hear a disdainful sniff to the right of you. Percy finds the whole thing dreadfully beneath him.

By this point it has occurred to you that you are the only Weasley who does not know who this “little Harry” is. You are the baby though, so it's really no surprise that everything comes to you last. Still you wonder who he is, would he like to play with you, does he like pepper imps too. In that babyish voice of yours you ask all of the above.

Who is Harry Potter?

Although he is only eight, Percy is already a git.

Don't you know anything, he asks with a sneer.

You get sent to bed early for throwing peas at your brother's nose. And to make matters worse, no one even bothers to answer your question. So as mum puts you down for the night you take a chance to ask it again.

Who is Harry Potter?

Mum purses her lips thinly deciding whether or not to say. Giving in, she finally begins to tell a tale about a young boy, barely older than you.

Dad was brave and handsome, she says.

Mum's hair as red as yours, she sighs.

Just a babe when he saved us all. A little hero.

Now go to sleep, you are told.

And you do. And that night you dream of that small prince.



You are 6 when you first hear the story.

You have a nightmare. Dad comes in the room and shakes you awake. After a glass of warm milk doesn't do the job, he decides to read to you for a spell. He takes down a raged copy of Toadstool Tales that has Bill's baby teeth prints still on it, but you do not want to hear the same dusty stories again. You want to hear about someone brave. You want to hear about someone strong. You want to hear about someone almost bigger than life. You ask your dad to tell you about Harry Potter. After craning his neck to make sure mum isn't standing just outside the door, he does.

There was a wizard. A terrible wizard.

Dad won't even say his name, he was so bad. He says You-Know-Who. You don't, but you don't let dad know. You fear that he will stop talking if you do, but he continues on regardless. He mentions the Potters and says that they are both dead now. He doesn't say how, but somehow you know it's bad.

Lily and James. James and Lily.

You think about Lily's hair. Red, like yours.

Dad tells you about the fear. He tells you about the terror. He tells you not to go telling your mum that he’s told you all of this. You promise that you won't. Then he tells you about Harry. Dad's eyes smile as he does, so you smile too.

Everything is better now because of Harry. The bad wizard went away because Harry made sure of it. Someday he is going to be a great and powerful wizard when he grows up, that Harry, dad says. He'll go off to Hogwarts and someday so will you.

Even in the dark you still smile. The rest of the house hums with sleep long after dad has tucked you back in, but you lay awake and think about that far off fairy tale place called “Someday”.



You are 10 when you first see his face.

Of course you have read every book you could find about him in the Little Witch’s Reader section. And of course your ears perk at the mere whisper of his name. You know all there is to know about your hero, your prince. He's become “yours” by this point. You are devoted to that image inside your head. You know that his eyes are like glittering emeralds. You know that his hair is the same shade as the darkest hour of night. And the scar, of course you know about that too. In every fantasy he has held your hand a thousand times. You would know him anywhere, of this you are sure.

You also know that this is the year he will be getting on the Express.

Your mum has your hand in a death grip as she hustles the twins, Ron, and Percy towards platform nine and three-quarters. For the tenth time that day you beg to go on the train too, but you are told no. You are told that you are not old enough. You are told that it is not your turn yet. Just before you throw yourself on the ground to have a good cry, a little boy comes up and asks for your mum's help. You barely notice his knobby knees, his jutting elbows, his unkempt black hair, or his timid green eyes. You only fear that Harry Potter has already gotten on the Express without you even saying hello. The boy is far from sight by time the twins come back with mischief brimming in their eyes.

Guess who we just met on the train, Fred (or is it George) teases.

You small heart clenches in anguish when they say the name. Tears trail down your face as you wave goodbye to your brothers and chase after their train, watching as it pulls far out of sight. They promise you letters and treats, but your tears aren't meant only for them. No; not just for them.

You cry yourself to sleep for two nights straight.

Then on that third day a letter comes winging its way from Ron.

As if there was any doubt, dad chuckles proudly after hearing the news. Gryffindor.

And isn't this nice, adds your mum as she continues to read the note, so is Harry Potter.

It is in that very moment that you realize that Ron knows him, and with that thought in mind you can barely control your glee at the wonderfulness of it all. Because what it means is that you will know him and finally...FINALLY he will know you too.

And that night you cry yourself to sleep once again. But they are tears of joy now.



You are 11 when you realize that you will love him until the day you die.

You open your eyes. At first you fear that you have woken up in Hell. You are almost right.

The pitch black of the Chamber almost rivals that darkness that has invaded your mind all these months. But there is light now. There is Harry.

Your eyes fall on the dead basilisk, they widen in fear, but then you see him marching your way. He looks as though he stepped right out of the pages of a storybook. He has saved your life, but that doesn't really come as a surprise to you. In fairy tales the hero always saves the day. And he is your hero, after all. Yours. And now you know it's meant to be.

The years go on from there…

You are 12 when a grin is shared betwixt you. The first of many to come you hope.

You are 13 when your heart almost cracks in two. Your jealous eyes watch his watch someone else.

You are 14 when you decide that one day he'll come around.

You are 15 when that day finally comes.

You are 16 when he leaves you behind so he can go off and save the world.

You are 17 when you get to tell him what you’ve known all along for years; that you love him. It's always been him. It will only be him.

You are 18 when he makes you his wife.



You are 23 years old now. Two decades of your life has passed where Harry Potter has been the center of your universe, the sun that your world has revolved around. But after all is said and done, is that all there is? Is there nothing more?

The dragon has been slain, the princess saved, the evil sorcerer dispatched, but the books never say what’s supposed to happen after.

What is supposed to happen after?

You don't know. You didn't think to plan that far ahead. Blindly you made your white knight a suit of armor never noticing that it didn't fit. So now what? Your castle tower has imprisoned you. Your diamond dreams are made of glass. The fairy dust was only quicksand and you are falling...falling...falling fast. Isn't it time now that you admit it? There is no pot of gold waiting after the rainbow. There will be no ride into a blazing sun. Instead of enchanted kisses, only reality can rouse you from this sleep. There is only this. THIS is how it all ends. And now you know.

And they all lived...

“Ginny?”

And they all lived...

“GINNY?”

And they all lived...

“GINNY?!!”

Happily ever after?

She stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror for a fraction of a second before bringing her blue eyes to the spot where her husband stood.

“If we don't hurry we're going to be late getting to Fred's,” said Harry as he advanced slowly from his place in the bedroom doorway.

Ginny regarded him with an air of mute dispassion, before turning back to the mirror that hung on the open wardrobe door. She had been checking to make sure that her make-up was just right and that her ivory robes weren't cut too low, when the sound of Harry calling her name pulled her from her troubled thoughts. Having zoned back in, Ginny began to fuss with the stray hairs that had escaped her pin-up hairdo. It was merely a distraction tactic, though.

It was a ruse to ignore the awkwardness she felt between herself and Harry as he came to stand behind her. She pretended not to notice the way that he avoided looking her in the eye. She acted as though the tentative manner in which Harry placed his hands on her shoulders, then quickly dropped them to his sides, was normal. Everything about their interaction was painfully forced. Then again, this was how it had been between them for days…weeks…

Years?

“Fred and George have been bragging that they've hired a carriage drawn by a team of the best thoroughbred aethonons in Britain.”

A tiny smile crossed Harry's face; however, he averted his eyes when they met with hers in the glass.

“Of course I think it's rather pointless to bother with some fancy rig to fly from the village over to the Ball. We could just Apparate in front of the gates of Hogwarts. Still, Fleur and Lavender seemed very excited about the whole thing. Even Percy and Penelope are going to ride with us. The whole family will be together. Should be fun, don’t you think?”

Ginny could barely control her grimacing expression. It was a painful experience to watch nearly five years of a marriage reduced to small talk. She didn't even bother to answer Harry; just checked to make sure that there wasn't any lipstick on her teeth.

“Ginny,” Harry began uneasily.

Ginny turned around and soberly noted the worried expression on her husband's face. Something in her demeanor must have alerted him that Ginny wasn't as excited about attending this Victory Ball as she had been in years past.

“Are you alright? Gin…”

Disdain flared within her for only a second before dying down. She hated it when he called her by that name. She only wished she could hate him.

“Don’t call me that,” she muttered sourly under her breath, just loud enough to hear. Harry’s eyes finally made full contact with hers. Surprise creased his features making Ginny almost bray out loud.

Ha! That got your attention, she contemptuously thought.

“I'm fine,” she then said as a phony smile tightened her glossy pink lips. She turned fully around to face him. “I'm just hoping that I don't run into another woman at the ball wearing my robes.”

She smoothed the front of the empire fitted garment and posed so that her husband could admire the alluring figure she cut in them. Of course she was being disingenuous with her reply. Ginny only bought the best; she was Harry Potter’s wife after all. She had to look the part. There wasn't the slightest chance of any other woman wearing robes as fine as hers at the Ball. Not even Leontyne Scrimgeour.

Ginny's breezy answer caused Harry's agitation to shrink and he smiled tentatively at her. It was the friendliest she had spoken to him in the last few days and it seemed to set him at ease.

“Well even if you do spot one I doubt the witch would look half as good as you,” said Harry as he bent forward and laid an exaggerated kiss on her forehead.

Ginny, caught off-guard for a moment at the first bit of genuine affection Harry had shown her in a long time, actually smiled brightly until he continued speaking.

“You look like a princess,” he said sweetly, then turned his back to her and headed out the door towards the stairs.

He never saw the stricken look on Ginny's face.

“I'm going to see if Dobby has some more of those tea sandwiches left before we leave,” he called over his shoulder. “Knowing Scrimgeour, he'll talk and congratulate himself for hours before we get anything decent to eat.”

Ginny watched as Harry's dark head disappeared down the curving staircase, while her stomach bubbled unhappily with discontent. Sighing bitterly, she scooped up her silk purse off the bed. She exited out the door to meet Harry downstairs. Their plan was to tandem Apparate over to Fred’s house in Hogsmeade Village. Waiting for them there would be her parents, her brothers, their significant others, and in George and Charlie's cases, their dates for the evening. From there six, winged horses pulling a luxury carriage charmed large enough to fit their whole party would fly them over to Hogwarts. It would be the official start of what would possibly be a very eventful evening.

As Ginny trudged down the steps that led into the entrance hall, she wondered just what the night would entail. Would Ludo Bagman get drunk, naked, and end up in the lake with the giant squid again, like last year? Would the Hogwarts house-elves make that mouth watering baked quail that Dobby never seemed to get just right? Ginny wondered just how long the Minister's opening speech would last this time around. The all time record to beat was the Victory Ball of '03 that clocked in at well over 139.5 minutes and only came to an abrupt close after Millicent Crabbe thankfully went into labor 5 weeks prematurely. Just about everyone in attendance that night gave her a standing ovation for her impeccable timing alone.

All of this and more drifted in and out of Ginny's head as she reached the bottom step. Harry was already waiting there, holding her light weight cloak open for her. Ginny slipped the cloak on over her shoulders and turned back to give Harry an appreciative smile which he returned. As she buttoned up, she acknowledged to herself that Harry was being the perfect husband for the evening. More than likely she would be the envy of almost every woman inside of the Great Hall that night. Ginny wondered if their picture might even make the morning papers the next day.

She also wondered if her husband's mistress would have the gall to show up at the Victory Ball as well.

With that final thought, Ginny placed her hand in his and waited for Harry to Disapparate them away.

No one would ever mistake Ginny for being a stupid woman; she was after all a former Hogwarts Head Girl for Merlin's sake. She had also somehow managed to receive a higher score on her Potions and Charms NEWT than the self-proclaimed star pupil of the Weasley family himself, Percy. The fact still rankled the berk's pride. Ginny fancied herself a pretty brilliant tactician too; far more skilled than Ron ever thought himself to be. Sure Ron could plan excellent moves and strategies in front of a chess board, but it was his baby sister who knew how to execute a maneuver and manipulate a situation to get what she wanted in real life, where it really counted. After finishing Hogwarts, Ginny had even been secretly courted to become an Unspeakable, a truly prestigious honor. She didn't accept of course, Ginny had already mapped out her future next to Harry's and thought that such a career would take up time better spent keeping a home and raising a family. But she was still proud of the accomplishment.

By no stretch of the imagination could Ginny ever be considered an idiot, that's why when the signs started to point to her husband having an affair she could no longer ignore her qualms. The pounding headaches she was suffering from wouldn't allow her to, nor would the ceaseless nausea. She had experienced an attack that was so violent one day while visiting at the Burrow that her mother had gotten teary eyed thinking that a new little Weasley was on the way. It had broken Ginny's heart to lie to her mum and tell her that she had only eaten some bad shellfish the night before and that was the only cause behind her upset stomach.

Sure Ginny thought that something was amiss in her marriage when Harry started having his dreams, and the thought that Harry might no longer be attracted to her did cross her mind once they stopped having sex. But Ginny never really believed that Harry would ever be unfaithful to her. That was an idea too terrible to comprehend. The evidence was mounting though and she could no longer turn a blind eye to it.

Her sudden and fleeting bouts of illness were becoming stronger with each passing day. Harry had become very pensive of late, even more so than usual. He looked as though he had too many thoughts for his head to carry. There were even times where it looked like he was just this close to saying something to her before he would change his mind, shake his head, and walk away.

He was also keeping secrets. It had been days since Hedwig had last been home, yet Harry acted as though nothing was strange about that at all. When she questioned him about it, he stonewalled her. Ginny wasn’t sure how this all tied into her affair theory, but she was almost positive that somehow it did. Then there were the late nights Harry blamed on work or claimed he was with Ron and Hermione, but Ginny wasn’t dumb. She knew what was really going on.

The straw that really broke the hippogriff’s back came about the very morning of the Victory Ball. For the past few days Ginny had been getting up early and floo’ing over to the Burrow at the crack of dawn. Her goal was to avoid Harry because she just couldn’t deal with the crumbling failure her marriage had become. She figured that if she ignored the problem it would eventually go away on its own. This morning, however, she had overslept and Harry had awoken before her.

When Ginny stumbled into the kitchen she found her husband already there, sitting at the table, brooding over a cup of black coffee and reading the morning edition of the Prophet with a look of disgust on his face. She also spied a strange object lying on the breakfast table in front of him. It looked like one of those small Muggle tellfones she had seen Glinda and Penelope with a time or two.

Although she was vaguely aware that it served a function similar to a two-way mirror, Ginny was unfamiliar with the device. She and Harry led a lifestyle free of most Muggle conveniences. The Potters didn’t even have one of those telly boxes in the manor because Ginny thought that they should have a traditional magical household as befitting an old and venerable family name such as theirs. As with most decisions that had to do with the way they led their daily lives, Harry had deferred to Ginny on this point. That’s why Ginny was so surprised to see the mobile, as Harry called it, in the house. She also became suspicious when she saw Harry quickly shove the thing into his pocket as soon as she asked him what it was and why he had it. Though she didn’t voice it aloud, she wondered if that was how he and his lover arranged their clandestine meetings.

Unhappily, the evasive way that Harry answered the questions she did ask him didn’t quell any of Ginny’s mistrust. According to him he had bought the mobile the day before while he was working in London. Hermione owned one and he was only curious about the piece of equipment, he said. For more than one reason this answer bothered the hell out of Ginny. Before Ginny could probe further, Harry threw the paper to the side, abruptly stood up from the table, and declared that he had to go to the Ministry to see about some paperwork that had to be finished just that very minute.

On a Saturday.

At eight o'clock in the morning.

The day of the Victory Ball.

As Harry floo’ed out of the house Ginny entertained the notion of following him to see if he was really going into the office or if that was just a ruse to go see his whore. Ginny was close to doing it too; she even had a handful of floo powder in her palm before she quickly discarded the idea. She still had her pride. There was also the off chance that Harry was actually telling the truth.

But she couldn’t just stand by and watch some other woman walk off with Harry as their prize could she? No! He was the first thing that hadn’t come to her as a hand me down. He was the first thing that belonged to her that was first rate. She had worked too hard for him. Ginny Potter would not be made a fool!

That’s why Ginny came up with a better solution to her predicament. She wanted some tangible, viable proof that Harry was having an affair before she decided on what course of action to take. If she wanted answers to what her husband was really up to there was really only one person she could get them from; there was only one place she need go. Godric’s Hollow.

Ginny ended up landing quite a bit shy of her mark. When the decision to confront Hermione came to her she tried to Apparate directly into the cottage, but something peculiar happened. As usual she had felt the pressurized sensation of her magic trying to transport her to her intended goal, but just as quickly she felt herself being wrenched back to the spot in her kitchen where she started from. Thinking that she might have actually misjudged where she was trying to get to (she had really only been inside the cottage once or twice so she wasn't all that familiar with it), Ginny tried three more times to get to the Hollow before realizing that there was an Anti-App on the house.

Fighting off the irritation at being locked out, Ginny decided to try the floo. That plan went nowhere as well. By that point Ginny had become incensed that she was being intentionally kept out of the old Potter home. But forcing that emotion to the side, she focused all of her attention on trying to get as near to the house as she could. After a few more failed attempts and a near splinching, she eventually ended up just outside of the cottage near the back.

“I know I left a message last night as well, but I just wanted to call today and touch bases with you again this morning, you see...”

When Ginny landed the first thing she heard was someone speaking nearby. Ginny followed the sound of the voice to find its owner in the yard behind the cottage.

“You are probably dreadfully busy today, I'm sure, but if you could spare me even a moment of your time I would be eternally grateful...”

Ginny peeked around the corner of the house. Sitting on a lounge chair facing the opposite direction was a woman dressed in a modest black swimming costume and wearing an enormous white sun hat on her head. The hat was so big that it would have been hard to guess who was under it except for one thing; the voice was unmistakably Hermione's.

She was talking to someone that Ginny couldn't see. At first Ginny thought that the hat might actually be blocking from view her companion, but there didn't appear to be anyone else in the yard except the sleeping dog near the patio door. It was when Hermione removed the hat from her head and dropped it on the ground that Ginny saw that she was holding an object up to her ear. It was a tellfone.

In her head Ginny could hear Neville's voice telling her that this wasn't such a good idea. Usually Neville was the voice of reason in her life, her rock, but for the moment Ginny didn't want to listen to reason. She hated the thought of him being disappointed in her, but Neville wasn’t here now.

Besides, since taking up with his little girlfriend, Neville seemed to have less and less time for her and her needs. Whereas Ginny had once been confident that she was the most important person in his life, now she felt herself being steadily edged out of the way. That bothered her. And the fact that it bothered her bothered her even more. Ginny didn't even know why she was even spending so much thought on this Candy Lee person...ugh! She'd be gone soon enough just like all the rest, Ginny was sure. Neville would come to his senses eventually.

“I really should have seen someone about this sooner…I know I am probably being such a bother but...hello? Hello? Mrs. Leon?”

Ginny's attention was pulled back to Hermione. Hermione was so engrossed in what she was doing that Ginny felt free to observe her without fear of calling attention to herself.

“Oh,” Hermione said sounding disheartened, “this is her assistant?”

Ginny very carefully crept further down the wall so she could better hear what was being said. She stooped down beside the wild rose bush next to her and continued to eavesdrop on the conversation. Whoever she was talking to, Hermione was quickly becoming frustrated by them.

“Yes, I understand that Mrs. Leon...oh, sorry...Ms. Leon is very busy, but all I really need is a moment of her time to...”

Whatever the person on the other end said must have irritated Hermione because she exhaled loudly and fell back on the lounge chair in a limp heap.

“If you don't mind, I would rather not discuss it over the phone. It's private. It's a legal matter of a very...delicate nature...”

Hermione’s other hand sought the rather impressive yellow rock hanging from her neck and began to worry it between her thumb and index finger.

Ginny was intrigued by these words. She really couldn't see the other woman's face, a pair of large white sunglasses obscured whatever expression was there, but judging by the tone of Hermione's voice she wasn't very happy with what she was being told. Just who is Hermione trying to get in contact with and why is she so desperate to speak with them, Ginny wondered. She was stumped.

One thing seemed certain though, Hermione was at the Hollow alone. It looked like she had been in the middle of getting a bit of sun in the yard. There was a pitcher of water and a glass filled with ice on the ground next to the long folding chair, as well as a few books, a notepad, a bottle of suntan lotion, a towel, and a tote bag. The patio door was open, but there didn't seem to be anyone in the house.

With Hermione so distracted, Ginny took a moment to give her a thorough once over. Ginny wasn't so insecure in her own good looks not to concede the fact that, as Molly Weasley had once predicted, the former brunette had managed to mature into an attractive young woman. Sure her hair looked like it was regressing back to the bushy monstrosity that it had once been, and Ginny wasn't above gloating that her bathing suit (a two piece actually, now that she got a better look at it) didn't do much to hide the little bit of protruding belly that plagued most women other than herself.

But besides that and a few other noticeable flaws (her eyes were set too close together, her chin was too sharp for her face, the upturned tip of her nose always gave off the impression that she thought she was better than anyone else breathing), Hermione looked like her time away from England hadn't hurt her at all. She even looked better than she had the day she showed up from out of nowhere on the Burrow's doorstep just at the close of Ron's engagement party. There was a rosy bloom about her that glowed through, even past her healthy tan.

Ginny simply hated her.

No. That wasn't exactly right.

Hate was too modest a word to describe the complicated emotion that pumped through Ginny's blood stream whenever someone so much as mentioned the name Hermione Granger. If it was possible to both like and loathe, abhor and admire someone so completely that at times you didn't know whether you wanted to spit in their face or cry on their shoulder, that was actually a mite closer to what Ginny really felt. All these years Ginny had assumed that these tangled up emotions had simply dampened out on their own. Out of sight; out of mind, as they say.

But now all she had to do was look at her girlhood friend and see that they had merely been dormant; biding their time to rise up like some daunting tidal wave and crash down, drowning all else. But as usual Ginny's single-mindedness wouldn't allow herself to think too hard on such matters. Ginny needed Hermione once again and that was what was important now.

Ginny could still remember when she first came to realize that Hermione Granger could be...useful. It was at the Quidditch World Cup. The Bulgarian mascots were doing their mating dance, whipping all of the men in the stadium into near frenzy. Ginny had hoped that Harry was powerful enough to be immune to the veela thrall, but he succumbed just like all the rest.

In fact Ginny looked on in terror as it appeared that Harry was prepared to hurl himself from the top of the stands to get to them. Then a strange and wondrous thing happened. Hermione, who had been studiously observing the strange display on the field thus missing Harry and Ron's antics, took one look at both of her best friends’ enraptured expressions and rolled her eyes in disgust.

“Harry, what are you doing?” she asked in that snooty little voice of hers.

Just like that, Harry suddenly seemed to revert back to his good senses; before the veela's singing had stopped, before everyone else had started to shake the veela enchantment off. Harry looked at Hermione with a mixture of chagrin and appreciation after she pulled him back into his seat screeching “honestly” at him and Ron. No one had seemed to think that this occurrence was anything out of the ordinary, but Ginny was awed by it. Although Harry was without argument the leader of the little gang, Ginny saw that Hermione wielded a bit of power in the group as well. Both boys seemed to defer to her at times, most interestingly Harry. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad getting to know Hermione better, Ginny began to think. Until that moment she hadn't thought of the girl as anything but a nuisance.

Ginny first became aware that Hermione Granger existed in a letter that Ron had written home his first year at Hogwarts. Her name wasn't mentioned in the parchment, but Ron did carry on and on about a girl in his year who was a Gryffindor too, and judging by Ron's rants, the very bane of his existence. But by Ron's next owl the mystery girl had not only gained a name, but had also been rescued from out the clutches of an evil troll by Harry and himself. After that each subsequent letter home was filled with tales of the scrapes and adventures the three new found friends had gotten into, as well as a few scattered complaints detailing all of the nagging Ron had to endure from this Hermione person.

Ginny didn't like the sound of it one bit! Who, by Godric, was this girl who had taken the place next to Harry that rightfully belonged to her?! Ron was her brother! Harry was his friend! To Ginny's mind, that was as good a claim as any. She was the person that was supposed to be sharing in all of their grand escapades. Ginny disliked the girl on principle alone.

Ginny also found herself being jealous of the intruder. Ginny wouldn't be able to get to Hogwarts until the next school year; had she already lost her place? How would Ginny ever get close to Harry if this stranger was standing in her way? She was supposed to be the girl at Harry's side; she had dreamed of it, planned for it, set her heart on it for years. Most of Ginny's fears were alleviated though once she got a look at her mystery rival.

After Harry had been rescued from his Muggle relatives, he had come to stay with her family for a few days at the Burrow before the new term started. On the day the family headed into Diagon Alley to get the children's school supplies Harry had gotten separated from their group. When the Weasleys eventually caught up to him he was standing on the steps of Gringotts with the burly Hogwarts gamekeeper and a girl whose hair was so big and frizzy that it defied all natural convention, even by wizarding standards. When the girl smiled warmly at Ginny the redhead instantly noticed the enormous buck teeth that nearly took up the girl's mouth.

This was the infamous Hermione Granger?! This was the young witch that Ron called “scary” in that almost worshipful and envious fashion of his? This plain little thing?! She was no competition at all! Ginny's mind was at peace. That is until the three young friends separated away from the rest of the group, trudged up the stairs of the bank, and began to whisper amongst each other shutting everyone (most importantly Ginny) out. Ginny hadn’t known then that it wouldn't be the last time they would do so.

Ginny learned the real meaning of the word envy that day. She envied the older girl's brand new books that she didn't have to buy secondhand and all of the expensive school uniforms and robes that she treated as insignificant. Hermione’s parents were well off but she didn't flaunt this fact like most of the wealthier students in the school. Even though Ginny's grades were pretty good she found herself being jealous of Hermione's far more superior scores. But more than anything, Ginny coveted Hermione's position in the Trio. Her presence made Ginny nothing more than a bystander. How could Ginny hope to compete with “the greatest witch of her age”, when she was nothing more than a poor little Weasley? Ginny found it hard to be very chummy with the girl, even when Hermione tried to make nice. But by the time Ginny turned 13 she had a changed of heart.

That summer Ginny began to cultivate a relationship with Hermione; to ingratiate herself to the girl. It was surprisingly easy. Hermione might have been book smart and clever but even she had difficulty navigating her way through the perilous jungle of Hogwarts' teen aged witches. Hermione longed for a female friend she could relate to and Ginny cunningly positioned herself into the role.

The way Ginny saw it, getting close to Hermione meant getting closer to Harry. In her opinion it was a fair trade off. By the sneaking glances the brunette would often pay Ron, Ginny began to get the impression that Hermione might actually fancy her nitwit of a big brother. This made a friendship between the two of them more likely since she didn't have to worry about Hermione being a contender for Harry's affections. Ginny figured that she could help Hermione with Ron; encourage her, be a sounding board for when her brother acted like a stupid git, and most importantly ensure that Hermione didn't get any ideas in her head about the green eyed member of their group.

In a way, their alliance was mutually beneficial for both of them. At least that's how Ginny rationalized it. Did she feel any guilt over basically using Hermione? Not really. Weren't they both getting something out of the deal? Besides, though Ginny never intended for it to happen, she eventually came to appreciate and rely on the girl. Over the years Ginny grew to care for Hermione in her own way. One might have even called the sentiment love...

...edged with just the faintest hint of contempt.

“Just please have Ms. Leon call me when she gets a chance. Please!” Hermione begged the person on the other end of the tellfone as she sat up and straddled the folding chair placing both bare feet on the ground. “You wrote down my number? Good. I'll be waiting for her call then. Thank you.”

Ginny watched as Hermione pressed a button on the mobile, presumably to turn it off, then dismally tossed the gadget in front of her. She appeared to be lost in thought for a moment, just gazing straight ahead, before she lowered her head into her hands.

“Dammit, Hermione! What are you going to do?! What are you going to do...” she half-sobbed to herself as her head swung loosely back and forth in her palms. If Hermione was aware that she had an audience, she gave no sign of it. She just continued to incoherently blather on and on to herself as Ginny watched, mesmerized.

“What are you going to do?! Why did you wait so long?! What are you going to do?! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO?!”

Although Ginny had no idea what could be upsetting Hermione, the wretchedness and misery in her voice was plainly evident. Ginny could empathize with that kind of anguish. Ginny was surprised to feel a long dormant urge to go up and sit next to her; shoulder some of Hermione’s pain, relieve herself of a bit of her own heartache. One of her feet even stepped forward of its own volition, as if to boldly head in the direction of the other young woman. It was reminiscent of so many instances in their girlhood where the two of them would lie together in some bed in the Burrow, or sit in some dark corner at Grimmauld Place, and cry into each others hair when none of the boys were looking.

Whether it was love or loss or loneliness that fueled those tears, it didn't matter back then. It was those times, right before the war fully kicked into gear and everything changed, that it had almost felt like she had a real sister; someone who felt her pain and suffered it as though it were her own. There were times that Ginny honestly found herself missing the relationship that she and Hermione had once shared. But those days had long since passed. Ginny had come to Godric's Hollow on a mission and Hermione's sad display wasn't going to make her forget what was really important.

*snap*

Then again she would have rather not alerted Hermione of her presence just yet either.

Ginny looked down at the rogue foot that she had absently stepped back on and silently cursed at the twig it snapped in half. Her hopes that Hermione hadn't heard a thing were dashed as soon as she heard the woman's agitated voice call out.

“Who’s there?!”

Panicking, Ginny swiftly retreated to the side wall of the house to hide in its shadow. She contemplated Apparating away before she was discovered, but before she could get her wits together to do just that, an enormous ball of hair knocked her to the ground.

“Hermione, call your dog off! CALL IT OFF! AHH!” Ginny hollered as she threw her hands in front of her face and tossed her head from side to side to keep the animal from licking her face clean off. She heard the sound of foot steps hastening in her direction. When Ginny was able to look up, she saw Hermione's surprised face peering down at her.

“Ginny?” Her tone was both concerned and astonished. “What are you doing down there, Ginny?”

With a roll of her eyes and an exasperated huff, Ginny answered her.

“The backstroke. Now do you mind helping me up?!”

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

Ginny's eyes roamed around the living room. Hermione was in the kitchen fixing coffee leaving her guest ample time to inspect all of the changes that had been made to the place since she had last been there. Ginny was still extremely vexed that Harry hadn't bothered to ask her if it was alright to move Hermione into the cottage, she didn't even hear about it from him, but Ginny had to admit that Hermione had done wonders with the place in the short time she had been living there.

The living room looked both lush and comfortable. It was decorated tastefully; all dark browns and tans, mute greens, and pale rose colored furnishings. Vases overflowing with wildflowers filled the room making it appear brighter and smell sweet. The new look was a sight better than the outdated furniture and the unpleasant, dreary atmosphere that Ginny remembered once lurking there.

Scattered through out the room were items that clearly indicated who resided in the house; a bookcase, a telly box, a tellfone that was thrown carelessly on the sofa cushion next to Ginny. There was a bag of yarn, knitting needles, and a pair of scissors on the nearby end table. Hermione mentioned in passing that she had been unable to sleep the night before and had started knitting a cap for Dobby to pass the time.

There also were a few old photos of friends and family (some moving, some not) on the fireplace mantle. Ginny didn't miss the fact that she wasn't in any of them. Every so often a muffled bark would come from the dog upstairs. Yes, the place was warm and cozy. It felt like a real home had once again been made out of the Potter cottage, which only led Ginny to wonder one thing; just how bloody long was Hermione planning on staying there?!

“Two sugars, one cream, right?”

Ginny looked up to find Hermione standing over her holding a small silver tray with two porcelain cups and matching saucers. She made an interesting picture; the lady of the house entertaining while looking as though she had just come home from a day at the beach. Hermione still had on the black halterneck top with its matching boy cut shorts, but thrown over the ensemble was a gauzy caftan. The only bit of jewelry that she wore, beside the one around her neck, was an elegant watch on her wrist. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was pulled back from her face haphazardly as a few wiry looking tendrils escaped the leather barrette that was holding them in place. She would have looked perfectly relaxed if not for the circumspect look of caution that shadowed her eyes.

“Excuse me?” Ginny asked, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

“You still take your coffee that way, don't you?”

Hermione set the tray down on the end table next to her. She then handed her a cup with a saucer under it.

“Two cubes of sugar and one tablespoon of cream, as I recall.” She smiled weakly as Ginny took the cup from her hand.

“You still remember that?” asked Ginny, slightly surprised. She bent her head to take a whiff of the brew; her cheeks turning rosy from the heat of it. It smelled of hazelnut. Ginny was delighted to find that it tasted of it too.

Hermione turned to pick up her own cup blocking her face from Ginny's view.

“There's very little I forget,” she said before turning back, sitting down, and taking a careful sip of the steaming hot beverage. After lowering the cup from her lips, she turned her eyes towards Ginny expectantly. “So Ginny, what do I owe the pleasure? Are you looking for Harry?”

Ginny's head shot up from her cup and her eyes turned into slits.

“I very well know where my husband is!” she snapped. She instantly regretted it, though. Ginny knew that she had a tendency of letting her temper get the better of her. Seeing Hermione's eyes widen at the harsh sound of her rebuke, Ginny tittered nervously. It wouldn’t do to put Hermione off just yet.

“Harry had to stop in at the office,” Ginny said in a false, lighthearted manner.

“Oh. Then why...”

“I'm actually here to see you,” Ginny answered truthfully. Ignoring the sight of Hermione's gaping mouth, Ginny continued. “I was just thinking this morning that I've been so rude, not stopping by before now to visit. So here I am.”

“So here you are,” Hermione cautiously responded.

“So...”

Silence. Neither woman could find much to say to each other really. They both just sat there, stewing in their own thoughts, each taking measured sips out of their cups to avoid looking at the other. There was once a time when the two of them would have been able to prattle on endlessly about one subject after another, but those days were long gone now. Even though Ginny knew that she was partly responsible for the impasse, she couldn't help but miss the ease their relationship had once held. But there was no use crying over spilt potion, she believed.

“Oh,” Hermione said breaking the quiet at last. She lowered her cup and crossed her ankles. “I ran into Eloise in Hogsmeade yesterday.”

Hermione smiled, obviously grateful to find something to fill in the void.

At the mention of Eloise's name Ginny felt a mild twinge of annoyance. The last time she had seen Midgen, Ginny hadn't been that friendly to her. Eloise could be quite clingy at times, and since very few people spoke to her these days she would often latch on to those that did like a parasite, doing anything and saying anything to curry any favor. Ginny tolerated her, but just barely.

This particular day, however, Ginny had been in far too grumpy a mood to bother with false pretenses and blew her off. Saddened by Ginny's aloofness, Eloise had asked Lavender if she had somehow done something to offend Ginny. When Lavender tentatively brought the subject up with Ginny she had scoffed at the idea. As if acne scarred, needy, destitute little Eloise could do anything to offend her! That would suggest that they were actually equals or something. On the scale of things, Eloise's hurt feelings barely registered with her. Neither did the fact that even Midgen had a baby when Ginny, herself, did not.

“She was pushing her little Apollodorus down the street in his pram,” Hermione continued. “He's such a precious little dear.”

“She never goes anywhere without that baby. It's nauseating really,” said Ginny, barely hiding the note of jealousy in her voice. “Did you know she calls him Apple?” she asked. “Really, what yahoo would name their child after a fruit?!!”

Hermione brought her cup up to her lips to conceal the small smile that had formed there.

“You'd be surprised,” she said before tipping the cup up.

Ginny's lips spread in a brittle smile. She didn't get Hermione's “humor” but that was nothing new. Oftentimes Hermione would make a comment that would go over her head and Ginny would ignore it. She only hated it when Harry would get the sometimes vague Muggle references or jokes and the two of them would share a grin or laugh over it. There were many moments such as those that made Ginny feel as though she were being shut out all over again. She even believed that Hermione would do it on purpose at times.

“Well I asked Eloise if she was coming to the V-Ball, but she said she had other plans.”

Ginny snickered at what she thought was an obvious joke. This seemed to puzzle Hermione.

“What?” she asked.

“More like Eloise wasn't invited to the Ball.”

Hermione's back went rigidly straight. “Why not?” she asked stiffly.

Of course she knew why, she hadn't been gone that long. Still, Hermione seemed almost unwilling to believe the answer. Ginny saw no reason to sugarcoat the issue.

“Well, she isn't married.”

It had been a mild scandal, and a slow news day, when it had been reported in the Daily Prophet that Eloise had been let go from her position of two years with the Wizarding Examination Authority because she was pregnant. Even though Eloise was responsible for only sending out and filing the student's test scores, the Ministry felt that her obviously lax morals left her as an undesirable. Scrimgeour's administration had been getting increasingly conservative over the years and most of polite society took their cues from it.

The official reason given for Eloise's dismissal was that she had changed test scores, but according to her that was an ugly lie. Eloise loved her job and treated it with the proper respect and reverence it deserved. Problem was Eloise was loose when it came to men. She could never keep a boyfriend for long and was known to bounce from one relationship to the next. That could have been ignored. A baby with no husband in sight, could not. Her last boyfriend had been the pimple faced idiot who had been the conductor on the Knight Bus. When Eloise told him about the baby he took off for parts unknown and hadn't been heard from since. To make matters worse, according to Daphne's gossip column, it was rumored that Shunpike might have actually been a Squib. Not only was Eloise going to have a baby out of wedlock, but her child might not even grow up to become a full-fledged wizard.

Poor Eloise had been left pregnant, jobless, and broke. She would have been almost friendless too if it hadn't been for the Gryffindors that had rallied around her. Gryffindors stuck together. Lavender especially went out of her way to be kind to the young mother. She would often say that she could understand how someone could get themselves in such a predicament. Lavender was usually a follower; she adhered to public opinion stringently, so her sympathetic stance on Eloise was quite out of character. Her loyalty never wavered, though.

Despite being in the same year, Ginny and Eloise had never been close, but Ginny did feel a modicum of pity for her and acted accordingly. Most people, however, either treated her like a poor relation or disregarded her wholly. She was neither rich nor famous nor beautiful enough for people to forgive (or at least ignore) her transgressions. Eloise was nothing short of a social pariah.

“Is it a crime now to be unmarried? Ginny, plenty of women raise children on their own these days. And do it quite well, I might add.”

Ginny fought hard not to roll her eyes. Merlin, Hermione could be so damned condescending at times!

“I'm sure Muggle women do,” Ginny said dismissively. “Hermione, you may be perfectly happy being all alone and never marrying, but do you really think Eloise would be a single mother if given a choice? No. But Eloise was just so desperate for any male attention that she went and got up the duff knowing that most wizards and witches aren't so tolerant of that kind of behavior. It was a bad judgment call. I feel sorry for her, but she was rather stupid. Any bad treatment Eloise receives is her own damned fault.”

“Wow. That is harsh.”

Ginny, feeling as though Hermione's last remark was almost a swipe at her, squared her shoulders and dug into her argument.

“If a woman wants to sleep around, more power to her; I won't judge. I just can't relate. I suppose I'm just old-fashioned that way. I waited until I was married, as was proper. Harry was my one and only. Can I help it if I got lucky?” she added with a prideful grin.

Hermione's lips stretched thinly but she made no response. After a moment's pause she said, “I guess you did,” as her eyes cut away from Ginny.

Silence then filled the room again. This time, however, it was a distended quiet. Judging by Hermione's last stilted remark it was obvious that she was weighing her words carefully with Ginny now. For her part, Ginny was doing the same thing. This brainless chatter was far from what she really wanted to discuss with her, but Ginny knew she couldn't rush things. If she did that Hermione might shut down and Ginny might never get out of the bothersome bint what she needed. Ginny had to play this wisely; get Hermione to open up, loosen up. Maybe even butter her up if she had to. Then, once Hermione was feeling comfortable in the conversation and speaking freely, Ginny would blindside her.

“Did you know that Incantato Buchignani is going to be performing at the Ball tonight? I think he's just fabulous, don't you? Doesn't hurt that he's very easy on the eyes,” Ginny added impishly.

“I'm not all that familiar with him I'm afraid,” Hermione said after placing her cup on the tray next to her.

“Oh really? You were always so knowledgeable about those kinds of things. People still ask me about the band that you hired to play at my Ending Party.”

Hermione smiled. “Gavin Gibbons' Ghostly Troubadours were a nice find. They were rather good, weren't they?”

Ginny nodded her head to agree.

“They were fabulous! I've been trying to get Lavender to book them for her reception, but her wedding planner keeps poo-poohing all of my ideas. That Borghese person says that Big Band music isn't nearly sophisticated enough for the kind of bash she's putting together.”

“That's too bad. It would probably be loads of fun.”

“I think she's trying to get Incantato. Mum won't be pleased. You know that she's one of Warbeck's most devoted fans. According to the Prophet she and Buchignani used to be lovers, but he was just using her to get access to all of her booking contacts. Now they are the fiercest of rivals. Did you happen to read about that?”

Hermione grimaced. “No, I don't read the Prophet. Glinda, however, did floo in earlier to inform me about today's front page.”

An apologetic look crossed Ginny's face.

“Oh, sorry.”

Ginny had only gotten a chance to give the morning's paper a passing glance, but what she did see was a photo taken the day before that made it out to look as though Hermione was assaulting some poor elderly crone in the middle of the street. GRANGER GOES WILD IN DIAGON, read the title caption in bold block lettering above the picture.

Hermione smiled wryly.

“It's alright. I've gotten used to it. However I won’t be sad when they move on to some new whipping boy. Rita must be scraping the bottom of the barrel to come up with stories now. I can't wait until tomorrow's headline; Hermione Granger Eats Live Puppy.”

Unfeigned laughter flowed from Ginny’s lips. Ginny laughed so hard that tears actually welled in her eyes. Hearing her laughter, Hermione smiled and added her own small chuckle. The bit of levity seemed to be just what was needed to finally break the ice. She and Hermione were starting to get cozy with one another at last and Ginny was starting to feel secure. If she played her cards right she would have Hermione spilling all that she knew in no time; she felt assured in that belief. Yes, Ginny's cocky grin was nearly a mile wide. She was this close to getting what she wanted.

And then Hermione's tellfone made a loud buzzing noise and disrupted the easy-going air.

Both women looked down at the little Muggle device that Hermione was now holding up in her hand. Ginny took a glance at Hermione and saw a look of uncertainty flicker across her face. The mobile then buzzed again.

“Expecting an important call?” asked Ginny.

Hermione's brown eyes shot up and met hers. It was almost as if Hermione had forgotten she was there, she was so focused on the mobile.

“Pardon?”

Ginny shrugged her shoulders innocently.

“I heard you outside earlier. Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Oh,” Hermione said before smiling feebly, “I'm just seeking some legal advice on my parents’ estate. Nothing too big. You don’t mind if I get this, do you?” she asked as she pushed a button and lifted the mobile to her ear. She didn't bother to wait for Ginny's reply. The redhead just sat back against the sofa and drank down the last drops of her coffee.

She also tried to look inconspicuous as she pretended not to listen to every word that was being said.

“Hello? Yes, this is Miss Granger,” she answered, a nervous tremor in her voice. She paused for a moment, then closed her eyes as a relieved sigh escaped her lips. Her hand reached up, as though to still the beating of her heart. As Hermione opened her eyes again a pleased grin went from ear to ear. “Ms. Leon, I am so glad to hear from you.”

Every word was punctuated as if to emphasize her point. She then giggled.

“Oh, alright; Amparo. Yes, as I was telling your assistant earlier I was hoping to uh…”

Hermione's eyes nervously shifted towards Ginny. They then darted away as she quickly stood up and proceeded to move behind the sofa, padding back and forth.

“...discuss some things with you,” she finished in a lower, hushed tone. “Plans for this afternoon?” she asked.

It was at this point that Ginny decided to give up all pretenses that she wasn't listening in to the conversation. Ginny turned in her seat and watched Hermione walk from one direction to the other, but Hermione completely ignored her. Worry creased Ginny's brow. Her almost haughty confidence from mere seconds ago shriveled into dread. The niggling feeling that her window of opportunity was about to put up a closed for business sign began to set in.

“Well I am supposed to meet Glinda in London later. She made appointments for us at some fancy spa in Mayfair.”

Hermione nodded her head.

“Yes, that’s the one. What a lovely coincidence!” she said smiling brightly. “I would love to meet for brunch beforehand. Yes, I’m familiar with that restaurant. My parents’ clinic wasn’t too far from there. 11:30? Brilliant! I’ll see you then.”

After Hermione turned off her mobile she hugged it to her chest and exhaled. Though her head was lowered Ginny could clearly see Hermione silently mouth the words, “thank you”. She then turned to Ginny, flashed a sparkling white smile and said, “I hope you don’t mind Ginny but I’ve got to run.”

Ginny nearly slid off the sofa.

“What?!”

Hermione appeared to be completely oblivious to her guest's rattled behavior. She just gingerly walked up, plucked the cup and saucer out of Ginny's hand, and placed it on the serving tray.

“Sorry I have to cut this short, but I’ve got to go.” She headed in the direction of the kitchen. “I hope you don’t mind seeing yourself out,” she called from the other room.

For a moment Ginny almost believed someone had placed a sticking charm under her; she felt glued to her seat. She watched helplessly as she realized that she was about to lose her chance to pump Hermione for information as she had planned. If she didn’t act fast she might never get the answers she so desperately needed.

That thought is what finally spurred Ginny to action. She jumped up and nearly ran for the kitchen. From the doorway she watched as Hermione dropped the dishes in the sink and set the tray on the counter. When she turned around she actually looked amazed to find Ginny standing there.

“You're still here?”

“We hadn't finished our talk yet,” Ginny said as she fully entered the room.

“Oh. Well, I suppose I could always stop by Wiltshire sometime next week. We could visit then. How does that sound?”

Hermione barely glanced at Ginny as she went back into the living room. Instead she was so focused on her own plans for the rest of the day that she didn’t notice the meltdown Ginny appeared to be having. Hermione was saying all of the polite, proper things that one was supposed to say to company, but Ginny was so unnerved that she couldn’t be bothered with propriety, or duplicity for that matter, any longer. She whirled around and watched Hermione walk out the room.

“TERRIBLE! THAT’S NOT WHAT I CAME ALL THE WAY OUT HERE FOR!” she yelped.

Even in her own ear her voice sounded abnormally high and screechy.

After those last words left her lips, all went still. Hermione then slowly reentered the door frame of the kitchen. Her face was expressionless. After what felt like forever she finally spoke.

“What you came here for?”

“I...That didn’t come out right.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure. So tell me Ginevra,” she said as she leaned against the doorway and folded her arms across her chest, “what exactly did you come out here for today? And please spare me the long version.”

Ginny wanted to plug her! She knew that she had to keep her cool though if she was going to get Hermione to admit to what Ginny knew she was guilty of.

Her mouth worked open and closed a few times trying in vain to come up with something suitable to say, but Hermione became impatient waiting for a response.

“Well, why are you here?!”

“I’m here because…you see…what I’m trying to say…”

“I’m sort of pressed for time so if you don’t mind–”

“DAMMIT! I’M TRYING TO EXPLAIN MYSELF!” Ginny yelled.

Hermione looked less than pleased with her quick retort.

“Well perhaps it would serve your best interests speaking to Lavender or…or Luna or somebody.”

She was being very difficult and if the harried expression on Hermione's face was any indicator of her true feelings, she wasn’t going to make this situation easy for Ginny at all. What she needed was some way to soften Hermione up.

“I don’t want to speak to either of them. I need you,” she said.

If only she could find a way to distract Hermione, she thought. She needed something that she could hold over Hermione’s head to make her shut her trap and listen to her. What could do that, she desperately wondered.

“I don’t think–”

“This concerns Harry!” Ginny finally blurted out.

Hermione’s arms dropped to her side and the harsh lines of her face relaxed.

“Harry?” she asked softly, her voice wavering.

Although not a muscle on her face twitched, inside Ginny was beaming. Jackpot!

“Yes,” she said as she nodded her head solemnly, “Harry.”

The frown lines on Hermione’s forehead wrinkled. She looked at Ginny warily. “What about Harry? Is something wrong with him?”

“In a manner of speaking,” answered Ginny slyly as she glided by Hermione and walked back into the living room. Hermione was helpless to do anything but anxiously follow after her.

“What does that mean? Is Harry hurt? Is he in trouble? Harry seemed just fine yesterday.”

Ginny sat down on the sofa again and elegantly crossed her legs.

“I’m sure he did,” she muttered lowly.

A confused Hermione came and sat next to her.

“Ginny, you are scaring me. Now what is going on?”

“I have to do something. I don’t think I can keep quiet any longer. I think…I think…” Ginny’s eyes moistened as she dropped them to her lap. She knew she had to play this just right. Her marriage depended on this.

“Yes?” Hermione worriedly asked as she leaned in closer.

“Harry is cheating on me.”

She lifted her eyes to catch Hermione’s reaction to this revelation. She expected to see guilt there. She expected to see shock. She might have even expected to see some form of shame on the woman’s face. But the one thing she hadn’t counted on was the blind fury she found instead.

“You are unbelievable!” she snarled.

Ginny was actually taken aback by Hermione’s anger and even instinctually inched away from her without realizing it.

“Excuse m-me?” she stammered nervously.

Hermione stood up and towered over Ginny. Her hands were balled into fists.

“If this is some kind of a sick joke–”

“Do I appear to be laughing?”

Ginny jumped up as well and by now was matching Hermione angry glare for angry glare. Her patience was wearing thin and Hermione was this close to meeting the business end of a Bat Bogey. Ginny even made a mental check of which pocket of her robes her wand was in.

“OF ALL PEOPLE!” Hermione shouted as she turned her back to Ginny. She marched across the room as though trying to put as much distance as she could between Ginny and herself. “Of all people…” she said again stopping near the fireplace. “You have some nerve! To even suggest that Harry would–”

“Do you think I want to believe it?” countered Ginny, eyes gleaming brightly with anger. The sanctimony was rolling off of Hermione in thick waves and Ginny was choking on it. Just who in the hell did Hermione think she was yelling at her like this, Ginny fumed. Here she was, the poor wronged victim, yet Hermione was talking to her as though she were the villain in all of this.

“Do you think I want to come to you, especially given our history?” Ginny asked, seething.

“Why did you come to me?”

“Because this concerns you too,” Ginny replied.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. Puffing herself up, she self-righteously sneered, “If you mean to accuse me of–”

“Accuse you? What?” Ginny paused to look at the woman, confused as to what she could have possibly said to cause Hermione to react so indignantly.

A little too indignantly if you ask me, thought Ginny.

“All I said is that this concerns you too,” she repeated.

Then, as though a lantern had suddenly been lit over her head, she realized the conclusion Hermione had drawn from her remark.

“You think that I mean that you and Harry…”

Ginny couldn’t even continue; it was just all too absurd. Words actually failed her for a moment.

“No, of course not!” she scoffed finally.

“Oh,” Hermione said meekly as color flooded her cheeks.

Feeling suddenly drained, Ginny dropped back down on the sofa. Taking a cue from her, Hermione seated herself in the leather recliner nearby and eyed her warily.

“Months ago I started seeing the signs that Harry was possibly straying. I tried to pretend that it wasn’t happening. For the sake of my marriage I can’t do that any longer,” Ginny told her.

She left out the more painful details; Harry's dreams, her lonely nights, the box she had stashed under her bed filled with “personal aids” ordered from the Wanton Witch Emporium. It was already embarrassing to have to tell Hermione this much, Ginny saw no point in adding in all of the more sordid details. Besides, she didn't want to give Hermione too much to lord over her later.

“Something is definitely going on now,” she continued. She then looked Hermione straight in the eye. “And I think you know something about it.”

There! She had finally put it out in the open. She wanted to see Hermione try to deny that! However once again Ginny didn’t get the response she was quite expecting.

With a roll of her eyes Hermione leaned back in her chair.

“What I know is that you are probably paranoid over some creation of your own imagining,” a bored sounding Hermione tutted.

That did it! Forget the wand, the denigrating tone that Hermione took with her made Ginny want to slash at her face with her own nails.

“I AM NOT IMAGINING THIS!” she snapped causing Hermione to sit up straight and really look at Ginny. By now Ginny no longer cared about retaining a cool, calm façade. She was sick of being belittled. She was sick of being lied too. She was just sick of it all! She no longer cared what Hermione thought of her, she was getting desperate now.

“Harry barely is home anymore.”

“He’s working on a big case. He's Ron’s Best Man. He has been helping me around this old place,” said Hermione as she counted each answer off on her fingers. “He’s busy Ginny, no cause for alarm.”

“He's hiding something,” countered Ginny.

That one made Hermione pause. She scrambled to cover the silence quickly.

“Harry has always been a little secretive.”

“I can practically smell the guilt on him,” Ginny said pressing on.

“Now that’s just absurd! I’ve never heard such groundless accusations in all my–”

Ginny sat up, spine ramrod straight, and slammed her small fist down on her thigh.

“TTHEY ARE NOT ABSURD! THEY ARE NOT GROUNDLESS! THEY ARE NOT! THEY ARE NOT! THEY ARE NOT!” she yelled over and over again at the top of her voice.

Hermione was made speechless by Ginny's tirade.

“Do you know that there are times that my head pounds so badly that it makes me dizzy? I can barely see straight. Oh, unless you count the toilet,” Ginny said smiling darkly. “I always have a good view of that seeing as how I’m constantly bent over it these days.”

Hermione looked at Ginny askance. “And you think that it’s the Blood bond that is causing it, don’t you?” she asked.

Ginny disgustedly answered back, “What else could it be?”

“Goodness Ginny, anything but that!” Hermione said admonishingly.

Once again she left her seat to pace back and forth.

“I mean, did you ever stop to think th-that…that perhaps you and Harry were going to have a baby? Wooziness, headaches, morning sickness…sounds like the early stages of a pregnancy to me,” she said, purposefully averting her eyes so that Ginny didn't see the envy in them.

Ginny snorted as though Hermione had told a whopper. Hermione stopped her pacing and bewilderedly turned towards her.

“Harry would actually have to touch me to make that one happen and he hasn’t done so in months. Yes, months,” she responded to Hermione’s mute astonishment. “Satisfied now?” she asked. “Is that enough proof for you now?”

Ginny could tell that she had knocked Hermione for a loop, but she still bravely soldiered on. One thing Ginny would always give Hermione was that she was loyal; almost to a fault.

“Harry would never do something like that,” she insisted. “I’m sure that there are reasonable explanations for everything.”

“Other than the obvious ones? Stop patronizing me Hermione! And stop pretending that you don’t know what I’m talking about. You know! I know you know! Now what I need from you is to tell me who this woman is.”

“Who she is? Who she is? I don’t even think she exists!”

“Drop the act already! Stop covering for him.”

“What would make you think I would cover for Harry?” Hermione asked perplexedly.

“Because you would do anything to protect him, even lie if you had to. But mostly because it would hurt me!”

Hermione raised her hands before her.

“Whoa! Ginny, I’m not going to try to pretend that you and I don’t have our issues. But believe me or not, I would take no joy out of seeing your marriage to Harry fail. And if Harry is cheating on you, and trust me I have a hard time believing that he ever would, I swear to you that I know nothing about it!”

For a moment Ginny stared at the sincerity etched across Hermione’s face. Although she hated to believe it, something in her tone told Ginny that Hermione just might be telling the truth.

“Honestly?” she asked.

“Yes,” Hermione steadfastly replied.

Ginny fell back against the sofa dejectedly. It was like the wind had been let out of her sails. She had been so sure that Hermione knew what was going on. That was why she had come all the way out to the Hollow. That was why she had coaxed and cajoled and nearly bullied Hermione into this so-called confrontation. She had been so sure…

“It wasn't supposed to be like this,” Ginny wailed pitifully to herself.

She closed her eyes hoping to halt any tears.

“We were supposed to live happily ever after. That was how it was supposed to be! And now something is trying to take it all away from me. I just know it! It’s like the answer is staring me right in the face. I can practically touch it.”

A warm hand wrapped around one of hers. Ginny opened her watery eyes to find Hermione sitting next to her.

“I’m sorry?” she offered kindly. “I know that sounds terribly inadequate, but I am. I wish there was something more I could say, something more I could do. Listen Ginny, this sounds like nothing more than some misunderstanding that only needs to be cleared up. You and Harry have all of your lives to work through whatever this is you two are going through. You just have to believe that Harry loves you.”

Ginny childishly sniffed. “Does he?”

Hermione looked at her in wonder.

“Doesn’t he?”

Ginny honestly could not bring herself to answer the question. Instead she held on tighter to Hermione’s hand. For some reason it felt comforting.

“This feels familiar,” she said looking down at their two clasped hands. Hermione needed no explanation; she knew exactly what Ginny was talking about. Maybe she had been having similar thoughts.

“It should,” she said smiling sadly. “We were friends once. At least…”

The smile slowly faded.

“At least I thought we were friends. Then you started pushing me away. It felt like you didn’t need me anymore. It felt like I had outlived my usefulness.”

“So it’s my fault then?” Ginny sniped angrily. She ignored the ring of truth in Hermione’s words and the slight pang of guilt they caused. “When you came back from the war Hermione you were a different person. You’re the one who changed. And for the record; you started pulling away from me first.”

Ginny was speaking honestly, at least from her point of view. There were times back then that Hermione acted as though she didn’t want to be bothered with the younger girl any more, as though it pained her to be near her even. She started slowly withdrawing from Ginny. The rare times they were around each other were if Harry or Ron were present, or if Hermione came by the Burrow. They completely stopped confiding in one another. At the time it had hurt a bit, Hermione had been the closest thing she had to a sister, but Ginny chose to focus on what was important instead; Harry. She had gotten what she wanted; Hermione had become superfluous by that point anyway.

“Perhaps…” began Hermione sounding uncertain, “perhaps we both share the blame.”

“Perhaps,” said Ginny sulkily although they continued to hold hands. “Do you think we could ever be friends again?” she queried.

The question seemed to surprise Hermione.

“I think we've both said and done enough things to each other that would make that pretty impossible.” Cocking her head to the side she asked, “Would you even want to be friends again?”

Giving no clear indication how she felt on the subject, Ginny answered a quick, “Maybe.”

By this point a new idea was starting to emerge in Ginny’s mind and the prospect of getting Hermione to go along with it was looking promising. Ginny might be able to salvage something out of this little heart-to-heart after all.

“Hermione, can I ask you something?” After Hermione nodded her head Ginny asked, “Has Harry mentioned anything to you? About our marriage, I mean. Has he given you any indication that there is something wrong between us?”

Hermione quickly dropped Ginny's hand.

“I think Harry is the person you should be discussing this with,” she answered noncommittally while turning her whole body in order to avoid the redhead's eyes.

Dear Merlin, she does know something. And it's not good, Ginny fretted. If Ginny needed any further proof to that line of reasoning, the way that Hermione was chewing on her bottom lip was answer enough. But Ginny refused to give up defeat just yet, especially now that it was clear that despite their shared differences, Hermione still cared for her. Maybe there was still enough goodwill left between them that Hermione might grant Ginny a small favor, a kindness really. Why, if she could only make Hermione see things her way, maybe the two of them could even be friends again. All past hurts and slights could be glossed over.

“He said something, didn’t he?” Ginny asked.

Hermione gave no answer; just stared down at her lap.

“Sweet Circe! What am I going to do, Hermione? Please tell me what to do.”

“I tried to give you advice once before, remember? You didn’t want it then,” Hermione said shaking her head.

“But I’m asking for it now!” she exclaimed.

Yes, now Hermione could make all the difference. Hermione could talk to Harry for her. Hermione could get Harry to confess. Hermione could make Harry drop his slut and turn back to his loving wife. And Ginny would be loving, and kind, and understanding and all of those things plus more. She would also be benevolent and forgive Harry for everything that he had put her through these past few months; never let it be said that Ginny could not be the bigger person. Then they would fix this mess. They had to fix it! Harry was bonded to her for life, it was his only option.

Well, that and death.

“Ginny, have you listened to a word I said?”

At the far away sound of Hermione's voice, the fog in Ginny's mind suddenly ceased its swirling motion and seemed to stretch itself through every nook and crevice it could find. She shook her head as if to loosen it from its hiding places. Her clouded eyes turned to Hermione and noted that the woman looked worried, disturbed even. Then again Ginny might have worn the same troubled visage too if she had seen the eerie, dreamlike expression that Hermione had just witnessed.

Stifling a shudder, Hermione tried again.

“Ginny, you need to talk to Harry. You two can work this out. All you have to do is talk to him.”

“Or you could talk to him,” Ginny suggested. The coy way in which she said it was meant to hide the guile of her words.

Hermione's eyes bulged. “You can’t be serious?!”

“Harry would listen to you,” she continued. “Oh Hermione, don’t you see?! That would solve everything! You could just–”

“No.”

Her voice was just above a whisper. Ginny reached for her hand.

“But Hermione–”

“I said no!” Hermione said, drawing back from Ginny's grasp.

Ginny frowned at her.

“But you said you wanted to help,” she whinged.

“I said I wish I could help. But what you’re suggesting...NO!”

“But I need you, Hermione!”

Didn't Hermione see that she needed her? Why was she being so difficult?!

“Ginny, I don’t want to be in the middle of your marriage.”

“BUT YOU ARE!” Ginny barked viciously, finally losing her patience at last. “YOU’VE ALWAYS BEEN! Even before Harry and I got married, you were in the middle! When Harry needed advice who did he turn to? You! Whose opinion was he always after? Yours! I didn’t even know about the Prophesy until well after the fact. But he told you.”

“And Ron! He told me and Ron! You seem to have conveniently forgotten that part. Don’t try to twist things just so you can have your own way again!”

Ginny ignored the reproach.

“Harry was my boyfriend, but the three of you decided to keep the fact that he might die from me. You shut me out! You were always trying to shut me out, Hermione!”

Ginny didn't even care if she wasn't being fair. Her confidence was shot, her nerves were frayed, and it was all Hermione's fault as far as she was concerned. Everything was Hermione's fault!

“Are you even listening to yourself? Harry made the decision to keep you in the dark. You know that,” Hermione said trying to reason with her.

Ginny was having none of it. She stood up from her seat and glared down at Hermione.

“But you were supposed to be my friend. You should have told me. If you were really my friend you would have told me. Just like if you were really my friend you would help me now.”

“My God! You are doing it again, Ginny. I can’t believe you are trying to do this to me again! You think that if you twist things up enough you can get me to do whatever you want me to do, but not this time. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.”

“What the bollocks does that mean?” she asked snidely.

“It means that you’re on your own, Ginny. I can’t help you.”

“Do you mean you can’t help me or you won’t help me?”

Hermione studied Ginny's face; her glittering eyes, her mutinous chin, the flaring nostrils, and she unhappily shook her head.

“Ginny, even if I could help you I don’t think I would want to,” she answered truthfully.

“I see,” Ginny said in a tight, strained voice.

She then turned her back to Hermione.

“You selfish, controlling bitch,” she muttered nastily.

Hermione chuckled humorlessly at the insult.

“And here I thought we were going to be the best of friends again,” she said.

Ginny refused to look at her, but Hermione kept talking.

“Although you know what’s funny? The last time you and I talked it went a lot like this as well. You were so cruel to me,” she added, almost to herself.

Ginny wasn't sure if she was speaking for her benefit or if she was simply babbling. She did know that there was nothing more she wanted in that moment than to strike back out at Hermione; hurt her like she was hurting.

“You deserved it,” Ginny replied, her voice hard and cruel. “You were being a selfish and controlling bitch back then too.”

“And as I recall you said something to that effect as well,” Hermione snickered archly. “Just tell me one thing Ginny...”

Ginny turned around and their eyes held.

“Was I just a means to an end for you? I mean after all is said and done, the two of us, was that all I ever was...a means to an end?”

Ginny stared at Hermione; at this woman before her who Ginny had known for more than half her life. Moments, flashes of memory invaded her mind nearly clouding all else.

Giggling over a surprising invitation to a dance…

Modeling dress robes for each other before the Ball…

Running to spill about finally being kissed…

Laughing together at the silly quiz in the back of Witch Weekly…

Crying on a shoulder after visiting dad at Mungo's…

Holding a hand as a secret crush remained hopelessly a secret…

If she tried hard enough Ginny could almost make herself believe that it had all been another lifetime ago; another life ago.

“Yes,” Ginny said tilting her nose up superiorly at Hermione, “that's all you ever were,” she lied coolly.

Hermione unflinchingly held Ginny's gaze.

“Thank you,” she said. “I always thought that…I just couldn’t be sure. But now I know.” Hermione's eyes fell on her intertwined fingers that were resting in her lap. “Now I know,” she softly repeated.

Hermione stood up.

“Thank you.”

Hermione casually strolled to the front door, opened it, then turned back to face Ginny.

“Now get the hell out of my house!”

Ginny whirled around, shocked to hear Hermione speak to her in such a cold, unfeeling manner.

“Y-your house?” she stammered out.

“You heard me. I have things to do and I've wasted enough time that I'll never get back on you already.”

“YOU CAN’T JUST THROW ME OUT OF HERE!” Ginny shouted, stomping over to the door.

Even though Hermione was a few inches taller, Ginny stood toe to toe with her.

Hermione arched an eyebrow. “Oddly enough I think I can.”

“THIS IS MY HUSBAND’S HOUSE THEREFORE IT BELONGS TO ME!” Ginny yelled. “YOU’RE LUCKY I DON’T TOSS YOU OUT ON YOUR EAR.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Hermione folded her arms across her chest. She bent her head so close to Ginny's that she could feel her warm breath tickle at her nose. The only thing Ginny could see in her field of vision was wrathful brown eyes.

“You see Ginny, this house belongs to Harry. Harry. He’s the one who decides who stays and who goes. Now it just so happens that Harry wants me here. As long as that’s the case, I’m not going anywhere and there is no one who can make me, even you.”

She then smirked.

“Especially you.”

Pointing outside, Hermione gave Ginny a poisonous smile.

“I would appreciate it if you left now.”

Fuming, Ginny turned to walk out the door, but her feet wouldn’t budge. Her pride would not allow her to just leave Hermione looking so smug, so self-satisfied without trying to land at least one last parting blow.

“I get it. I know the real reason why you won’t help me.”

Apprehension stole over Hermione's face so fast that had Ginny blinked she would have missed it.

Ginny didn't blink.

Before the neutral mask could fall in place, Ginny saw the fear that had alighted in the woman’s eyes. Saw it, savored it; would have broken it open to drink the marrow from it down if she could. If Hermione thought she could talk to her just any kind of way, she had another thing coming. She was better than that, she was better than her! She was Ginevra Potter.

“You are a sad, pathetic woman, Hermione, and you want everyone to be just as miserable as you are. It won’t work, though. Harry and I might be having some difficulties right now, but we’ll get through them. And afterwards we’ll be better and stronger than before; I’ll make sure of it. So you were right, I don’t need you anymore. Coming here was just a waste of my time. You were a waste of my time. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m not alone in that thought. Isn’t it ironic that Roger Davies, Oliver, and my brother all started to live happy lives once they got the hell away from you? Davies has a wonderful wife and child. Ron and Oliver are both engaged. And where is Hermione? All alone. You’re probably going to die that way too. I could almost pity you. Almost.”

She wanted to hurt Hermione. She wanted to maim her. Ginny wanted to tear her down, if only with her words. She wanted Hermione to know just what it meant to be as unhappy as she was. But the wench refused to take the bait.

“You must have been biting your tongue for weeks to keep from spewing all of that at me until now,” Hermione replied in an unnaturally calm voice. It pricked at Ginny's skin; it was so hard and brittle. It was as if Ginny's words had no effect on Hermione at all. They slid off her as easily as oil. “So tell me something Gin, did it make you feel better?” she asked, a note of false concern coloring her words.

Ginny glared at her hatefully. She was boiling!

“Huh, did it? Did it?!” Hermione continued to taunt vilely. When Ginny remained quiet Hermione smirked haughtily. “I thought not. Now get out!” she ordered through clenched teeth, her voice only trembling on the very last word.

Ginny stalked outside the house, gnashing her teeth to stop herself from calling Hermione every dirty name she knew. Just as she crossed the threshold she felt the swish of escaping air hit her back as the door slammed shut. The shot gun crack sound startled her and made her seize up rigidly as though she had been hit by a curse. Almost stumbling forward, Ginny whipped around to see the closed door almost rock in its hinges from the force of Hermione’s rage.

Ginny was miserable. But worse than that, she felt defeated. The morning was a bust, nothing had been accomplished, and now she had made an enemy of someone who had once been invaluable to her. Of this Ginny was certain. She had just watched the last vestiges of their already fragile relationship go through its final death throe. Did she feel remorse, any regret over the way things had turned out? She wouldn’t have known. The bitterness blackened everything until that was all Ginny knew. If there was any justice in this world Hermione Granger would be sharing some of the same.

Ginny was about to Disapparate when her ears picked up a barely detectable sound in the still morning air. Her head swiveled back and forth trying to place where it was coming from but she couldn’t see anything that could be causing it. Then her eyes fell back on the cottage door. Instinct drove Ginny to tiptoe closer to it and put her ear to the wood. Although there was very little increase in volume, Ginny realized that whatever was making the almost keening noise was on the other side of the door.

Ginny stepped back a few paces keeping her eyes trained forward. All thoughts of leaving vanished as her curiosity got the better of her. Ginny reached into her pocket and pulled out her wand.

“Roentgenesco,” she softly intoned.

The wooden, opaque material of the door instantly took on a translucent property revealing the inside of the house. It also revealed the figure of the person who had taught Ginny so very long ago the very charm she was using. Hermione’s lower back was pressed up against the now see-through door. She was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up, arms encircling them. She was hunched over so that her face was hidden in the small valley between her chest and lap. Her desolate sobbing was muffled because of this, but by the violent way her shoulders jerked and trembled, it wouldn’t have been that difficult to figure out what she was doing. Her weeping sounded like that of a wounded, beaten animal.

“Finite Incantatum,” Ginny whispered.

The door returned to normal. She lowered her wand and prepared to Apparate back to the Palace feeling at least a little less wretched than she had mere minutes before.

“All better now,” she said to herself, then winked out of sight.

“Neesom?”

“Newsom.”

“No…no, that's not it. That's not it at all! It was Newman.”

“I don't think so. Oh! I've got it, Neiman!”

“Now that's just ridiculous. Who ever heard of such a ridiculous name? It was Needleman. It was without a doubt Needleman.”

“I don't know Ron; I don't think that's quite it either. Needleman...Needleman...Needleman...”

“I zeenk zat you boys mean Needlemeier.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other across Ginny and Lavender, both male sets of eyes growing wide.

“NEEDLEMEIER!!!” they both cried out triumphantly.

“Bernadette, I swear I would kiss you if I didn't think my wife would lean over and snap my neck in two,” Harry said jokingly to the brown haired woman by Charlie's side.

“She'd do it too!” George helpfully added, eyes twinkling merrily.

“Mean little thing, she is–OW!”

Everyone at the table laughed except for Fred. He was gawking at his little sister in shock and rubbing at the tender spot on the back of his head where she had reached over her husband and his wife to smack him on. Ginny tittered along with everyone else although she was nowhere near in as jovial a mood as the rest of the table's occupants, especially after Charlie's date started to slaver all over her husband shamelessly.

“Monsieur Potter, you are quite ze charmer,” Bernadette said in a sticky sweet voice. Ginny glared at her, but the dumb bint didn't seem to translate the message; back off! Damned French women, she’d drown the lot of them if she could!

“So Ron,” George said turning to look at his brother who was sitting next to him, “have you finally decided on who you're placing your bet on?”

“I can't believe you two wankers are actually running a betting pool on what poor bloke Hermione is going to show up here with tonight,” remarked Charlie turning to look at him. He was smiling though so he seemed to think the whole thing humorous.

“I don't see the harm in it,” Fred told him. “It's free enterprise.”

“It's unethical, is what it is,” Charlie volleyed back.

“Oh, it's that too,” Fred said, grinning roguishly. Glinda, sitting to the right of him, began to chuckle.

“So ickle Ronniekins,” he continued, “is it going to be Needlemeier?”

Chewing his lip contemplatively, Ron looked at his best friend and asked, “What do you think, Harry? I always did suspect that Hermione fancied old Needledick from the Misuse Office.”

“Oh no, when Hermione finds out about this I want my hands to be completely clean,” said Harry. “And fancied is an awful strong word, in'it?!” he countered curtly.

“She was always talking that berk up,” said Ron ignoring him. “It was Cyril, this and Mr. Needlemeier, that.”

Ron smacked his lips in disgust.

“'Cyril is on the Committee to Preserve House-elf Historical Habitats',” Ron said mockingly in a high pitched, snooty voice. “And 'Cyril is going to tie himself to a tree until all non-human sentient beings can get hitched the same as us, what are you planning to do productive with your day Ron'.” He even added the fitting little self-righteous sniff at the end.

The entire table laughed wholeheartedly. Over the years Ron had perfected his Hermione impersonation.

“Blimey, was it so wrong that a bloke just wanted to stay in his boxers and listen to the wireless on a Sunday?”

Lavender put her arms around Ron and adoringly cooed that of course there was noting wrong with that.

“Well, I don't zeenk zat Cyril will be showing up 'ere tonight,”

“Why,” asked Glinda, “still tied to that tree?”

Charlie and Fred hooted loudly.

“Mais non,” said Bernadette, “Cyril eez ...eez a...'ow do you say,” she turned to Charlie, “...est-un loup-garou.”

Ron's freckled face frowned at the woman.

“A lu-lu wha–?”

“Werewolf, Ron,” answered Charlie raising his glass to his mouth.

Harry nodded his head. “Oh that's right,” he said.

“Well why didn't she just say that?!” said Ron argumentatively. No one paid him a whit of attention.

“There's a full moon out tonight. Tonks mentioned it to me when I ran into her earlier today,” said Harry. “She said that Remus had been acting particularly feral this morning.”

Harry winced slightly.

“I didn’t ask for too many details. She didn't seem too fussed that they were going to miss out tonight, though.”

“Well if Ron doesn't hurry it up he's going to miss out on his chance to get in on the winnings,” muttered Fred. “We can't hold the window open much longer, the dancing is about to begin. Blondie could show up any minute.”

Lavender whispered in Ginny's ear, “Maybe the hag will do us all a favor and stay home.”

Although Ginny didn’t say it aloud, she had the same hopes as Lavender. After their little “visit” that day Ginny hoped never to lay eyes on the woman ever again, especially not tonight. As the hours went by, Ginny was starting to think that she might just be that lucky. It was nearing nine o’clock, the band was warming up, and Hermione was nowhere in sight.

At least one good thing has come out of this night, thought Ginny bitterly.

If anyone else had been able to hear Ginny’s bleak thoughts they would have had to disagree with her. So far the Victory Ball had been a rousing success for its planners. Attendance looked to be at an all time high, the wizarding elite were all decked out in their finest robes and accouterments, and the mood in the room was gay and rollicking.

Every year since the Ball's inception the Hogwarts Head Boy and Girl, working along side a representative from the Ministry, would organize the event and the Seventh Year class would decorate the Great Hall where it was held. This year it was fixed up to resemble a lavish Henrician banquet fully equipped with jugglers, ghostly jousters, and a court jester or two. There was also a strolling minstrel who canvassed the floor singing songs in praise of any man’s bravery or any woman’s beauty as long as he was tipped accordingly. The students had even arranged to put on a bugbear bating demonstration, but Headmistress McGonagall put a nix to that idea as soon as she got wind of it.

Nearly fifty ornately decorated round tables, that sat ten guests a piece, faced a long table on one side of the room where the Minister, his specially selected guests, as well as the Hogwarts faculty would dine. A polished dance floor took up the other half of the room and ended in a grand bandstand where Incantato Buchignani and his band would perform.

Through out the evening murmurings that this was the best the Great Hall had looked in ages could be heard. All of the Seventh Years were pleased to hear the compliments; the need to throw an excellent party was always important to the students since they actually got to attend the party. It was sort of a coming out for the 17 and 18 year olds so that they could mix and mingle with the adult society they would soon be joining within a matter of weeks. Ginny knew just how much hard work went into planning the event. The year after Voldemort's defeat it fell on her as Head Girl to orchestrate the very first official Ball. It was an honor that Ginny took very seriously; Harry was her boyfriend and even if he refused to acknowledge it, in her mind the Victory Ball was as much about Harry as it was about Voldemort.

That night the Ball had gotten underway under embarrassing circumstances. Rufus Scrimgeour's opening speech before dinner was cut short due to someone switching his goblet of meade for one filled with Lancelot's Limerick Liqueur. Before he could come to the scandalous conclusion of his story concerning a saucy sorceress from Kent, his Deputy Minister, Tarquin Adair, hustled him from the lectern and back to his seat so he could not cause himself or the Ministry any further damage. Luckily for the twins, their mother had been sitting at a separate table with her husband, Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Penelope as well as a few other Ministry personnel. Fred and George both pretended not to notice the crabbed looks she shot them across the room.

After Adair took Scrimgeour's place at the stand, he proceeded to give a short, yet heartfelt speech of his own that was so moving that almost every woman in the Hall wiped tears from her eyes during it and five minutes of uninterrupted applause followed its conclusion. After that the food was served and once the desert course was finished, the guests began visiting back and forth between tables.

Ginny’s table was the most raucous. Between the twins antics, Glinda’s teasing, and the corny jokes being told by Harry and Ron, their section of the Hall was loud with laughter. Even Pristine, George’s date, looked like she was having fun, although she did appear to be overwhelmed by the boisterous group from time to time. She probably would have liked it if George paid a little more attention to her as well, but he was too busy.

Due to Fred and George's betting pool there was a steady stream of visitors to their section of the room. Through out the evening Ernie Macmillan, Terry Boot, Katie Bell, amongst others stopped by to place a few last minute bets and Padma Thomas had to drag Dean and Seamus away by their ears to get them to go back to their seats. Lavender had already filled Ginny in on the scam the twins were running earlier when the two of them had gone to the restroom together. Fred and George would get a thirty-five percent cut of the winner’s take from their pool, even if the pot was split amongst multiple winners. They deemed that only fair since they organized it. What wasn't fair was the fact that if no one guessed who Hermione’s mystery escort was; all of the money went directly into their pockets. The two of them were in line to make a killing.

At one point Neville had stopped by on his way to his own table to say hello to everyone but left soon after, barely acknowledging Ginny. He didn't even tell her how nice she looked before he went. Neville always told her how nice she looked, but he acted as though he couldn't be bothered with her. It had hurt Ginny, but she had deserved the abuse. She had been particularly rude when his little ballerina bonbon greeted her cordially. Slag!

Besides that minor unpleasantness, everyone else was enjoying themselves. Everyone, that was except for Ginny. She was too busy glowering at every woman who had the nerve to speak to her husband in her presence and wondering just which witch it was he was bedding behind her back. Ginny made sure she knew where Cho Chang was in the room at any given moment and she nearly took a butter knife to Romilda Vane when the silly woman stopped by their table with Harry's superior officer, Commander Hanes, in tow.

To make matters worse, Harry didn’t even have the decency to act guiltily in front of any of the women so that Ginny could figure out who his mistress was, just every so often she would find him looking expectantly towards the door. He just chuckled along with everyone as though he hadn’t done a thing wrong. Bastard!

Harry’s innocent act was driving her batty, Neville was treating her as though she had come down with a disfiguring case of dragon pox, and on top of all of that her quail had been dry. Ginny had enough troubles as it was; the last thing she needed was Hermione showing up. Ginny worried that Hermione would actually tell Harry about their conversation from that morning. But as the evening continued on its course the chances that Hermione would actually show her face become slim. Once the band began warming up Ginny started to think that Hermione Granger wouldn’t be a problem after all. Ginny decided to put the nuisance out of her thoughts completely so she could enjoy the rest of her night.

Ginny only wished that everyone else would shut the hell up about her too so that she could actually do just that.

“She probably doesn't even have a date, you know,” Lavender continued to say to Ginny, a bit too loudly that time.

“Come again?” asked Harry looking between Ginny and Lavender. Ron's attention was also drawn to them.

Lavender looked back and forth between the two men as though she had stepped into a chimaera trap and had no idea how to chew herself out of it. Poor dumb Lav! As always it fell to Ginny to save the situation.

“Lavender was just saying that perhaps Hermione's date had to cancel at the last minute and Hermione just decided to stay in,” Ginny answered smoothly as she ran her finger along the edge of her empty wineglass. “If she isn't here by now I highly doubt that she will show at all.”

“She'll show,” said Ron knowingly. “I'm not falling for that one again. The last Ball I was sure that Hermione was bluffing about was the Yule. And we all know how that turned ou–MERLIN'S BEARD! That's it!”

Ron's eyes went big as he began bouncing around excitedly in his seat.

“Krum! It's got to be Krum!”

Harry looked at Ron skeptically.

“Viktor Krum?”

“Of course that's it! Hermione would think it was a grand joke to pull on all of us–”

Lavender looked at her fiancé worriedly.

“Uh...Ron–”

“Not now, Lav,” he said. He was gaining steam now. “Has anyone put in for Krum?” he asked George. Fred took out a list from his pocket that contained all of the names of those who were taking part in the pool, as well as the names they placed their bets on. After scanning the list quickly and lowering the parchment, Fred gave a brief nod of his head to his twin across the table.

“Looks like today is your lucky day, baby brother,” George replied with a grin.

“You appear to be the first,” said Fred.

Ron wore a broad, pleased smile. Meanwhile Charlie, Bernadette, Pristine, and George, who all had a good view of the door from where they were sitting, suddenly became very interested in some sight in that direction.

“Ha! Ten galleons then on Viktor Krum,” Ron said as he pulled a money bag out of his robes and threw some coins from it onto the table.

Lavender looked alarmed at this.

“But Ron–” she tried again.

“NOT NOW, LAV!” he said brushing her off again.

Lavender tried desperately to get Ron's attention, but he turned in his chair to look at George excitedly. George quickly brought his attention to his brother. Ginny sighed loudly as she watched the events unfold before her. Knowing her brothers, this wasn't going to end well.

“Is Krum your final answer?” asked George archly.

“Yes, yes you git! Now take my money!”

George flashed him a wicked smile.

“It's been a pleasure doing business with you,” he said as he scooped Ron's galleons off of the table. “Oh by the way, Viktor Krum just waved hello to you lot from the door.”

“WHAT?!”

Ron whipped around in his seat so forcefully that he almost fell out of it. Luckily Lavender put out a steadying hand to hold him up.

By now their whole table was looking towards the entrance. As each guest for the Ball entered the Great Hall, they would pause a moment at the door to allow their pictures to be taken by various representatives from the media. Viktor Krum and the rather burly young woman next to him were just finishing up with the press and were making a beeline for their table.

“Who is that with him?” asked Harry aloud.

“His new girlfriend, Ljuba Emanuilova,” Pristine said as she flipped her auburn hair over her shoulder and shamelessly batted her eyes flirtatiously at him. Ginny shot her a nasty look that made the woman gulp loudly.

“Oh, I've heard of her,” said Charlie. “She's been hired to be the new Beater for the Vultures, right? She's uh...er...a very handsome woman,” he added tactfully.

“Yes, and her mustache is very neatly trimmed,” quipped Glinda.

Ron wasn't too concerned with this. His mind was on his ten galleons.

“KRUM HAS A GIRLFRIEND?!” he yelled. “KRUM HAS A GIRLFRIEND?!” he bellowed even louder than before when no one answered him the first time. He looked wildly at all of their faces. “WHO HERE KNEW THAT VICTOR KRUM HAD A GIRLFRIEND?!!” he demanded.

Ginny, Lavender, Pristine, Bernadette, and even Glinda raised their hands hesitantly. Ron seemed to be most offended by Lavender's apparent “betrayal”.

“LAV!”

“Luv, I tried to tell you but you just wouldn't listen!”

“You prats!” Ron fumed looking back and forth between George and Fred. “You let me make that sucker's bet when you knew I'd lose. I demand my money back!”

George shook his head. “Sorry, no refunds.”

“But I'm your brother!”

Fred wiped a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

“Breaks your heart, doesn't it?”

Despite Ron's raging indignation, even Ginny couldn't help but laugh at that.

“Good effening Veasleys...Harry,” said a voice in a thick accent. Ginny turned to find Krum and his girlfriend standing behind her. Everyone turned to look at them as well. “Ladies, you all look loffly,” he said as his eyes roved around the table and paused on each woman just long enough to bring a faint blush to each of their cheeks. Pristine simpered like a little bitch in heat, and even Lavender and Glinda smiled broadly at him. Ginny had to admit it; Viktor Krum might walk like a duck, have a uni-brow, and be unintelligible under the best of circumstances, but he sure had sex appeal to spare. Physical being, indeed!

“But vere is our Hermy-own-ninny?” he asked.

He also was dead annoying.

“OH STUFF A BEATERS BAT UP IT!” snapped Ron scowling at him. “C'MON, LAV!” he barked, grabbing her hand and yanking her out of her chair. The two of them marched onto the dance floor that was starting to fill as Buchignani's Belltones began to play and Incantato began to sing.

Everyone stared after the retreating couple.

“Vas it something I said?”

Fred smiled into the confused looking Bulgarian's face.

“Nah. Just a business transaction of his went south,” he joked.

Viktor stayed and chatted with Harry and the other men for a few minutes more before eventually leading his date towards the dancing. Charlie and Bernadette also went off in that direction. Pristine looked longingly at all of the couples swirling about, but George seemed content just sitting there and joking around with Fred. Glinda wasn't too fond of wizard music herself, it tended to give her a migraine. She said that she preferred the sedate blarings of an Ozzy Osbourne concert to it, whatever that meant. Glinda was happy to be sitting out.

Ginny, however, tapped her nails against the surface of the table barely noticing that they were matching the beat of the waltz-like music that was being played. She knew better than to expect Harry to voluntarily dance in front of other people, he was even embarrassed to dance with her the night of their wedding reception. She tried to be satisfied with the fact that he at least hadn't moved from her side all evening long.

“Well would you look at that!”

Ginny brought her attention to George. Seeing that his eyes were drawn to something just over her shoulder she turned to see what it was. Spotting a swath of yellow standing in the doorway; Ginny's bottom jaw nearly unhinged when she realized just who she was looking at.

“WHAT THE HELL?!” exclaimed Harry. He was staring that way as well and had unconsciously risen from his chair.

Glinda was cackling madly.

“God love her; she sure knows how to make an entrance!” she beamed.

The subject of their attention was Hermione. She was dressed in a soft butter yellow cocktail dress, and her hair was pinned atop her head in an artfully messy heap. But that wasn't what was causing stares and a near pile-up at the door. It was her date. Or rather dates, there was apparently two of them. Draco Malfoy and Luna stood on either side of Hermione with an arm linked through each of hers. He was wearing dapperly cut black robes trimmed in gray while Luna was dressed in bottle green.

The three of them looked fabulous and there was a crush of photographers trying to snap their picture. Malfoy appeared to be eating it all up while Luna barely acknowledged that the paparazzi were there at all. She waved at Ginny when she caught sight of her. Hermione was the only one who looked uncomfortable. She smiled stiffly and her escorts appeared to be supporting her weight. If Ginny didn't know any better, when the three of them started moving across the floor, it almost looked like Malfoy was dragging Hermione forward against her will. She looked like she was trying to dig her high heels into the carpet.

“What the hell is she doing here with him?!” growled Harry, glaring between Malfoy and Hermione as they slowly worked their way through the room; pausing every few steps to greet friends, former schoolmates, and acquaintances.

“Who cares?! All that matters is that the money is all ours!” cried Fred merrily. George made a loud whooping sound that seemed to perk up Pristine.

As Luna, Malfoy, and Hermione came near the table Harry motioned for Ginny to budge over a few seats. Ginny looked at him in disbelief for a moment before grudgingly complying. She scooted over to where Ron had been sitting next to George. Instead of thanking her though, Harry was too busy looking expectantly at Hermione, motioning to the chair next to him as he moved into the next seat. Ginny ground her teeth together so hard that she actually made her head throb. Her whole body tensed. Hermione sitting next to Harry was not a good idea. That would give them a chance to talk. That would give them a chance to talk about her. Thankfully Malfoy swooped in and took the offered seat.

“Why thank you, Potty,” he said smirking. Harry just scowled at him.

“Hello everyone,” Hermione said smiling nervously as she sat between Malfoy and Glinda and nodded her head around the table. She stopped short of Ginny and acted as though the redhead wasn't sitting there. Ginny returned the favor. Instead Ginny watched Luna perch herself in Malfoy's lap. The blond's arm wrapped around her hip possessively and Luna sighed into the embrace. Ginny rolled her eyes. Luna and Malfoy could really be disgusting sometimes. By the look on Pristine's face, Ginny could tell that she felt the same. It was puckered up as though she was sucking on a large, overly ripened lemon, but she nodded her head at the new arrivals and greeted them as cordially as she could.

“It looks like we almost missed the festivities,” said Luna dreamily. “Sorry we're late.”

“Why are you so late?” Harry asked Hermione staring directly at her. Ginny noticed that she and Malfoy shared a look before she turned to Harry and answered.

“I couldn't decide on what to wear,” she said with a jittery laugh.

Glinda frowned.

“But Ducks, I thought you had already planned to wear that dre–OW! DID YOU JUST KICK ME?!”

Glinda was bent down rubbing at her ankle under the table and looking up at Hermione sorely. Hermione looked at her angelically.

“Oops. Sorry; foot slipped.”

“Yes, we almost didn't make it,” said Malfoy in a silkily casual voice. “Hermione had to be persuaded to come. For some reason or other she just couldn't be bothered showing up here tonight.”

Ginny felt her skin crawl up her arms, as pale gray eyes raked over her and away.

“Thankfully my Loony Love and I convinced her to change her mind.”

Harry, who hadn't moved his eyes away from Hermione since she had sat down, reached a hand out to hold hers as it rested on the table.

“What's wrong?” he asked concernedly.

“Nothing,” said Hermione, pulling her hand out of his. Harry looked hurt at the action.

“So boys,” said Luna looking back and forth between Fred and George, “I believe that you two have something for me.”

Fred chuckled humorously.

“What, our condolences?” His eyes flickered over to Malfoy and back to her.

Malfoy glowered at him.

“No, my money,” she answered him simply. When the twins, and everyone else for that matter, looked at her confusedly Luna continued by saying, “I won the pool.”

Fred and George sat up straight at that.

“What are you talking about?!” asked Fred.

“You didn't place a bet!” added George.

“And Blondie didn't even come with a date!” they both said.

“Wait a minute, what pool?” asked Hermione curiously.

Glinda leaned over and whispered something in her ear. When she finished, Hermione leaned forward in her chair and furiously glared at the twins.

“Wankers!”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah; fact still remains that you and Malfoy here don't count,” said George to Luna. “Lovely, though you both are.”

“By the way,” said Glinda turning to Hermione, “why did you tell me you had a date?”

“I never said I had a date, you said I had a date. When you offered to set me up with someone I told you that you needn't bother because I already had plans,” Hermione said matter-of-factly. “I had mentioned to Luna that you lot were probably going to try and set me up on a blind date just the day before. I told her that I didn't want to go to the Ball with some stuffed robe I barely knew. She suggested that I just come along with her and Draco. I took her up on the offer.”

“You see!” argued Fred turning to Luna. “Blondie doesn't have a date.”

“But we are her dates,” said Luna. “And I placed a ten galleon wager on us. I sent it anonymously with lover's Pollux. Once you accepted my money the deal was made. Fair is fair boys and lover needs a new pair of Horntail hide boots.”

“What name did you bet on?” asked Fred suspiciously.

“Roland Duanca,” she told him.

Out of the corner of her eyes Ginny saw a curious expression form on Hermione's face.

Fred scanned the parchment in front of him trailing his index finger down the list. As his finger came to a stop, his eyes bulged and he looked up at George helplessly.

“Brother, we've been had!”

Hermione reached over and took the parchment from Fred. She quietly studied it as George began to bluster angrily.

“Well that means nothing! Neither of you is this Duanca bloke...whoever he his,” he trailed off.

“Actually George, they are.”

George and Fred both turned to look at Hermione. The whole table followed suit.

“It's an anagram,” she said.

They both stared blankly at her. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“An anagram...you know? I am Lord Voldemort...Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

“The letters are mixed around!” Ginny said excitedly finally figuring the puzzling situation out. She laughed out loud at Luna's ingeniousness.

“That's right!” said Hermione smiling brightly as she and Ginny's eyes met. Instantly their smiles dropped and they both turned their bodies in opposite directions so they wouldn't have to look at each other.

“Roland Duanca spells out Draco and Luna,” continued Hermione.

The twins looked horrified at this revelation.

“Very good Hermione,” said Luna. “I used Weasley Wheezes’ Mix Around Back Around ink to write it out.

Fred and George began riffling through their pockets looking for all of the bets that people had sent by owl. They threw them onto the table and began going through the pile looking for Luna's.

“What's this Mix Around thing?” asked Hermione.

“Freddy came up with it,” answered Glinda. “It's really big with the 12 to 13 witch-ette set. They use it to write all of their little secrets in their diaries. It's the Hogsmeade's WWW’s top seller.”

“The letters mix up and spell something differently unless the person who wrote it is present,” added Harry.

It was at this point that Fred came across the parchment in question. He stood up from his seat. George also stood up.

“THIS THING HAS BEEN FIXED!” Fred shouted, throwing the paper at his twin.

“AND NOT BY US!” exclaimed George after taking a look at it.

Fred was so outraged that he could barely form a coherent sentence.

“OF ALL OF THE LOW DOWN…DIRTY ROTTEN…UNDERHANDED…DOUBLE DEALING…”

Glinda and Hermione giggled insanely. Harry looked equally amused.

“Luna played you two,” he told them.

A look of adoration crossed Malfoy's face as he looked at the woman in his lap.

“Marry me!” he said.

Luna smiled at him lovingly.

“In due time,” she said as she patted his cheek. Ginny felt nauseated.

“Well would you consider me?” asked George looking at Luna admiringly. “I think I'm in love.”

“Get your own, Weasley!” Malfoy retorted, hugging Luna to him tighter.

Pristine, who had been quiet through all of this, finally lost her patience. George had basically ignored her all night and now, to add insult to injury, he was fawning all over Loony Lovegood. Apparently when it came to men Pristine Pringle was no competition for the spacey blonde.

“NOT AGAIN!” she shrieked before overturning her chair and running for the door. Eight sets of eyes watched her go.

“Is she on the rag?!” asked Malfoy crudely.

George only shrugged his shoulders before gamely chasing after his date. Ginny went to turn back in her seat when she realized that Hermione had been staring at her hatefully; for how long, Ginny wasn't sure. Her dark brown eyes practically bored a hole straight through Ginny's head. But the instant Harry went to say something to her; the look disappeared completely from off her face. Ginny almost wondered if she had imagined the whole thing. But then she saw the penetrating way Malfoy was watching Hermione and herself and Ginny knew she wasn't the only one who caught the moment.

“I feel like dancing,” he suddenly said out of the blue. He gave Hermione a winning smile. “Pet, I believe you promised me a dance.”

Hermione looked at him as though she didn't understand what he was saying.

“Dance?”

“Cut a rug, do a jig; trip the light fandango. Come along.”

“But I don't want to dance right now,” she said.

“But I insist. You don't mind, do you Loony Love?” he asked his girlfriend.

Luna got off of Malfoy's lap so that he could stand up.

“Of course not Lover, but be mindful if the band plays a mazurka. You know how Polish music gives you gas.”

She kissed his cheek and sat down in his place.

“Yes dear,” he said as his pale cheeks turned pink. “Now come along, Hermione,” he said pulling the woman to her feet.

“She doesn't want to dance with you, Malfoy,” Harry said through gritted teeth as he stood up as well.

“I don't believe I was talking to you Potter,” Malfoy said dismissively, not even bothering to look at Harry at first.

“LISTEN FERRET–”

Malfoy swung around towards him. “NO, YOU LOOK HERE BANGS BOY–”

“YOU TWO KNOCK IT OFF!” Hermione railed shrilly at both men, glaring irately at the two of them. “IF IT WILL SHUT YOU UP DRACO, LET’S GO!” she yelled and stormed off towards the dance floor.

The blond smugly smiled at Harry before skipping after her.

As Ginny sighed in relief, she watched Malfoy and Hermione disappear onto the crowded dance floor. Some of the tension that had filled Ginny retreated. She felt that she was finally free to relax.

“Let's dance,” said Harry tensely as he offered her a hand.

Well, there went that quickly.

Not that Ginny didn't want to dance with her husband; she was always happy to show him off she just hated the aggravated look on his face as he took her hand and hustled her quickly into the dancing throng.

They stopped just short of where Hermione and Malfoy were as Harry took her in his arm and began to awkwardly sway back and forth to the music. Under the best of circumstances Harry wasn't that good a dancer. With him trying to keep an eye on both his best friend and his partner, he was a disaster. Not that Ginny noticed much. She also watched the twosome.

The pair moved around the floor elegantly and was actually pretty good. They were so good in fact that one could almost ignore the pinched look on Hermione's face as Malfoy spoke to her in hushed undertones. Some intense words were being traded between the two of them, and by the hostile looks the blond jerk would shoot her every so often Ginny couldn't help but think that she was at the center of their discussion. Although she and Harry were just within earshot, only a few snippets of what was being said could actually be heard over the music.

“I said...out of it!”

“Not until...tell m...what she...”

“Nothing, I...you that already...Stay out of...”

Hermione wrenched from his hold. She gave Malfoy a dirty look in parting before stomping across the floor. She passed by Ginny and Harry but didn't acknowledge them; just kept her face turned towards the exit to the Entrance Hall.

Without saying a word, Harry dropped Ginny's arms and took off after her. For an instant Ginny could only stare after him, stunned. She quickly looked around to see if anyone had caught what had just happened, but all those dancing around Ginny were too busy to care. A very mild tension headache seemed to suddenly develop out of nowhere. She figured it was due to the press of the crowd and the deafening music. Ginny decided then that it was probably best to beat a retreat, maybe get a breath of fresh air until Harry came back.

Ginny ended up in the rose garden. Fairy lights fluttered about in the air and the music coming from the Hall sounded softer, dreamier to the ear. There were rose bushes, trees, and benches scattered about and nearly everywhere she looked she could see the dark figures of couples sitting close together or pressed clandestinely against the trunk of a tree.

The feel of the night air on Ginny's skin felt refreshing, though she was still bothered by the dull throb in her head. She heard the splashing of water nearby and followed the sound of it down a winding cobbled path, passed an array of large stone statues. The sight of water had always been soothing to Ginny. As a small child she spent as much of her time as she could in the pond behind the Burrow. When she was little, Ginny used to think there was nothing more beautiful than the sight of sunlight breaking across a glistening blue surface. Sometimes she would just sit in front of the pond and dream the day away.

After a short stroll the path came to an end near a white stone fountain. But the sight of it brought Ginny no peace. The sound of a sultry giggle filled Ginny with such an unwieldy disquiet that she felt almost as though the world had been ripped right from under her feet. She felt paralyzed, like she couldn't move. But move she did. Ginny scampered behind a large birch and only peeked from around it when she was sure that the couple hadn't spotted her.

“See,” said Candide in a teasing voice, “I told you that you weren't hopeless.”

“You are being entirely too kind,” answered Neville. “You aren't even familiar with the music and yet you've gotten the hang of it easily. That doesn't say much for me I'm afraid.”

“That's because dancing is in my blood. I could probably dance to a pennywhistle and a spoon if I had to.”

Neville laughed.

“But you Neville Longbottom are definitely light on your feet.”

“That's only because I'm heavy on your toes.”

Candide cloyingly giggled.

Neville and the little ballerina bonbon were wrapped in each others arms dancing to the faint strains of music coming from the Hall. They looked for the entire world like two people in love.

In love?

No, thought Ginny savagely, it can't be! But those thoughts were useless really. Ginny had been a witness to the sad conclusions of all of Neville's few affairs. She had also seen the beginnings. Neville had never spoken to any of those women as tenderly as he was speaking to Candide. He had never held any of those women in his arms so protectively. He had never brushed their hair back and away from their face with such gentleness. He had never looked at another woman that way since...

Ginny felt herself grow enraged. How dare Neville be out here enjoying himself with that slag when her life was crumbling to bits? He was supposed to be her friend. He was supposed to care! But instead he was wasting his time away on some dumb Muggle bint who would only break his heart in the long run. Look at her, thought Ginny contemptuously as she eyed the kimono-ish dress robes Candide was wearing. She barely knew a wand from a stick up her arse a few months ago and now she was lapping this whole thing up! It was obvious that Candide was only using Neville; why else would she be bothered with him?

“Look at you,” said Neville somehow managing to embrace the woman even tighter than before. “You are so graceful and poised,” he smiled bashfully, “and I look like some bumbling puppy next to you.”

Candide grinned. She moved a hand of hers into the tuft of brown hair at the nape of Neville's neck.

“I like puppies,” she said sweetly.

Ginny thought that she would gag. Neville couldn't possibly be falling for this.

“I like you,” he said sheepishly.

Ginny’s nails practically tore into the bark of the tree.

Candide moved to rest her head against Neville's shoulder.

“I like you too. In fact, I think I like you a little too much. Don't think I'm crazy if I tell you this, but...I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Ginny inhaled so sharply that it almost hurt. She actually felt like she had been physically kicked in the stomach. She was surprised to look down and discover that her legs hadn't given out from under her. Leave! Go now! Run! She knew that she shouldn't be watching this, she knew that she was about to see something that couldn't be taken back, but her limbs refused to move.

Neville pulled back to gaze into Candide's face. The moonlight, playing across her alabaster skin, made her look almost ethereal. He stared at her for what felt like an eternity.

“I don't think you crazy,” Ginny heard him say.

Then, as she watched with dawning horror, Neville began to lower his head...

To Be Continued...

A/N: Next up in the conclusion of Chapter 18. Things to look forward to: a choice is made that effects the future, Candide shows herself to be perhaps a more formidable force than Ginny gave her credit for, and Draco and Mrs. Potter share a “special” dance. Look for fireworks and I don't mean the good kind.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Leontyne Scrimgeour, Apollodorus Midgen(Shunpike), Incantato Buchignani, Gavin Gibbons, Cyril Needlemeier, and Ljuba Emanuilova are canon.

2) “Harry, what are you doing?” is taken from pg.103 of GoF. Just making sure no suits come after me.

3) Although Eloise more than likely is in Hufflepuff house(according to the Lexicon), I made her a Gryff for the story.

4) 10 galleons equals out to about £50/$98.00

5) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them an aethonon is a chestnut colored breed of winged horse. A (blood-sucking)bugbear is a magical creature, probably resembling a bear, that in legend ate naughty children.

6) Gavin Gibbons' Ghostly Troubadours, The Wanton Witch Emporium, the Committee to Preserve House-elf Historical Habitats, Lancelot’s Limerick Liqueur, Buchignani’s Belltones, and Mix Around Back Around ink are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

22. Chapter 18b

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 15,902

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: Padfoot & murphsmine. Couldn't do it without them!

WARNING: This is a continuation from the last chapter so expect TONS of G/N. Harry and Hermione don't make an appearance sadly (though they are mentioned constantly through out), but hopefully you will appreciate the sprinkle of D/G “action”.

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.

As the bedroom door slowly crept open, Ginny didn't give it or her guest any thought. Instead her attention remained fixed on her two feet that were encased in a pair of satiny off-white shoes. The open-toed sling backs were daringly high for her, and if a good breeze were to come through her window it might have toppled the diminutive young woman to the floor. But she was so entranced by the sight of her ten little toes in the shoes that she didn't care if the straps were sawing into the backs of her ankles, or that the big toe on her right foot felt pinched and was turning purple.

She didn't even care that the shoes weren’t quite the same color as her robes, although she was terribly prideful of the fact that she was one of the few brides that could wear virginal white on her wedding day and actually mean it. The Italian silk shoes with the low heels that she had carelessly tossed into a corner somewhere were a better fit and matched the robes perfectly, but they hid her pedicure from sight and to Ginny's mind that was a small travesty.

Her toenails were a fascinating color of red, Jungle Red as Glinda called it, and the shade made Ginny feel sexy and daring. Although Ginny knew all about Muggle nail polish and that they came in a rainbow of choices, Ginny had never worn anything on her nails other than the mawkish pink that her mother liked for her to don for special occasions. Ginny herself preferred them nicely buffed and clean if any thing. But once Glinda started painting the crimson enamel on her toes Ginny had been smitten. Glinda had also painted all of her brides maid's toes; Hermione, Luna, Angelina, Alicia, Katie, and cousin Mafalda's, along with every one of their female friends they could manage to hold down long enough that evening.

It had been Ginny's hen night. Hermione had come up with the idea to have a “grown-up” slumber party at her flat, complete with frosty drinks with little umbrellas and naughty parlor games. At first Ginny had hated it; she had hoped for something a little more sophisticated, but once the alcohol had seeped through her system, a feathery boa had been wrapped around her neck, and Glinda had pulled out the bottle of Jungle Red, her aversion towards the idea had been flung far aside.

Of course her mother hadn't been too pleased with her new pedicure later on. Molly Weasley found it vulgar and said it made her look cheap. She made no bones about her distaste and told Ginny, her daughters-in-law, Hermione and anyone else who would listen that only, “those kinds of women” would wear something so tawdry. Naturally Glinda Weasley took that as a compliment.

When Molly insisted that Ginny remove the polish she out and out refused to have it taken off, but since the front of the ugly shoes that Hermione had picked out were enclosed, Ginny's father had settled the Weasley women standoff by deciding that little Ginny should have her way on this one thing. Besides, what difference would any of it make if no one got to see the offending piggies, he argued.

Well to Ginny it made a hell of a difference! It was her wedding and she felt as though she had no say in any of the planning whatsoever. Every suggestion she gave Hermione fell on deaf ears, and her mother and the brunette left her out of all of the important decision making. Ginny had finally had enough. She was going to take a stand! Her feet were far too pretty to hide in a pair of clunky old heels. She was determined to have her way on this, and if that meant walking down the aisle with her toenails an inappropriate color, and in shoes that were the wrong shade and didn't quite fit right, well...by Merlin she bloody well would walk down the aisle with whore red toenails and in too tight shoes!

If only the damned things matched.

“Hermione, I don't care what you or mum say. I like these shoes better than the other ones. My feet have never looked so small and dainty, don't you think?” she asked her visitor who had been oddly silent upon entering the room. Ginny hadn't pondered the strangeness of this, nor did she bother to look up as she asked her question, she merely continued to admire her feet. It was no surprise then that the answer she received nearly made her keel over face first.

“To tell you the truth, I don't think I've ever seen a pair of feet half as lovely as those.”

Ginny's red head snapped up at the sound of the familiar male voice.

“Nev?!”

For hours Ginny had been all alone in the house. Her mum was at Hogwarts supervising the finishing touches for the wedding ceremony. The Great Hall was being enchanted to look like a throne room fit for the Faerie Queen herself. Molly was determined to make sure that everything was perfect for her only daughter's wedding day.

Fleur, Bill, and her dad were all at work. Instead of busying herself with more important matters, Ginny had been waiting around at the Burrow all day for her Maid of Honour to show up. Hermione was supposed to leave work at noon, then come over to the house so that the two of them could go over the final seating chart for the Ending Party that next night. By three o’clock, with no sign of the usually punctual swot in sight, Ginny's barely sustained patience had snapped as easily as a cherry wood wand, and her need to cure her boredom had taken over.

Littered all over the room were sheets of parchment that Ginny had been practicing her future signature on. 'Ginny Potter' was easier on the ear than 'Ginevra Weasley-Potter' and would look better on stationary she had come to decide. When she had grown tired of that distraction she had gone downstairs and opened all of the wedding gifts that had already arrived and were being stored in the front parlor. The only present she didn't touch was the one with the holes in it that would rattle and make scratching noises every so often. She knew that Hagrid's heart was in the right place, she just wasn’t barmy enough to see exactly where that place was. Once that bit of curiosity had been fulfilled she cast an Obvulvus on the packages and trotted back upstairs as all of the gifts began to meticulously wrap themselves up again. Finding herself still bored after that, Ginny did the only logical thing she could think of next. She put on her wedding robes.

Originally Ginny had dreamed of going to Paris or some place as equally fabulous to pick out her robes, but the same evening her mum had placed Auntie Muriel's tiara on her head Molly had tearfully placed a box into her daughter's arms as well. Inside the box were Grandmum Prewett’s wedding robes, the very same robes that Molly had worn when she got married. Now she was passing them on to her little girl. Ginny had been so overcome by the sentimentality of the moment that she had tried them on right on the spot. Although Molly had been taller and a few stones heavier than Ginny at that age, a few quick alteration charms easily solved any problems.

That night had been the last time Ginny had worn them. Luckily she hadn't gained an ounce in the weeks since then and they still fit perfectly. They had fit so well that Ginny didn't even want to take them off. She swanned about her room tossing admiring glances at herself in her small mirror as the looking glass paid her one compliment after another. The only criticism it did give was on the pointy shoes that Hermione liked so damned much and that had promptly ended up in the corner. Ginny had sided with the mirror. She had just slipped on the sling backs when she heard someone knocking at the front door of the house.

“It's unlocked,” she had loudly called out. “I'm upstairs in my room. Just come in,” she had invited her guest, her voice colored by only a hint of annoyance. Ginny had left her door partially ajar to listen out for Hermione’s arrival and had naturally assumed that the footsteps on the stairs were hers. Because it was only Hermione she didn't bother taking the robes off. She figured that since Hermione had left her waiting with nothing to do for so long, the bossy know-it-all could stand around as Ginny took her sweet time to change. However seeing Neville's sunny face in her doorway made Ginny realize what an unwise decision that had been.

“NEVILLE!” Ginny shrieked. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?! TURN AROUND! TURN AROUND!” she yelled repeatedly as she frantically waved her arms in front of her. “Don't you know that it's bad luck to see the bride in her robes before the wedding?!”

Neville, taken aback for only a moment by Ginny's hysterics, couldn’t help but chuckle as he gamely turned his back to the agitated little witch.

“Considering the fact that I'm not the lucky bloke who is marrying you, I think your fate is safe,” he said, barely concealing his amusement. “That only goes for the groom. Besides, that's just some old Muggle superstition. When did you start believing in those?”

“Since Hermione started filling my head with all sorts of rubbish,” she grumbled, feeling like a perfect idiot. She was blushing furiously from the embarrassment of being caught in the act of playing dress-up.

But there was also some small part of her that wasn't too frazzled to recognize that the way Neville had been looking at her earlier, while she was clad in her wedding whites, might have had something to do with the state of her pink cheeks as well.

The second Neville turned to face the door Ginny grabbed her wand and performed a switching spell on her clothes. When she finally told Neville that he could turn around again her mum's robes were laid out on her coverlet while she was dressed in a light cashmere dressing gown that had previously been draped across the foot of the bed. Scattered about were other items of clothing that were a part of her trousseau, and were all waiting to be packed for the Honeymoon. Ginny didn't give a thought to the impropriety of the situation since it was only Neville. He had been her closest friend for so long after all.

“There, all better now,” she said as she dropped her wand on the bed. She didn't miss the bolt of color that flashed across Neville's face when he got a gander at what she was wearing, but being the gentleman that he was, Neville quickly recovered and gave her a warm, affable smile.

“So what's this I'm hearing about a shoe?” he asked as he took a few confident steps from the open doorway to come further into the room.

“Two shoes actually. See.”

She lifted a foot and held out a slender leg towards him.

“I was just trying them on with my robes.”

“They are quite becoming.”

Ginny's foot fell back slowly to the floor.

“I think so too,” she said. “But I'm supposed to be wearing those,” Ginny grumped as she motioned her head in the direction that the ivory heels had been carelessly thrown.

“Uh...those are nice too,” Neville said as he glanced at them and back at her. The look on his face said otherwise.

“What do you really think, Nev?” Ginny asked with a perceptive grin.

“They are nice,” he insisted. “That is if you go for the repressed schoolmarm look.”

Neville smiled at his own joke and so did Ginny.

“Well I don't, but I don't think I'll really get a say one way or the other.” There was a brooding note to her voice as she spoke.

Ginny wandered over to the bed nearest to the wall, the one that Hermione would sleep in when she used to spend the night, and plopped herself gracelessly on the mattress. Neville, however, found her melancholy mood perplexing.

“Why not?” he asked. He moved a few stray sheets of parchment and clothes out of the way and joined her on the bed. “If you like those shoes,” he gestured towards her feet, “you should wear those shoes.”

Neville's eyes then brightened as though his mind had settled on some fabulous idea.

“In fact,” he said as he sat up to draw his wand from the side pocket of his trousers, “there. That should be about right.”

Neville had pointed his wand at her feet and magically the shoes were changed. Ginny marveled at the transformation. Whereas they had been off-white before, almost egg shell in shade, they now were the same ivory color of her robes. They even fit better; her big toe was returning to its natural hue. That was just like Neville; knowing exactly what she needed without her even having to say a word.

“Neville, you're amazing! Why didn't I think of that?” She reached over and engulfed him in a crushing hug. “They're perfect!”

“As are you,” he tenderly said. The heat from his breath tickled her neck and shot warring measures of pleasure and chaos through her. It unsettled Ginny so much that she found herself shooting off the bed as though she had been launched from it. She kicked off her shoes and they rolled under her bed. She then sat on the neighboring bed, mindful of her dress robes, and forced a wobbly smile.

It had just come out to play again. She didn't know what else to call it or even what it was. Just every so often it would rise up between her and Neville; some unmovable monolith that couldn't be seen, but would make its presence known all the same. At times Ginny wondered what would happen if she simply acknowledged that it was there. Would that be so bad? Would that destroy the natural order of things? Would the sun just forget itself and fall out of the sky if either she or Neville admitted that it existed? Rather than find out the answers to these questions, Ginny would always chose to ignore it; pretend it wasn't there. Just as she was doing now.

“I thought you were Hermione,” said Ginny, her voice sounding strained at an octave much higher than what was normal for her. She coughed to clear her throat and said again, “I thought you were Hermione. That's why I said you could come up. For all I knew you could have been a vampire. I could have given complete access of the Burrow to a vampire!”

She was rambling.

Finding her chatter cute, Neville said, “This is true. But from what I understand most vampires like to sleep in a bit later than this.”

“You know what I mean,” she said, holding up her bare feet to wriggle ten Jungle Red toes at him. He was having fun with her and she deserved it, but she couldn't help but feel cross at acting so foolish. So she decided to vent her frustration on her usual target of late.

“Damn Hermione for making me sit around waiting for her! I've obviously gone mental. She should have been here hours ago!” Ginny whinged petulantly as she folded her arms across her chest.

That caught Neville's attention.

“You're waiting on Hermione?” he asked. When she nodded he replied, “Then you're going to want to put a kettle on; she's going to be a while.”

Ginny frowned as her arms dropped to her lap. “What do you mean?”

“I just left her in town; she was having a bother of a time.”

This piece of information infuriated Ginny.

“WELL WHAT WAS SHE DOING?!” she shouted at Neville. He merely stared at her as though she had taken leave of her senses.

Ignoring that, Ginny jumped up from the bed and began pacing back and forth in front of him.

“Oh, I just knew I shouldn't have chosen her to be my Maid of Honour! I knew that Hermione would find a way to spoil everything!”

To be truthful, Ginny had never wanted Hermione as her Maid of Honour in the first place. The two young women had barely been on speaking terms for a long while, and sometimes Ginny got the impression that Hermione would go out of her way just to avoid her. If Hermione thought she was too good for her and her family that suited Ginny just fine. To hell with her! But when it came time to select her wedding party, Molly had tried to convince Ginny that having Hermione as her Maid of Honour made perfect sense; efficient, dependable, trustworthy Hermione. According to Molly, though Muggle-born, Hermione was meticulous enough to orchestrate the Rites exactly to protocol.

Dragon dung!

Ginny was no fool. She knew that her mother was using her wedding as just another veiled attempt to get Hermione and her prat of a brother married off. Molly figured that planning a wedding would put ideas in the brunette's head and maybe soften her up enough to finally say yes the next time Ron tried another one of his disastrous proposals. Of course Ginny had balked at the suggestion. Making Hermione her Maid of Honour essentially meant putting the woman in charge of the whole show. No way was Ginny going to give her that much control.

But when her mum had mentioned the idea to Harry before the Naming Tea, he had thought the idea brilliant. Ginny felt forced to agree with him. Everyone commented on what a fabulous selection Ginny had made in Hermione and how lucky she was to have her taking care of every little thing for her. Ginny would just plaster on an insincere smile at those times and concur readily with them, but inside she was seething. Harry would listen and agree to every decision Hermione made leaving Ginny to feel like she was the odd man out every time. Just like in school, he looked towards his best friend for the solution to almost every problem. Ginny stood by and watched it all wondering if this was what her married life would be like as well; would every important step in her and Harry's marriage have to be screened by Hermione for her approval?

That thought made Ginny's already burgeoning resentment towards her so-called “sister” grow and grow every day until the point that it would rear up and lash out at the other girl almost without provocation. Nothing Hermione did was good enough for Ginny. She knew that eventually Hermione would wreck everything. If anything went wrong with the wedding it would all be Hermione's fault! In fact, Ginny spouted off as much to Neville as he sat back in amazement and listened to her rant away. Before Ginny could really get going though, Neville grabbed her hands to hold her firmly in place.

“I believe you would think differently if you saw what I saw,” said Neville, trying to settle her nerves. “Hermione has been at the Cadabra House all day. Pomona sent me over with the floral settings for the bridal party table. Well, when I got there none of the decorations for your reception had been put up yet and Hermione and the manager were having words.”

“Words?”

“Well technically speaking she would only let the poor fellow get one word in at a time. You know, she really is scary once you get her going,” he said smiling fondly. That didn't help lighten Ginny's already rotten mood.

“Yes, yes Neville,” she said snidely, “but tell me what happened!” she demanded.

“The manager overbooked the banquet hall.”

“Oh no!” Ginny exclaimed fretfully.

“Oh yes,” Neville answered back.

He pulled her down to sit on the bed beside him again. He hadn't bothered letting go of her hands.

“The manager floo'ed Hermione at the Ministry to tell her that there had been an oversight and that the reception wouldn't be able to start until well after ten tomorrow night. He claimed that some goblin fraternal organization had already reserved the room for an awards ceremony before her. I suspect the greedy-guts was just trying to make another galleon where he could.”

“That's not fair; we were supposed to have the hall the entire evening!”

Neville leaned in closer to her.

“Hermione very politely explained this to the fellow. When that didn't do the trick, she conjured up all of the receipts and paperwork right into his hands. When he still tried to argue with her, she accused him of everything from out and out chicanery to being the second coming of Grindelwald in the flesh. She then threatened to drag him and his shady business doings through every court in the land, even all the way to the Wizengamot if need be. That shut him up quickly. When I left he was fuming, she was making sure that the 24 foot anatomically correct goblin lady by the door was being dismantled, and they were ironing out the rest of the details for tomorrow. I wouldn't expect to see Hermione 'til well after sundown if I were you.”

She could tell that Neville found the whole thing hysterical and expected her to laugh right along with him. However his story did not have the desired effect on Ginny that he had hoped it would.

“Great, just great. A whole day wasted thanks to her,” Ginny darkly muttered.

Neville tried to cheer her up.

“Just think, with Hermione on the case yours and...” he paused as an uncomfortable expression flickered quickly over his face then disappeared, “...and Harry's Ending Party should be corking.”

It hadn't occurred to Ginny until that very moment that this was the first time she had ever heard Neville acknowledge the fact that she was marrying Harry. Of course he had congratulated her profusely when she had told him the news about the engagement, and he had happily accepted Harry's invitation to be one of his groomsmen. But whenever Neville talked about the approaching ceremony he always referred to it as her wedding. Never hers and Harry's. Just hers. Because Ginny had been mulling over this thought she almost missed the rest of what Neville had been saying.

“...Luna and I will have a fine time tomorrow, I'm sure.”

Ginny blinked absently. “Luna?” she questioned distractedly.

“I asked her to be my date for the evening,” Neville replied.

“Oh!” Ginny tried her best not to sound too surprised at the news.

“Since I'm walking with her down the aisle it made sense. Besides Luna is a great girl, we have loads in common, and I really enjoy her company.”

Ginny jerked her hands away from Neville's as her face darkened. Her eyebrows turned downward as her forehead wrinkled harshly.

“Oh?!”

“Not like that. And you know how hung up she is on your brother,” he chided as he scooted closer to Ginny and rested a surprisingly firm hand on her left thigh. He squeezed, and Ginny felt her pulse quicken and the back of her kneecaps go sweaty. Her face remained unresponsive, though.

“It's just that Luna and I have always understood each other,” continued Neville. “Even though you guys were nice enough to share a few of your adventures with us it wasn't always easy standing on the outside looking in at you four; Ron and Hermione...Harry...you.”

He removed his hand and Ginny immediately missed its warmth.

“But you probably don't know what I’m talking about, do you?”

In Ginny's mind's eye she could see her 11 year old self longingly watching three close figures climb up the staircase of Gringotts.

“You'd be surprised,” she said with a wistful and a far off look in her eyes.

“Well the way I see it, Luna's pining away over someone...I'm pining away over someone...”

Ginny's head turned to face Neville so fast that it felt as though it would almost snap off. She looked at him in astonishment, mouth hanging open at how forthright he was being. Was he about to mention it? Was he going to touch that unmentionable obstacle? Instead he only chuckled dryly.

“We both can get pissed and commiserate together,” he joked, shyly averting his eyes from hers. Ginny wondered if maybe all Neville needed was a little careful prodding.

“Why are you here Neville?” she asked him, smiling reassuringly.

Neville blinked as though her question had confunded him. Then he slapped a hand to his forehead.

“How forgetful of me,” he said as he stood up and removed a small velvet box from out of his other pocket. “I've been chatting away with you for so long that I almost forgot what brought me out here. Seeing Hermione reminded me that I hadn't given you your present yet. I wanted you to have it before...well, just before.”

Ginny stood up. “But you already got me and Harry a welcome mat,” she said sounding bewildered.

It wasn't until Neville raised an eyebrow at her gaffe that Ginny realized what she had said.

“Whoops.”

Neville only grinned back at her.

“I'm not going to ask how you already know about that.”

Ginny giggled. “Good. I'm almost too ashamed to tell you.”

“I'm sorry about that though,” he said apologetically. “I know it's rather useless. But when I was in the store I really couldn't settle on anything else and I sort of...panicked.” Neville's hazel eyes looked at her sheepishly and Ginny thought to herself that she had never seen a pair of eyes that were as sweet and thoughtful.

“Oh, but it's a nice Welcome mat,” she said as she reached a hand out to squeeze one of his. “It really is. Thank you. Harry and I will get a lot of use out of it.”

Although Neville's face retained its boyish smile, his eyes lost a measure of their sparkle.

“You're welcome. But that gift is for Mr. and Mrs. Potter.”

“Oh?”

He nodded his head and held the small black box out to Ginny.

“This...this present is for Gin,” he said.

Her curiosity aroused, Ginny reached out a tentative hand to take the box from his palm. The uncertainty of what the tiny container could hold both excited her and held her in check.

“Go on, open it,” he prodded.

“What is it?” she asked looking up into his eyes.

“Well you'll never know unless you open it,” he affectionately teased. This made Ginny blush and finally open the box.

In scarcely more than the wisp of a voice Ginny barely got out the words, “Oh Nev!”

Sitting in the case, on a small bed of velvet, was a large, startlingly blue pendant. It looked as though it were made out of some crystal-like matter, although Ginny didn't recognize the gem. The beautiful bauble enthralled Ginny and she was spellbound by the swirling blue world that seemed to be encased within it. When no further words would come from her, Neville dropped the box on one of the beds and held the pendant up by its thin platinum chain.

“It's called a selkie stone,” he told her.

“Selkie? That’s a mermaid, right?”

Her eyes seemed to follow the dangling pendant as it lazily swung back and forth before bringing her eyes back to him.

“A changeling, more like,” Neville explained. “They can transform from seals to humans.”

“I think I remember Hagrid talking about them in class once.” She caught up the stone between her fingers to get a better look at it.

“My Uncle Algie swears that one rescued him once when he was vacationing in the Orkneys. He fell out of his fishing boat. Aunt Enid says he was just sloshed. Anyhow, this stone is like a Remembrall; it caries a bit of the sea in it. When a selkie takes human shape it makes one of these to remind itself that no matter how happy it is on land it will always be a part of the sea; it can always go back to where it truly belongs.”

Ginny felt a tear form in the corner of her eye. “That's a beautiful thought.”

“I thought so too. That's why when I saw it at Borgin and Burkes…”

Ginny's startled eyes cut quickly to Neville. Her hand drew back from the stone.

“You got this in Knockturn Alley?!”

Realizing her concern, Neville shook his head adamantly.

“Oh it's not dark! I would never, ever give you something that could…that might…”

Neville's woeful expression looked so determined, so resolute as he tried to assure her that he would never do anything to harm her that his dear troubled face settled any qualms she might have had in accepting the gift.

“I know, Neville. I know,” she told him, touching his shoulder to calm his worries. Her touch seemed to comfort him.

“I had gone into Knockturn Alley to go to Shrivelfigg's. Old Man Shrivelfigg sells his gurdyroot dirt cheap, you see,” he began as he tried to explain just how he had ended up in the dark goods store.

Ginny held back her laughter. Neville could be almost as bad about his plants as Hagrid would be about his wee beasties at times.

“Unluckily for me I ran into this drunken, hiccupping hag who decided that I looked an awful lot like her dearly departed husband, Hildebrand. She chased me through the streets and tried to lay one on me!” exclaimed Neville causing Ginny to outright snort at his plight.

He smiled bashfully.

“I ran for my life! I took cover in Burkes. I was shocked to see a selkie stone in there; they have very little magic in them once the selkie discards it and goes back to the water. But since Burke got carted off to Azkaban Borgin has been collecting all sorts of doodads; most of it not evil at all. Just between you and me, I think the poor old man might be a bit touched in the head,” Neville shared. “He kept going on and on about how lonely life had gotten since his dear heart went away, how much he dearly missed his other half. But he gave me a nice deal on this.”

Neville looked at the pendant.

“I hear that Muggle children sometimes find these washed ashore and take them home to use as marbles, but wizards tend to leave them alone unless they want to call back the selkie it belonged to and make it his bride. Still, it’s very pretty,” he said finishing his tale.

Ginny took the pendant out of Neville's hand.

“It's as blue as the pond out back,” she said as she gazed once more into it, a small smile curving her lips.

Although Ginny's attention was drawn to the pendant, Neville's eyes never left her enraptured face.

“Funny, I saw it and all I could think of was your eyes.”

Ginny glanced up and was engulfed in a world of hazel. Suddenly her palms began to feel clammy and she feared that they would become so sweaty that the selkie stone would slip right out of her grasp and shatter into a million pieces upon hitting the floor.

And there it went again; that thing that had no name but was as real as Neville and herself. Ginny had no idea how long it had been standing between the two of them, but she recalled in great detail the very moment she discovered it had been residing in that space.

It was her last Hogsmeade visit as a student at Hogwarts. Harry was at an away game in Ballycastle and couldn't come and see her, but after a hastily sent owl, Neville had shown up at the gates to escort her around the village.

They had enjoyed themselves so much that afternoon. He told her all about his schoolwork up at Aberdeen. She confided in him how less lonely she felt whenever he came to visit. They both dared each other to try an acid pop at Honeydukes, and both giggled like lunatics as they each magicked the hole in the other's tongue away. Neville even let Ginny talk him into having tea at Madame Puddifoot's. He even pretended not to be allergic to the pink confetti the little cherubs tossed onto his brown head.

At the end of the day, when it was almost time for her to go do her Head Girl duties, he walked her back towards the castle. On the way over a pebble had somehow gotten into one of Ginny's thin slippers, almost hobbling her. Neville gallantly got her to the nearest bench and removed the slipper from her foot to extract the jagged little rock. As he held it up for her to see, he laughingly kidded that he would hold on to it as a keepsake to always remember her by. The two of them shared a laugh at the joke. But as their smiles slowly faded, Ginny felt some entity shoehorn itself right next to her and the young man she thought of as the closest friend she had ever had.

And there it remained to this day.

“Put it on me?”

Ginny handed the chain back to Neville. She saw the apprehension alight in his eyes for a moment, but he quickly bobbed his head to cover it up.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said as Ginny turned around and held her long hair up. Neville stepped closer to her and dropped the selkie stone over her head, bringing the chain around her neck to fasten the clasp. The pendant felt cool as it rested against the pale freckled skin Ginny's dressing gown didn't cover.

When Neville was done his hands hesitated at the back of her neck, as though not wanting to move from there, but eventually they fell to his sides. Ginny turned back to face him.

“There,” said Neville as he smiled down at her, “now if you are ever in doubt, you can look at this and remember where you are meant to be.”

Closing her eyes as the tears began to burn in them, Ginny threw herself into Neville's arms.

“Oh, Nev! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” she said over and over again as she stood on the very tips of her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck. She held on tightly to Neville as though she was sinking and he was the only thing that could keep her afloat. She didn't understand why she was feeling so weepy all of a sudden.

As Neville rubbed comforting circles into her back, she felt an overwhelming sense of grief; as though she were about to lose something terribly dear to her. As Ginny choked back a sob, she turned her tear stained face up to look at Neville. She found him staring back at her with such unrepentant yearning in his eyes that it almost made her knees knock together. In all her young life she couldn't recall anyone ever looking at her like that before and it terrified Ginny to think that maybe no one ever would again. That thought made her feel lost and mixed-up. She didn't know if she was coming or going. She didn't even know if her brain was still in the same vicinity as the rest of her body. How else to explain the reason for her eyes closing and her head slowly tilting back?

“I g-guess I'll see you tomorrow n-night then, Gin,” Neville stammered nervously as he pulled her arms from around his neck and hastily stepped back from her.

Ginny opened her eyes and stared back dumbly at him. Neville seemed determined to look at anything but her. His whole body was shaking and he began staring at the opened doorway as though readying his escape.

“The party should be fun. I look forward to seeing you and Harry there...”

Ginny shivered at the mention of her fiancé's name. It was as though a bucket of ice water had been thrown on her, pulling her from her stupor. Harry? Harry Potter? For a moment it was almost as if she had forgotten that such a person existed. She chalked that up to having had no contact with him since the week long Seclusion began. For seven days now she and her fiancé had been separated, kept apart. They were supposed to use the time away from each other to decide whether or not they really wanted to go through with the Rites. Ginny used the time harrying Hermione into telling her the name of every witch who had tried to take advantage of the situation and make the moves on Harry during the short time period. She wouldn't get to see her future husband again until the Ending Party. But Ginny wasn't thinking about all that at the moment.

“Neville...”

“I really should be going,” he said as he skirted past her to get to the door. “I need to pop back over to school and drop off an assignment that’s due. I also have a study group to meet with and...”

He was almost out the door when she caught hold of his arm.

“Neville...please don't go,” she begged him.

“I CAN’T, GIN!” Neville said savagely as he tore his arm from her grip and whipped around to face her. “I CAN'T!” he frantically stated again. His outburst was so violent that it momentarily stunned Ginny into silence. She only held her tongue for a second though before carefully inching her way to him. He was like a skittish unicorn foal she was scared she would shy away.

“Neville...”

She wanted to know what he was thinking, what he was feeling. Was he tired of not knowing what truly lay between them as well? But the words died on her lips as soon as Ginny looked into Neville's anguish filled eyes. They were begging her for something, but Ginny couldn't figure out just what that something could be.

“Please don't do this to me! Just...don't,” he implored. “I love you.”

Ginny's heart leapt into her throat at those words...then came barreling back down into her gut as he continued to speak.

“Merlin help me, that I love you. That's why I can't. In fact it's because I love you I know that I have to leave this room right now.”

The fact that she was getting married in only two days seemed to hold very little concern for her.

“But why...”

“BECAUSE I'M NOT STRONG ENOUGH, GINNY!” Neville railed at her, finally losing his painfully maintained composure.

Ginny gaped at him.

“That’s why! I'm trying my best to get through the next few days, but I'm really not that strong!” he cried.

Ginny's brow furrowed. “Strong enough for what?”

Neville's frustration seemed to drain away from him all at once leaving him looking deflated and defeated. He looked at her miserably.

“I'm not strong enough to kiss you, then watch you marry someone who isn't me. You see,” he took a step close to her and Ginny felt herself tense in giddy anticipation, “if I started kissing you I might never stop.”

Ginny never knew what possessed her to say what she did.

“What if I didn't want you to?”

The question positively floored Neville. An emotion that closely resembled hope spread across his face.

“Do you love me too?”

“I...”

Ginny paused, then blinked. It was like her brain and her lips had gone momentarily out of sync. She had started to speak when all of a sudden her mind drew a complete blank. The next thing she knew she heard a small voice in the back of her head warning her that she was about to ruin everything. It almost sounded like herself but younger; somehow more desperate. Ginny tried to ignore it, tried to answer Neville as best as she could, but the almost hopeful expression had already died from his face before she could say anything.

“I don't know,” was what finally came out.

Neville watched her face for only a second before shaking his head and turning for the door again. Ginny was desperate to make him stay with her until they figured this all out, though. She quickly placed herself between him and the exit.

“No, wait! I know it's different than what I feel for Harry,” she tried to explain. “You understand me Neville. And you make me smile.”

At this she gave him her prettiest grin, but he remained unmoved by her charm. Not letting that deter her, she continued on.

“Then there is the fact that you know just about every little thing about the real me and yet you still remain my friend.”

The corner of Neville's mouth just barely turned upwards, but that small victory gave Ginny the courage to say what she said next.

“And just now, when you were holding me in your arms, I know that I wanted you to kiss me.”

She then lowered her eyes demurely to the floor and awaited a response.

“You don't know what you want, do you?”

Ginny’s surprised eyes darted back to Neville's stony face.

“You want to test drive me. Try me out for kicks, then throw me back on the pile after you are done.”

“What?! No! That's not it at all!” Ginny vehemently denied.

“Or maybe you're just bored.”

Ginny was dumbfounded by Neville's harsh accusations. It was as if he was purposely trying to wound her.

“Ginny, what have you wanted since you were a small girl?”

She felt dizzied by the quick change in topic. What did that have to do with anything, she stubbornly wondered. She found herself growing irritated that he would even ask her such a stupid question.

“Neville…”

“Answer the question, Ginny. What have you wanted since you were a child?”

“Harry, but...”

“Doesn’t it seem odd that just when you are about to get him, you pull a stunt like this? Why now, Ginny? And why use me? Merlin! I know you have a heart in there somewhere; I just wish you would show it more often.”

“I’m not using you!”

“No, you’re not.” He then squared his shoulders and resolutely said, “Because I won’t let you. I’m not going to let you mess up your life just because suddenly you developed a case of cold feet at the eleventh hour. Tomorrow you'll be over it and then where will that leave me?”

“But that's not what this is!” she protested. “I never said that I didn’t want to marry Harry. I still want to be Mrs. Harry Potter; that has never changed. But you and me...”

Ginny wracked her mind trying to find the right words to make him understand her, even if she didn’t understand herself.

“Aren't you even at least a little curious? Haven't you ever wondered? Don't you want to see?” she temptingly asked as she boldly pressed her body closer to his and turned her blue eyes up at him.

Ginny saw the desire arise instantly in Neville's eyes. She was so close to him that she felt his desire rise up elsewhere as well. She was playing with fire now and she knew it judging by Neville's reaction, but Ginny had always been the type of girl to take what she wanted by any means. Her tactics generally never failed her. But then again there was always a first time for everything.

Neville clamped his hands on both of her shoulders. She had almost declared victory when he forcefully pulled her away from him.

“No,” he finally replied, a firm set to his jaw. “I don't want to see. You are my friend Ginny. And Harry, Harry is my friend,” he said as his hands still held her stiffly in place. “Nothing should blemish your big day. You earned it. And I think I deserve a little better than being just someone's second choice; some event you'll only end up regretting eventually,” Neville added with a proud lift to his chin. “You see, if you had said that you loved me too then maybe...”

Neville shook his head.

“But you can't see anything past Harry. You probably never will. And I guess somehow I'll have to find a way to live with that.”

Ginny looked at him disbelievingly. “So you mean to tell me that you’re in love with me, but you aren't going to do anything about it?”

“No, I'm not. It's for the best.”

She stared at him in mute horror as the ramifications of what had just happened dawned on her. In two days she would be marrying Harry Potter...and she had just thrown herself at Neville Longbottom. And he had rejected her!

“OH SPARE ME!” Ginny barked hatefully as she shook him off and her hands found their way to her hips.

She was enraged! The room started to hum with her magic. The sheets of parchment she had been writing on earlier all sparked into flames and disintegrated into ash. Her pride was hurt and all she could think of was striking back out as viciously as she could.

“You're nothing but a jelly spined coward, Neville Longbottom! And I could never want a coward,” she said nastily. “You claim to be in love with me, yet you are perfectly happy to sit back and let someone else claim me?! How pitiful is that?! What kind of sorry excuse for a wizard are you?! What's wrong Neville, scared that you just can't measure up? I bet if Harry was in the same situation he would have just taken what he wanted by now,” she berated him.

Neville shrugged his shoulders dispassionately.

“Perhaps. But I'm not Harry, only Neville.”

She flinched at his words, while her abuse didn't appear to have any effect on him at all. This only made Ginny more furious than she had already been. But before she could hurl any more vengeful insults at him, Neville's next statement stopped her cold.

“Ginny, do you think that you could ever be satisfied with bumbling, doltish, forgetful old Neville?” he asked.

And there was the 25 galleon question. There was the intangible it in a nutshell. It had finally shown itself for what it was. The question Neville was asking was simple. Could she love someone who wasn't some fantasy, some childhood dream? Could she love someone who wasn't Harry? For all the world Ginny didn't know how to even begin to respond to it, even if she wanted to. She simply didn’t know, and that was all the answer Neville needed.

“No?” he asked with an unnaturally cynical snicker. It didn't suit him. The sound of it almost made her want to cry. “I didn't think so either.”

His words bruised, but Ginny refused to let him see that. Instead of sorrow, Ginny chose spite. There was refuge in anger. Her thin, pale arms reached up to unhook the chain around her neck. She practically yanked it off and nearly threw it at his feet.

“Here,” she said as she held the pendant out towards Neville.

“That's yours,” he said, unfazed by her cruel treatment.

“Don't you want it back?” she asked sourly, holding the chain by the tips of her fingers as if it were trash to be binned.

“No,” Neville said as he turned her palm over, placed the stone there, and wrapped one of his mitts around hers to close her hand over it. “Like I said, this is for Gin. My Gin.”

Neville squeezed her hand and Ginny screwed her eyes tightly shut, willing herself not to wail like some spoiled child. She had made a fool of herself and even she couldn't blame Hermione for this one; she was responsible for her own bad behavior. Her pride was battered, but more than that her heart ached and she didn't know what to do about it. She didn't know how to fix it. As she felt a pair of lips press gently against her forehead, her resistance finally broke. Twin trails of tears began to slide down her face. She pretended that the kiss would absolve her of all her past and future sins and she sought solace in that childish wish, but she didn't bother to hope for forgiveness for any of her transgressions that day. She knew that she would carry the burden of her foolish actions for all the days of her lives. And maybe that was just the punishment she deserved.

She had almost thrown away years of dreams and careful planning on something that wasn't real. Her and Neville? That was just the faulty imaginings one would find in bad romance literature. Her and Harry was what was right. It had to be right. She had waited for him for so long!

Ginny continued to cry softly. Neville, barely wanting to let her go, couldn't stop himself from planting a chaste kiss on her cheek as well. His lips wandered dangerously close to her fragrant neck, but his resolve remained strong. Instead they grazed her ear.

“Goodbye, Ginny,” he whispered in it.

And then Neville walked out of the room.

She was running. She was running so fast that her legs burned as though every muscle and sinew were coated in acid and her limbs had never been put to their proper use before. She was running so fast that her lungs ached from the quick, sharp pants of air that tore their way out of her windpipe. Ginny ran so fast that her heart felt like just simply giving out. But she couldn't stop running. Even as the front of her shoes caught the material of her robes causing her to lurch forward wildly before regaining her footing, even as tears seared her eyes, making the world around her a watery blur; she had to keep running. She had to get away from Neville and Candide.

If ever her thoughts turned to that afternoon at the Burrow and Neville confessing his heart to her (and really for her sanity, she didn't do too much of that), Ginny always chose to blame premarital jitters for her out of character behavior that day. She had come to the conclusion that Neville had been right, she had been nervous about the wedding and she had simply been using him as some sort of diversion. How else to explain her stupidity? She had been stressed because she couldn’t get her Maid of Honour to bend to her will, she had been lonely due to missing her fiancé, and she had been scared now that she was finally going to get everything she ever wanted. So when Neville had shown up at her door she had sought comfort in him, and nothing more. She had almost been fool enough to throw away her chance to finally have Harry for that comfort too.

Really, how preposterous could one get? The little girl inside her would have never forgiven her for such a heinous act. Harry was gorgeous, rich, famous, heroic and Neville was...not. Sure there was a certain puppy dog cuteness to him, but on every other score he just didn’t compare. It didn't matter that he was the person who understood her more than anyone else in the world or that his shy smile was sometimes the best cure for her raging temper. It didn't even matter that he was the gentlest soul that she knew; he was no Harry Potter! And she would have been made a laughing stock if she had actually left Harry to pursue something with Neville. Really there was nothing even there in the first place, just a passing interest. She wasn’t giving up Harry over some misguided curiosity.

So in the end Ginny made what she felt was the smartest choice. She never told a soul what happened between them that day and as far as she knew, neither did Neville. She buried the selkie stone at the bottom of her bureau and never looked at it again. If Neville ever wondered what happened to it he didn't mention it. She married Harry and despite the initial awkwardness, Neville remained nothing more than a good friend to her. Time marched on, as it was want to do, and now so had Neville.

It wasn't as though she had presumed that Neville would never get over her, she just hadn't counted on it hurting as much. It was clear though that he was moving on with his life and Ginny would no longer be the most important thing in it. She should have been happy that her friend had finally found some much deserved happiness, but she just didn't have that kind of selflessness in her. No, all she wanted to do was go somewhere and mourn for something that she had convinced herself never existed in the first place; and so she ran.

“Oof!”

Ginny stumbled backward as the person she ran into caught her by the wrists to keep her upright. Ginny had been in such a hurry to get away from the sight of Neville snogging Candide that she barely noticed where she had been heading. Without realizing it, she had followed the same footpath she had taken earlier to the fountain and had ended up in the rose garden again. Her head had been lowered so she couldn't see anyone and they hopefully couldn't see her.

“Oh, I'm so sorry. How clumsy of me,” she said as the pair of sturdy arms steadied her. Eyes still cast downward; she tried to get her emotions under control so that her rescuer wouldn't see the troubled state she was in. “I...I didn't see where I was going. Please, please forgive me,” she courteously mumbled.

“No, no Mrs. Potter, pardon me,” came the venom laced reply.

“YOU?!” Ginny had looked up to find before her the pale, pointed face of one of her least favorite people. Satan himself would have been preferable. “Out of my way Malfoy!” she ordered as she jerked her arms back and forth to free herself from his grip. Of all people to run into while in this condition! Malfoy?! Could this night get any worse?!

As if answer to her question, Malfoy sneered obnoxiously at her.

“Not so fast, She Weasel. They're playing our song,” he told her.

Well yes. Yes it could get worse.

“Let me go, I need to go find my husband,” she said, snarling at him.

She strained her neck to look behind him hoping that the mere mention of him would bring Harry racing to her aid. She had no such luck. She had left her purse, along with the wand inside it, at the table. She couldn't slap the git because of his unyielding restraint of her wrists. She was completely at Malfoy's mercy as he dragged her from the garden and back into the castle, kicking and cursing all the way.

Malfoy ignored her protests.

“Your husband is busy,” he said nastily. “I'm sure he won't mind if I borrow his charming wife for a dance, though.”

They entered the Great Hall. The band was playing some crazed mishmash of a Celtic reel combined with a tango played at three times its normal rhythm. The boisterous music mixed with the droning chatter from the crowd created a ringing sensation in Ginny’s ear. She couldn't think straight and felt helpless as Malfoy hauled her towards the dance floor. She looked back and forth madly, expecting someone to step in and pull the arrogant prick off of her. But the Ball was still raging, and from the looks of it, all of the partygoers crowding the dance floor were either too drunk or engrossed in their own merry making to pay her or her tormentor any notice. She was going to have to do battle with the wanker on her own.

Ginny puffed herself up like a peacock and gave him her most withering look. There was no way she was going to allow Draco Malfoy to push her around.

“I don’t want to dance with you. I'm not in the mood,” she said haughtily.

“Fake it. You're pretty good at being a phony; this should come natural to you.”

Ginny's lips curled maliciously. “What happened Malfoy, Hermione get tired of you?”

He twisted her wrist as he yanked her close to him and clamped a claw-like hand around her waist.

“OW! THAT HURT!” she yelled.

His self-satisfied expression never changed. “Good.”

He began to move them across the floor in time to the music. Even though she put up a valiant fight and tried to drag her feet, the rat faced bastard was too strong of an opponent. He tossed her around as though she were a bundle of twigs. Her only option was to play along with his twisted game to find out what he wanted. The sooner he had his say, the sooner this torture could be over.

“What do you want Malfoy?”

“I want you to back off!” he said through gritted teeth. “I know that you were at the Hollow today. And I know that you said a few things that were so vile, Hermione didn't even want to come here and stare at your spotted mug all night. Luna and I had to practically force her out the house.”

She rolled her eyes. “What are you, Hermione's grand savior now; her great protector? My, how noble.”

That seemed to amuse the arse.

“So sorry to disappoint you my lovely little Firecrotch, but I am no one's hero. I am a bastard. And you are one narsty li'l bitch.”

He twirled her around, then dipped her. Her outraged gasp at the slur seemed to puzzle him.

“Oh no, the bitchiness I respect,” he said matter-of-factly.

He jerked her back up.

“It’s the sneaky little way you go weaseling about it that I don’t like,” he continued. “But I'm giving you fair warning now, Weasley. If you hurt my friend again so help me…”

His arm tightened around her as though it were a boa constrictor. Air was starting to become a luxury. For the first time since this whole encounter started Ginny felt her first real twinge of fear. His words, however, made no sense.

“Again?!” Ginny asked shakily.

Malfoy's head lowered close to hers and Ginny felt herself shrink back internally from his menacing expression. The sweetness of his hot cinnamon breath on her face did nothing to quell the rising tide of alarm inside of her. This man despised her, and though she wasn't too keen on him herself, she couldn't figure out just what she had ever done to foster such contempt. And on top of that he was accusing her of harming Hermione in some way. What was that about?

“Hermione denies it, but I know that you are partly responsible for her leaving the country all those years ago.”

For some strange reason Ginny felt the need to defend herself against such a baseless accusation. Back then she had been just as shocked as everyone else when they all realized that Hermione might have left England for good. It's not like she shed a tear over it, but she certainly wasn't the root behind it. She tried to say as much, but Malfoy wouldn't hear it.

“Deny it all you like,” he said contemptuously, “but I recognize your grubby little finger prints all over it. I've yet to figure out how, is all. But I know one thing for sure Weasel-bitch; if you ever provoke another fight with her like you did today you will live to regret it.”

The words meant for intimidation made Ginny's hackles rise. How dare he try to browbeat her! He was trying to push her around, but she was too much of a little bully herself to just roll over and take it.

“Are you threatening me?!”

He gave her a mocking smile. “Yes. Yes I am. I will make your life such a living hell that after a while you'll be begging me to just get on with it.”

“I'll…I’ll tell Harry!” she said, trying to shake him up as badly as he was rattling her.

She failed.

Malfoy chuckled mirthlessly. “I want you to tell him. Then Saint Potter will start asking some sticky questions of his own. But we don't want that, now do we?”

The thought of Harry hearing about the fight at the Hollow sent chills through Ginny. Malfoy had her right where he wanted her and he reveled in the knowledge. She shook her head in wonder. He was positively diabolical.

“You are evil,” she feebly told him.

“No,” he said with a pompous smirk as the music vamped to an end, “I'm a Slytherin.”

The air then filled with the sound of applause as the dancers gave their appreciation to the band's performance.

“May I cut in?”

As the Belltones went into their next number, a slow and melancholy ballad, Ginny and Malfoy turned at the sound of the voice. Neville was standing behind the blond. Just the sight of his concern lined face nearly made Ginny weak with relief.

“Oh look, the cavalry,” drolled Malfoy. He dropped her arm and turned to face the other man. “Hello there, Dumbottom. Where's that simply scrummy dish you had on your arms earlier? Finally decide to trade up the food chain, did she?”

Neville's eyes never left Ginny's.

“Are you ok?” he asked.

“Well of course she is!” Malfoy declared impudently. “Isn't that right, Weaselette?”

Ginny's eyes cut away from Neville to give the bastard the most hateful look she could.

“Now if you don't mind Mrs. Potter,” he twisted her name as though it were something dirty, “I need to go collect my girlfriend.”

His eyes had drifted towards the direction of the bandstand and Ginny's followed them. In a shadowy corner near it stood Luna and her brother Percy, heads drawn close together in what looked like deep conversation. Now wasn’t that peculiar, thought Ginny. She couldn’t remember Percy and Luna ever saying more than five words to each other during the entire time the blonde was with Ron.

Before she could think on it any further, Malfoy’s incessant yapping drew her focus away from the pair.

“Looks like I’m going to have to rescue her from out the clutches of yet another one of your idiot brothers. I best be quick about it. I wouldn't want the poor thing getting Weasley all over her,” he drawled as he looked at her, looked at his hand, then wiped it on his robes as though it were soiled. Getting the desired reaction from her (she tried to kick him), he swaggered off in the direction of his girlfriend; head thrown back cackling wickedly.

“I hate him!” wailed Ginny as she and Neville watched him go. “I don't see how Luna can stand the bastard!”

Shrugging his shoulders Neville said, “He's different with her, I suppose.”

Ginny shook her head in marvel at his simplicity. Neville would give just about anyone the benefit of the doubt, even those as slimy as Malfoy who didn’t merit it.

“Well she deserves better than Hermione's lapdog,” she muttered as she rubbed at her aching wrist. “I wonder if she realizes just how far that ponce is buried up Hermione's arse?”

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she watched Malfoy walk up behind Luna. Without even glancing behind her, Luna leaned back against him. Sickening! She didn’t know what Luna saw in him. She didn’t care what anybody said; nothing would ever convince Ginny that Draco Malfoy was really and truly one of the good guys. She didn’t believe it now, especially after he had just terrorized her, and she didn’t believe it back then when Hermione was almost his only supporter. Then again she had always found Hermione and Malfoy’s so-called “friendship” unnatural. She still did. He was awfully protective of her. It made one wonder…

“As a friend maybe I should say something to Luna–”

“No.”

Ginny gave Neville a queer look. “Excuse me?”

“I said no,” Neville replied again. “I won't allow you to make someone else miserable just because you are.”

She scoffed at the remark.

“I'm not miserable.”

“Liar.” The faint ghost of a smile shadowed the corners of his mouth. Ginny felt her cheeks straining not to smile as well.

She then looked around and noticed that the two of them were just casually standing in the midst of a sea of slowly swaying couples. They stuck out like a couple of sore thumbs; the non-dancing variety. Neville must have observed this too because without further prompting he gently took her hand, pulled her towards him, and wrapped an arm around her. Ginny melted into the embrace. The two of them began to dance to the achingly sad melody. Ginny tried as best she could not to lose herself in the moment.

“I’m surprised you would know how I felt one way or the other,” she said pertly with a pout. “It's not like you've said two words to me before now.”

Neville went from looking at her face to staring at some fixed point behind her head.

“I've been watching you. Sometimes I can't help but watch you,” he said simply.

The tenderness of his words mixed with the weariness of his tone saddened her. Her eyes roved his face looking for any sign of what he was thinking. Finding nothing there, Ginny decided to try and provoke a reaction out of him. Any reaction would do.

“Where is Candice?”

Neville chuckled amusedly as he looked down at her again. “Her name is Candide.”

“Candice, Candide, Candelabra…whatever. So where is your little ballerina?”

“Talking to your father. He was asking her opinion on the Charles and Camilla wedding.” Ginny’s face must have registered some confusion because he added, “Don’t worry; I don’t know who they are either. But since Candide seemed to have loads to say I left them to it. That’s when I saw you dancing with Malfoy. You looked…well, let’s just say you didn’t look too happy about the whole thing. I decided to come over and see if there was anything I could do to help.”

Ginny’s heart skipped. When she had been in need of someone to save her, it had been Neville who had come to her rescue. But that was really no surprise to Ginny. Neville had always been there for her in his own thoughtful and unassuming way. And she had taken it all for granted.

She smiled sweetly at him. “You always look out for me, don’t you Nev?”

Neville looked pained at the remark. His eyebrows knitted together in consternation. His mouth opened and closed several times to speak before finally settling on something. Instead of answering her question he said, “I had been outside earlier. Candide thought she saw you.”

Ginny’s smile dropped. She didn’t want to talk about her.

“She must have been mistaken,” she said tonelessly before laying her head on his shoulder and snuggling nearer to him. She felt so at ease, so calmed.

Neville shrewdly studied her, taking in account everything from the expectant expression on Ginny’s face to the way that she pressed herself so intimately into him. All she could think of was how truly secure she felt at that moment, like she hadn't a care in the world. All he could think of was how it was all too little too late.

“Ginny…” Neville began as he took a moment to find the right words to say what he needed her to know. “I’m going to ask Candy to move in with me tonight.”

Ginny’s head came off his shoulder and she pulled away from him slightly. Her eyes widened and she stared at him in incredulity.

“I’ve been looking at some flats in London closer to the new store and…well, I’m hoping that she says yes,” he finished.

A physical blow wouldn’t have hurt as much. When she had taken enough time to regain her self-possession, Ginny asked in a fragile voice, “Are you in love with her, Neville?”

Neville cast his eyes to his shoes. “I could fall in love with her,” he said.

“What about…” us she had started to ask him, but couldn’t bring herself to finish the question. She realized that she had no right to. “Is that what you really want?” is what she questioned instead.

Neville looked back up at her evenly.

“I want to be happy, Gin.”

Tears sprang in her eyes as Ginny nodded her head in understanding. She slumped against him as though she couldn't support herself on her own. She rested her head against his shoulder again and he held her tightly.

“Nev, if you could do it all over again, any of it, would you do anything different?” her muffled voice asked him.

There was no hesitation on his part.

“Yes. I wouldn’t have told you that I loved you…”

Ginny’s shoulder’s sagged.

“…then walked away so easily,” he finished.

Ginny smiled sadly at the answer.

“I think…I think I might have done things differently too,” she said wistfully as their song came to an end.

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

After leaving Neville on the dance floor, Ginny went back to the table hoping to find her husband there. There was no sign of him. She couldn't find him anywhere in the Great Hall. For a second the thought of where he might be, or worse, who he might be with entered her head. Thoughts of all of the dark, secluded nooks and crannies comfy enough for two played through her head; Filch's supply closet just off the Great Hall, the shadowy corridor that led into the abandoned classroom on the fourth floor, the Room of Requirement. That last thought almost made her sick to her stomach.

Rather than investigating any of these possible haunts, Ginny found herself grabbing her purse and running to the nearest girl's toilet to empty out the contents of her stomach. She had hoped there would be no audience in the bathroom as she vomited her unhappiness away; that was the sort of thing you didn't like company for. But of course life hadn't finished kicking her around as though she were its personal plaything. Candide was there, standing in front of a sink, attention drawn away from the mirror in front of her to the doorway as Ginny walked through it. The sight of her made Ginny stop short.

“Oh! It’s you.”

Ginny barely concealed her distaste as she acknowledged the comely dark haired woman.

Ginny just didn’t like her. In her opinion, Candy Lee just wasn’t right for Neville. She was just too…“too”! Too tall, too thin, too young, too pretty, and as sweet as cane sugar as far as Neville was concerned. In other words: too good to be true. She was also a little too friendly, Ginny decided as she sized her up carefully. Probably a pushover too, she reckoned.

If Candide had read anything into Ginny’s quiet appraisal she gave nothing away.

“Yes, just me,” she said giving Ginny a pleasant smile before turning back to the mirror. “Make-up needed a little retouching.”

She raised the small tube between her fingers back to her face and carefully spread a bit of bright red color over her lips. After preening at her image for what Ginny considered an unseemly amount of time (but really was barely more than a second), and making sure that her lipstick had been applied correctly, Candide capped the tube and dropped it into the little clutch purse in her hand.

Although her stomach was still churning, Ginny refused to look weak in front of Candide. It wouldn't do to look helpless and haggard next to Candide's fresh face and polish. Ginny walked further into the bathroom and went around Candide to take up a spot before the sink to her right. She turned the spigot for the cold water and ran her fingers under the tap.

“The hall was getting stuffy,” she said in explanation for her absence from the party.

She turned off the water and sprinkled a few droplets at her face. In truth her skin was feeling heated and prickly, but Ginny figured that it was just the woman next to her and not the temperature that was causing her feelings of agitation.

“It is a bit warm in there, isn’t it?” came Candide's response. “Nev and I had to step out for a second just to catch a breeze,” she said conversationally.

Although Ginny's face remained impassive, she bristled at the sound of Candide's casual reference to “Nev”. Only she called Neville “Nev”. And he was the only person she could stand to let call her “Gin”. This woman didn't seem to understand that she was stepping on toes here! Perhaps she should put the poor clueless tart in her place? Every other woman Neville had dated had had to pass Ginny’s inspection; why should this one be any different? Even to this day Susan Bones still cited Ginny’s meddling for ruining her very short-lived romance with the Gryffindor wizard. It wasn’t her fault that all those other girls had essentially let Ginny run them off, she always self-righteously thought.

“You haven't by chance seen my boyfriend around, have you?” Candide asked the redhead.

Ginny didn't even blink.

“No. So, are you enjoying yourself?” Ginny asked, pretending as though she was interested in the answer. She had begun to play with the loose tendrils of hair that capped her face as she looked at her reflection in the large wall mirror. Really she was using the looking glass as a means to stare indirectly at the other woman.

Candide's face lit up in pleasure.

“Have I! All of this is just so…so…I can’t even begin to put it all in words. It’s all too fantastical! Tonight I’ve seen little elves and paintings that talked...and a real live vampire even asked me to dance!” she exclaimed proudly.

Ginny wasn't all that impressed. Sanguini tried to make the moves on just about any warm and unsuspecting neck at these functions. Even Ron once!

“You know at first, when Neville told me about all of this, I didn’t think I could ever fit in his world,” confided Candide. “But I'm glad that I tried. It's all been worth the effort. Then again Neville is well worth the effort.” She grinned sappily.

Ginny put on a false smile. “Yes, Neville is great.”

Candide's dark eyes twinkled.

“He certainly is. Any woman would be a fool to pass him up. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Ginny's lips thinned into a straight line. There was a quality of artificiality to the question that irked her somehow. Was Candide...was she goading her?

“I…I suppose.”

“Luckily I’m no fool. He's all mine. And not for nothing,” she began as she leaned into Ginny closely, her eyes meeting the redhead's in the glass, “he’s the best damned lover I’ve ever had.”

Ginny felt the blood drain from her face.

“Like an eager little bunny rabbit, he is. He never gets enough. I mean three...sometimes four times a night...”

Ginny's left eye began to twitch.

“And don't even get me started on that tongue of his. Damned thing should be locked up in the Tower as a national treasure. Every time he–”

“STOP! JUST STOP IT!” shrieked Ginny as she whirled to face the taller woman dead on.

A young girl dressed in fuchsia, a Seventh Year by the look of her, had been entering the bathroom at that very moment. The frightened teenager fled from the scene in terror upon hearing Ginny’s enraged outburst. Both women ignored her escape.

“Why are you telling me this?! What, by Godric, would make you think that I would ever want to hear any of this from you?!”

Ginny was panting heavily and taking her breaths as deep gulps of air. Her hands were balled into fists. Ginny was livid. The thought of Neville touching this woman...of Neville and this...doing that...

All pretense of friendliness was totally void from Candide's arrogant smirk now.

“Oh, I know you don’t. I just wanted to make sure that you knew that I know that you don't.”

Ginny was silenced by the implication behind her words. The message came across loud and clear; back off! Candide saw that Ginny had received the subtle warning and was pleased. For all intensive purposes, Ginny Potter had just met her match.

“Well, now that we understand each other a little better, I should be going. Neville is probably looking for me.”

Candide tucked her purse securely under her arm.

“Oh by the way, I saw your husband earlier; he was wandering around looking distracted. Maybe you should spend more time worrying after him than spying on me and my boyfriend.”

That was it! All day long Ginny had been taking it in the teeth; first from Hermione at the Hollow, then Malfoy on the dance floor, and now this vile beanpole was trying to intimidate her too. She had finally reached her limit. She wasn’t taking any more lip from the harpy!

Ginny began to roll up her sleeves. There was a Bat Bogey waiting with the bitch's name on it, and the petite redhead wasn’t afraid to make sure Candy Lee got it along with a heaping helping of shut the fuck up on the side!

Her fingers had been curled around her wand and had almost gotten it out of her purse when Lavender spoiled the moment (and more importantly, Ginny’s clear shot) by flouncing into the bathroom. She walked right up to her, bypassing Candide.

“Well there you are!” she said throwing her hands in the air and looking exasperatedly at Ginny. “I’ve been looking all over for you. I wanted to say goodbye before Ron and I left. He’s had one too many and I have an early morning tomorrow.”

Taking this as her cue to go, Candide said, “I’ll just leave you two then. Goodnight.”

She then gave Lavender a courteous nod, turned on her high heels, and walked out the bathroom.

Lavender, waiting a moment to make sure that Candide had really gone, turned to Ginny and said, “I don’t like her. Her tits are too perky. My mother says that you should never trust any woman whose breasts sit up abnormally high.”

Ginny cracked a smile though she was feeling less than humorous.

“Your mum just might be on to something there,” she said dryly.

Lavender grinned. “And isn’t that a scary thought.”

When Ginny didn’t respond to the quip Lavender gave her friend a careful once over. Not liking what she saw, she reached out a hand to her.

“Ginny, what’s wrong? You’ve been moody all night. And you look all pale and sweaty.”

Ginny took a look at herself in the mirror. Lavender was right; she looked like shite. She felt like it too. And although she had forgotten about it during her friendly chat with Candide, her nausea had never ceased.

“Have you seen Harry?” Ginny asked, ignoring Lavender’s concerned inquiry.

“Yes,” Lav answered. “Just before I came in here. Why?”

“Was he with anyone?” Ginny dreaded hearing the answer.

Lavender was puzzled by Ginny’s distress.

“No. No one important, just Hermione.”

“Oh,” Ginny muttered apathetically, unconcerned.

Then she felt her throat go dry.

“Oh,” she moaned again as the insides of her stomach began to swirl and bubble like murtlap essence that had been left out for too long. “Sweet Circe, I’m about to be sick!” she groaned right before pushing her purse into Lavender’s hands and running for the nearest toilet.

When she was done heaving her internal organs out, she wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, got off of her knees, and exited the stall. She found Lavender leaning back against the sink directly facing her. The expression on the blonde’s face was unease. Ginny pretended not to notice it.

Straightening her robes, Ginny strolled over to the sink next to her friend as though nothing were amiss. She ran some water over her hands and pressed her fingers to her cheek and temple to cool them.

“Ginny, I’m worried about you,” Lavender said cautiously as she watched her friend closely.

Ginny gave her a tight smile. “I’m alright.”

Neither of them believed her.

“I don't think so. You haven’t been yourself lately. Something isn’t right with you and I think…I think it has something to do with Harry.”

Lavender paused to gauge Ginny’s reaction. Ginny’s hand trembled slightly as she turned the water off.

Getting nothing much from that Lavender asked, “Am I right?”

In answer Ginny folded her arms across her chest and gave Lavender a mulish look. It was the very same face that Lavender got from Violet each time she tried to tell the 4 year old that pink ribbons just did not go with black polka dotted socks. In the same wheedling tone that she would use on the little girl to get her to change said socks, Lavender tried to get Ginny to open up to her.

“Listen sweetie, you don't have to be ashamed. Ron and I have talked about it and…”

Humiliation swept through Ginny. Merlin! What did Lavender know?!

“You and Ron have been talking about me and my husband?!”

Lavender nodded her head. “We're your family Ginny. At least I will be soon. All of us have been concerned.”

Her whole family thought that her marriage was in trouble?! Did they know that Harry was having an affair too? Ginny shuddered at the idea of that. She looked fearfully towards the door. Anyone could just be standing there, eavesdropping. Would all of the revelers in the Great Hall know soon as well? Would the news then spread through Hogsmeade and into the streets of Diagon next? Would every wizard and witch in England eventually find out that she had failed to hold the interest of the great Harry Potter?

Seeing Ginny’s attention drawn to the bathroom door, Lavender said, “Don’t worry, no one is going to come in. While you were occupied I made the place imperturbable and charmed an ‘Out of Order’ sign next to the door. No one will bother us. No one is going to hear us.”

Ginny gave a relieved sigh. Lavender took this as a chance to gently press Ginny again.

“Sweetie, I’m your friend. Can't you tell me what’s wrong?”

Ginny looked at her guardedly. “What do you know?”

“Nothing much,” Lavender answered truthfully. “But I know that you’ve been pretty temperamental as of late. And Fleur mentioned to me that you’ve been queasy for a few days.” She placed her hand on Ginny’s arm and gave it a comforting rub. “What’s the matter, Ginny?”

Lavender’s caring blue eyes and compassionate smile settled Ginny’s fears. Lavender knew nothing! Ginny could have cried over the reprieve. Although she meant well, and it was obvious that Lavender was genuinely concerned, the blonde busybody was only fishing for information. Because she and Ron were all lovey-dovey and the Potters weren’t so much anymore, Lav probably had just assumed that something was wrong with Harry and her. Ginny resented the hell out of Lavender in that moment.

But this also made Ginny realize that if she didn’t do something soon to fix her crumbling marriage it was going to become more evident over time that Lavender had indeed been right. What if Harry found a way to leave her for his mystery woman? Everyone would know then. She needed to act soon. She had to find a way to make sure that Harry couldn't leave her. He was all she had now.

And then suddenly it came to Ginny. Something that would shut Lavender up, make her think that the Potter union was just as strong as ever, and at the same time make all of Ginny’s problems go away. In fact, no one would doubt that her marriage wasn’t stable ever again.

Ginny placed her hand over Lav’s and squeezed it. Really she just wanted Lavender to stop pawing at her like she was some fussy prized pet poodle. She arranged her face into the semblance of an earnest expression and batted her eyes prettily at her friend. Ginny knew that she had to make this good.

“I guess I can’t keep anything from you, can I now Lav?” she said in a syrupy tone, lathering it on good and thick for her audience.

Lavender did her best to smile modestly. Ginny did her best not to roll her eyes.

“Alright, I’ll tell you what’s going on. But you can’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you,” she said giving Lavender a stern look.

Lavender took the hint. She vigorously bobbed her head up and down in answer to Ginny’s understated directive. With that settled, Ginny continued with her feigned confession.

“You're right, Lavender; I haven't quite been myself lately and there is a very good reason for that. You see…” Ginny paused to make sure she had Lavender’s complete attention, “I’m going to have a baby.”

One would have thought a thunder clap had gone off; the silence that followed those words was just that deafening. Lavender gawked at Ginny in disbelief at them. Her eyes were practically the size of large platters.

“YOU'RE PREGNANT?!” she shrilled.

Ginny gave Lavender a vexed look as she snatched her purse back from her. Lav could be so damned melodramatic. Thank Merlin for sound proofing charms.

“B-buh ...b-buh...b-but you and Harry don’t…I mean, that is to say that the two of you haven’t…”

Lavender swallowed thickly to stop the babbling. To say that she was bowled over by Ginny's announcement would be the understatement of the year. But she didn't want to tell Ginny that. Lavender instinctually knew that her friend wouldn't appreciate Lavender knowing all about her and Harry's separate sleeping arrangements. Lavender yanked the foot right out of her mouth before she could say too much.

But now Ginny's weird behavior, especially these last few weeks, made a little more sense. The Potters were expecting. Lavender felt ridiculous for blowing things out of proportion. If you thought about, it really wasn't that shocking. It's not like you necessarily needed a bed to make a baby.

“Never mind,” began Lavender wondrously, “I suppose Ron and I just got it all wrong,” she said, almost apologetically. Then she brightened. She was going to be an aunt soon. Possibly even a godmother, if she didn’t presume too much.

She couldn't wait to tell Ron!

“Congratulations!” Lavender squealed as she gathered Ginny up in a hug. Ginny suffered the embrace.

“Thank you,” she said before quickly pulling away.

“But why didn’t you tell any of us?”

The lie rolled easily off of Ginny's tongue. “I didn’t want to steal your thunder. You're the little bride. You deserve all of the attention right now.”

Lavender was overwhelmed by Ginny’s supposed generosity.

“Aww, that’s so sweet!” she simpered in a sugary fashion, moved almost to tears by Ginny's thoughtfulness. She took one of Ginny's hands. “You are the best sister-in-law a witch could ask for!”

Ginny felt a short-lived moment of guilt over the undeserved praise; Lavender really was a good person who truly cared about her. She was thrilled for Ginny over the happy news. She didn't deserve being lied to. But in regards to the big picture, Lavender's feelings were disposable at this point.

“Just wait until everyone finds out!” the blonde bubbled happily.

“NO!” shouted Ginny feverishly as she practically clawed at Lavender’s sleeves. It was too soon for all of that. Much, much too soon!

Picking up on Ginny’s panic, Lavender looked at her uncomfortably. The redhead was acting so strangely. All of this ballyhoo over having a baby?

Ginny could practically see the reservation in the other woman’s eyes. So in an effort to diffuse the situation, she chuckled airily to wave away Lavender's concerns.

“All in due time, Lav,” she said quickly to appease her friend’s apprehension. “I'm not that far along yet so you'll have to keep quiet about this for a little while. You can’t tell anyone, especially Ron.”

Lavender's face fell at the request and Ginny didn't have to think too hard on why. Knowing Lavender, she probably had been chomping at the bit to run off and tell Ron the good tidings the second she heard them. Ginny had to nip that right in the bud. She needed a little time to put all her plans into motion.

“You see, I haven’t even told Harry yet,” Ginny said in explanation. She wrapped an arm around Lavender's waist. “I want it to be a surprise.”

And boy was it going to be!

Lavender seemed to find that explanation reasonable. Of course the father should hear the big news “first”. She was nodding her head in agreement to it.

“Of course, of course,” Lavender told Ginny. “Charging centaurs wouldn't be able to get it out of me!”

The declaration sounded heartfelt. Once again Ginny beat the guilt back.

“Good,” she said in deep thought. “Good.”

The way to fix her marriage was quite clear to Ginny now. She needed to have a baby. It was a stroke of genius and Ginny didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before. That was the solution to this whole mess. Even if Harry was cheating on her he was still her husband; she had to hold on to him by any means. If that meant getting pregnant against his wishes, then that was what she was going to have to do. Ginny had done worse things before; this barely broke the top three. Once the baby arrived Ginny was certain Harry would change his tune. A child to carry on the Potter name would surely make him turn back to her, appreciate her, lover her. Their family would be complete then. Harry would be completely bonded to her for life.

By having a baby Ginny would be able to solidify her marriage, stop any gossiping tongues that might be wagging, and put all residual thoughts of Neville out of her head for good.

For a moment Ginny considered how disappointed Neville would be in her if he had an inkling of what she was up to, but Ginny banished those thoughts just as quickly as they came. Whatever she did was none of Neville's concern now. She had her own life to live and so did he. Ginny wasn't going to spend the rest of her life obsessing over the matter; she had bigger hippocampi to fry. She was about to do everything she could to ensure a little happiness for herself, and she hoped that if Candide was what Neville wanted, then that made him happy too. In fact, Ginny hoped that the slag made Neville so happy he choked on it!

“Well I think I’ll be going.”

Ginny’s vengeful thoughts turned away from Neville at the sound of Lavender’s voice.

“I need to be up at the crack tomorrow. I still have a few more things to buy for the Honeymoon.”

“Would you like some company?” asked Ginny. “I still have to pick up a few more party favors for the bachelorette party. The two of us could make a day out of it.”

Lavender adored the idea. “I’d just love that!” she beamed.

Her joy then faltered.

“Oh…but I don’t want to tire you out,” she said as she nervously glanced down at Ginny’s flat stomach.

Ginny caught on fast. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said exaggeratedly with a big counterfeit smile. “I’m barely showing.”

Her hand went protectively to her belly. Ginny's assurance seemed to placate Lavender.

“Besides, I’m your Matron of Honour. I’m going to make sure that the hen night Wednesday is a success.” She gave Lavender a squeeze. “We have to keep our bride happy, now don’t we?”

That pleased Lavender.

“You are too good to me, Ginny,” she said appreciatively.

Ginny benevolently nodded her head.

“I’m only doing for you what I wish would have been done for me. Now come on, I’ll walk out with you,” she said as she steered Lavender in the direction of the exit. “I think I’m going to go find my husband and head home early myself.”

As the two women walked towards the exit, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, Ginny began to do a mental checklist of all of the ingredients she had stashed in her cupboards at home. They were fully stocked. She could put her plans into action that very night she soon realized with increasing determination. Ginny was very skilled at potion making, had been since that summer before her Fifth Year. She had been the twins' very first test subject back when they were first developing all of their “Wheezes” and had practically studied at their feet.

There was no potion she could not brew perfectly; Invigoration Draught, Strengthening Solution, Wolfsbane, Amortentia. Ginny was sure she could come up with something strong enough to get her husband on his back but still responsive with little trouble. She wanted him incapacitated but she also needed parts of him still functioning for what she had planned for him. Then after that all nature would have to do was run its natural course. Why if Ginny played her cards right, she could be putting Harry's infant son into his arms in time for their anniversary next year, she rapturously realized. That mental image made Ginny rub her abdomen in anticipation.

They were almost to the door when Lavender suddenly let out a theatrical sigh of regret.

“It’s almost a shame that we have to leave the Ball so early, though. The party looks like it was just starting to become interesting. Pansy and Greengrass have been eyeing each other across the room all night. It could get real good,” she said animatedly.

Her friend’s zeal made Ginny smile.

“Well, while I don’t doubt that, I don’t mind much. Been to one V-Ball, been to them all I always say. Plus I’ve danced enough tonight to last a lifetime. Several, in fact,” she added with a slight grimace. Her wrist was still sore from Malfoy’s abuse.

Or she could have been thinking about Neville’s haunting eyes.

Ginny shook both men from her thoughts.

“Besides, I am going to have to give up all these late nights eventually, aren't I?”

Lavender’s blue eyes sparkled brightly at that.

“That’s right!” she exclaimed as she put a hand on Ginny’s barely there belly. “You’re going to be someone’s mummy soon,” she said excitedly.

Rather than enthusiasm, Ginny’s eyes shined with resolve.

“That’s right,” she said as they walked out the door together, “I’m going to be someone’s mother soon.”

A/N: Next up is Harry's POV! Yay! LOL. Things to look forward to: Harry makes a surprising new acquaintance, he learns that Hermione may have yet another secret up her sleeve(or dress), and the twins cook up a scheme of their own.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Old Man Shrivelfigg, Hildebrand, and Hildebrand’s widow are canon.

2) The Jungle Red nail polish is a shout out to one of my favorite movies The Women. In a way I think these characters would fit right in that movie.

3) The incantation “obvulvus” is a bastardization of obvolvo which translates as “to wrap up” in Latin.

4) Selkies are Irish and Scottish mythological seal changelings that can transform themselves into humans and are often thought of as mermaids. Now according to the HP Lexicon there are a couple of different varieties of mermaids. The ones in the Great Lake are supposed to be selkies but in my opinion they do not fit the description. Thus for the purposes of this story those are not selkies.

5) According to Fantastic Beast and Where to Find Them a hippocampus is a mer-horse with the head and front quarters of a horse and the tail of a giant fish.

6) Cousin Mafalda is the Weasley cousin who didn't make it into Goblet of Fire. I decided to include her in my story.

7) The Obvulvus Spell, selkie stones, and Shrivelfigg’s plant store are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

23. Chapter 19a

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 29,156

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: murphsmine. She's a peach! Any mistakes you find are mines.

WARNING: None. Lot’s o’ angst, a dash of action(I hope), with a fun moment sprinkled here and there.

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.

Saturday, 6/11/05

1953 was a good year. England crowned its second Elizabeth, the Kinsey Report made bedtime reading fun again, and George Jorgensen became Christine. The year came with many strides and successes; a polio vaccination, color television, and Churchill won a Nobel Prize. James Bond was born! Alas, so was Michael Bolton.

In the Wizarding world 1953 was a banner year as well. VoodooWop was the hottest sound on the wireless, and The Erl Kings sent many a teen aged witch's heart aflutter with their hit tune, “You Conjured up My Heart, Now You Won't Give It Back”.

The Crucible opened on Broadway to appreciative applause, though throughout the audience could be heard grumblings here and there detailing its many factual inaccuracies.

And after seven long days in June, the generally acknowledged greatest Quidditch match ever played finally came to an exciting close when the Heidelberg Harriers' captain, Rudolf Brand proposed marriage to the Harpies' Gwendolyn Morag. She in turn smacked him over the head with her broom.

1953 was indeed one for the record books. But the year held one other smaller distinction of note. In 1953 a Romnichal wizard named Tabor Joles first opened the Three Broomsticks for business. The gypsy and his pregnant wife had come to the town of Hogsmeade only a year prior to settle roots for the small family they had been planning. Sadly his beloved Vadoma died in childbed, but not before giving Tabor a little girl.

Tabor put all of his grief aside to raise his infant daughter and make the Three Broomsticks a success. Considering that Tabor's only real competition in town was the Hog's Head, this was not that hard of a feat to accomplish. Tabor was savvy enough to provide his patrons with clean glasses. He also served up a tasty pork pie and his self-made red currant rum was legendary. For nearly fifty years the Three Broomsticks served as the heart of Hogsmeade Village. It was the place to get a warm meal, a stiff stout, and hear the news of the day.

Within that time the Broomsticks only closed its doors twice. When Tabor went missing in 1970, more than likely one of the countless victims of Voldemort and his Death Eaters' first campaign of terror, the pub remained empty for nearly three months. Then that summer Tabor's daughter left Hogwarts and reopened the well missed watering hole to the delight of all. Calling herself Madam Rosmerta, the young witch was pretty and pert and so popular amongst the town's denizens that the place was always filled to the rafters from lunchtime to close. Ironically nearly thirty years later Tabor's child would become infamous for the part she unwillingly played during the Dark Lord's second reign. Due to her nearly year long exposure to the Imperius Curse, Madame Rosmerta never fully recovered her mental health. After the war ended, upon finally being discharged from St. Mungo's, Rosmerta became a recluse living out the rest of her lonely subsistence in a hovel in Mitcham Common.

The Three Broomsticks stood vacant for years. It suffered very little damage from the Battle of Hogsmeade, but even after the war ended no one stepped forward to try and restore the pub to its former glory. That is until the MacMillans bought out the title, renovated the building, and reopened it to the public in 2002. Hannah and Ernie had always been fond of the Broomsticks; it was where they went on their first date. They both thought it was a shame that such a valuable piece of Hogsmeade history should pass from existence. After pooling all of their resources together, the young couple decided that they were just the ones to try and make a go of the business. Their friends as well as the whole town cheered on their effort.

The Three Broomsticks was too vital to the survival of the last completely Wizarding village in the British Isles to just be allowed to fall to rack and ruin so easily. It also held a myriad of warm recollections for many of those who had attended Hogwarts in their youth. Within its walls lived the memories of the thousands of school children who had passed through the inn during its umpteen years in operation; not an inch of the bar hadn't been covered by dueling elbows, not a booth in the room hadn't played host to some small triumph or heartache. A barely of age Arthur Weasley and his young bride spent their Honeymoon night in one of the top floor rooms, both too poor to afford a longer stay. In the little wizards' room to the right, in the stall nearest the door was still scrawled the legend, “for a good time floo Snivellus”. And in a comfy booth near the kitchen, in a cozy little darkened corner James Potter first held the hand of the Head Girl as they shared a soda and ice with cherry syrup on top between them.

It was in this very same booth that their son now sat as he kept a careful watch of his unwitting quarry in the enormous mirror above the bar.

“You're staring.”

“Excuse me?”

Harry's head slowly came forward to find the form of a pokerfaced Blaise Zabini occupying the seat across from him. In his left hand was a snifter that contained the last drabbles of a light brown liquid, honey wine most like. His right hand rested casually on the table top as his immaculately buffed white fingernails drummed against its surface. The Slytherin's slanting dark eyes insolently stared out from his walnut shell colored face at the displeased Gryffindor.

“You're staring,” said Zabini again as he set his glass down. “You've been staring at her for nearly fifteen minutes now.”

Harry immediately felt his defenses rise. He had chosen the little out of the way booth for strategic purposes. The handful of stragglers still left in the Broomsticks was gathered either around the bar or nearer to the front and hardly anyone paid him or his corner much notice. Harry preferred it this way. His position point gave him the perfect unhampered view of his surroundings. He could see Ron and the twins downing shots of Ironbelly's vodka at a table on the far side of the establishment. Harry nearly chuckled at the harried expression on Glinda's face as Pansy McLaggen caught her outside the restrooms and proceeded to monopolize her time. And the woman he was monitoring at the bar had yet to realize that Harry hadn't let her out of his sight since entering the pub. Harry thought his surveillance had been pretty inconspicuous. Then Zabini had to go and sit his unwelcome-d arse in his booth and blow the Auror’s well orchestrated cover to smithereens.

“No I haven't. I don’t know what you are talking about Zabini,” Harry said coolly as he raised his mug of ale to his lips and took a measured sip. He didn't want to tip his hand to his unwanted guest and let him know that he was indeed guilty as charged. All he needed was another damned Slytherin in his business. Especially this one! Harry detested the man.

Zabini snickered at the shaky ruse, easily calling Harry’s bluff.

“Yes you have,” he said as he foppishly plucked at the sleeves of his finely tailored robes and superiorly turned his nose up at Harry. “You've been staring at her for the last twenty minutes. What I would like to know is why?”

Harry set his mug down and gave Zabini a supremely vexed glare. Harry's opinion of the Slytherin had never really been high. Back in school their paths had rarely crossed; Harry could scarcely recall ever hearing the tall black boy speak until that train ride in Sixth Year when he had gotten himself roped into attending Slughorn's little gathering. But the ever burning enmity between their two houses had ruled out any association that might have ever developed right from the start.

This continued into their adulthoods. As far as Harry knew, Blaise and his mother, Magnifika Zabini, had sat on their hands throughout the duration of the war preferring to, as he was oft-heard saying, let the riffraff sort everything out. In Harry's opinion that made Zabini almost as bad as a Death Eater, maybe even a little worse. At least the Death Eaters believed in some cause, no matter how wrongheaded it was.

But what Harry eventually came to learn was that Zabini did believe in something wholeheartedly; the power of the mighty galleon. By time Blaise turned 17 he already held stock in two broom companies, sat on the board of a major potion medicament corporation, and shared ownership of the Tutshill Tornadoes. He owned a large tract of land out in Wales as well. That didn't even include the two vaults at Gringotts that his other fathers had so generously left him in their wills.

Magnifika's last husband had also bequeathed to his adopted son, and sole heir, a controlling interest in a publishing company called WizzHard Books. Under Blaise's direction, WizzHard became notorious for producing salacious unauthorized biographies of the celebrities of the day. Naturally Harry had received the WizzHard treatment. Just a few of the sordid goodies it contained was a detailed, and wholly embarrassing account of the one kiss he shared with Cho, a truly ridiculous claim that he was Godric Gryffindor’s heir, and a fuzzy photograph that was supposedly him practicing Quidditch in the buff. The book was a National bestseller of course.

Yes, Zabini was no friend of Harry Potter's. That was why Harry could not understand what would make the wanker invite himself to his table and chat with him as though they were old acquaintances. Harry wanted to make him leave as quickly as possible so he could get back to more pressing concerns. Besides, why should Zabini care what Harry was up to?

“And what business is it of yours anyway, Zabini?” Harry inquired as he tried to deflect the question back at the man. There was just the barest hint of irritation in his voice. From the corner of his eye he nonchalantly glanced back up at the mirror to make sure the small swatch of yellow he could see was still standing in the same spot as before.

It was.

“Well the woman is my wife, so it's really not that surprising that I would be concerned, is all,” replied Zabini as he leaned against the back of the booth and folded his arms over his chest.

“WIFE?!”

Harry's head had swung back around to face the man. His eyes nearly popped out of his head. Zabini gave him the most arrogant of smirks possible as he nodded his head.

“That's right, wife; the woman that's standing over by the bar there talking to that mousy bint Granger. The very same woman you've been ogling for the last half-hour. That is my wife.”

Harry took another glance back at the bar and for the first time really looked at the shorter, olive complected female that was standing next to his best friend. The two women had been huddled up near the counter for the better part of an hour. Of course Harry had wondered who the woman was and just how Hermione knew her, but he would have never figured her for being Blaise Zabini's wife. Who would have guessed? She looked a little too stiff and all business for the likes of him, what with her glasses and her matronly robes. Harry hadn't even been aware that the spoiled pretty boy had gotten himself hitched.

He turned back to Zabini.

“Fifteen minutes,” Harry jokingly corrected him as he quirked a dazed smile. “And you say that's your wife, Zabini?”

“Indeed. Now what I would like to know Auror Potter,” said the Slytherin as he contemptuously eyed him up and down, “is just what is it about my wife that has you so fascinated.”

Harry dryly chuckled as he turned his attention back to the bar. He watched as the woman he had been chasing after all evening began to distractedly gaze about the room. Her companion continued to prattle away to her as though nothing was amiss.

“Oh, nothing too sinister, Zabini,” Harry assured the other wizard as Hermione looked over her shoulder and her eyes fell on him. Instantly color dotted her cheeks and she hurriedly turned her attention back to Zabini's wife.

“I’m just a bloke admiring a beautiful woman.”

Since following her off the dance floor at the Ball, Harry and Hermione had been playing an exhausting game of cat and mouse. Something had her agitated and out of sorts, and naturally Harry wanted to know what that something was. But as what was quickly becoming the norm, she wasn't being forthcoming. This only helped to spur on Harry's desire to find out what she was hiding by any means. It was starting to become an arduous cycle.

Interestingly enough, in the beginning he hadn’t been aware that anything was amiss. When he first laid eyes on Hermione as she walked through the doors of the Great Hall, it was all he could do not to drool onto his serviette at the sight of her, all dressed in yellow, as she made her grand entrance. But almost immediately Harry had realized that something was just off. That is after he got over his initial jealous reaction of seeing Malfoy draped all over her, the straw headed ponce!

But definitely once the envy subsided, he had been left with an all encompassing sense that something just wasn’t right. Despite her cheery façade, Hermione’s eyes had been lightly red tinged and glossy, as though she had been crying recently. She had troweled on the make-up to conceal any puffiness or dark shadows underneath them, but her voice had easily given her away. It sounded like she had been gargling gravel; like she had wailed herself horse.

She had fooled everyone else but Harry knew her too well not to know that something was up. Problem was that when he went to ask her about it she rebuffed him. That hurt. What had nearly killed him though were the covert glances that she and Malfoy shared when no one had been looking. When they thought no one had been looking, that is. It had been easy enough to figure out that Malfoy knew, or at least had an inkling, of what was going on. Malfoy was apparently her new grand confidant. Malfoy was the one with whom she shared secret looks with now. Malfoy! Harry had wanted to yell and break things, preferably Malfoy’s scrawny neck.

It was a good thing that he didn't give into his initial urge to make mincemeat out of the pasty prat the moment he parked his arse at the table though or Harry might never have witnessed the truly malicious glare that the blond git leveled at Ginny while he had been casually explaining the reason behind Hermione, Luna, and his late arrival to the Ball. It had been such a minuscule, imperceptible flash of an instant that it would have been insignificant to anyone else if they had caught it. Malfoy’s gray eyes had barely cut to Ginny and away as he arrogantly jabbered on and on to the assembled group. But Harry, having spent years as a (sometime) captive audience to Malfoy’s infinite idiosyncrasies, knew his partner’s mannerisms quite well.

When Malfoy wanted to grandstand and over-inflate his already bloated sense of self-importance, he yelled and caterwauled like a banshee in heat to make sure he had the attention of anyone within listening distance. But when he wanted to put the honest to goodness fear of a Slytherin into a person, he was almost methodical about his approach. First he would give them just the slightest hint that they had somehow managed to cross him; a look, a tip of the head, a well aimed aside that would slice his intended victim just right. No one else would have a clue as to what had just happened except Malfoy and his target. That was the genius behind it. Until he decided to strike, his prey would have to sit and wait for him to make his move. Then, right when the poor hapless sap was at his most vulnerable, Malfoy would go for the jugular.

Yes, Harry knew all of the signs. But for the life of him he had been unable to figure out just why Malfoy had chosen to set his sights on his wife. There was no worry that his partner would actually do anything to harm Ginny; Malfoy wasn’t that much of an idiot after all, but Harry was left wondering what was going on with Hermione and just what in the hell Ginny had to do with it. He had connected the two dots; he had yet to figure out exactly how the curious puzzle pieces fit is all.

When Malfoy and Hermione excused themselves from the table to go dance, Harry and Ginny had followed after them. He was a horrible dancer but he had been determined to stick close to the two of them so he could investigate further. Although he wasn't able to make out much of what they said to each other, it had been evident that Malfoy was badgering her about something. It had been petty of him, but Harry had felt an immense sense of pleasure knowing that Hermione seemed just as unwilling to answer the Slytherin's questions as she was reluctant to respond to his.

What displeased him, however, was Ginny's apparent interest in the pair. She had tried not to look so obvious about it, but from what Harry could tell, Ginny was just as distracted by Malfoy and Hermione's presence nearby as he was. That was when Harry began to suspect that Ginny was somehow tied into all of it. He had even started to question her, when Hermione chose that exact moment to storm past them. Later on Harry couldn't remember if he had even said a word to Ginny at the time; he just took off in the direction that his best friend had gone at once.

He had been determined to get her to stand still and talk to him, if only for a minute or two. He was even prepared to petrify Hermione if it came to it. With determined strides he had followed her out into the hall. He had called out her name once, twice, but she acted as though she hadn't heard him. When she went to pick up her pace, he did as well. That was when she gave up all pretenses and broke into a hasty trot. Harry's surprise at the sudden switch only lasted a second before he was in hot pursuit. In no time he gained on Hermione, her legs being no match for his. But when he went to reach out a hand to seize her by the shoulder, Hermione made a quick and sudden turn into one of the ground floor toilets leaving him standing out in the hallway all alone and empty-handed.

Clever girl.

But Harry hadn't been above waiting her out. She had to come out of the loo sometime, was how he saw it. He posted himself against the wall directly across from the lavatory to await her exit. He'd hoped that she would talk to him once they were away from all of the fuss and bustle of the Hall; that she would finally feel safe to start opening up to him.

Although he had already sent Hedwig to get the Harmony Darlington file from his contact in the States, he had yet to tip Hermione to the fact that he knew that she was hiding things from him. For one, he wanted to have solid evidence that she couldn't explain away like she did when they encountered that Yank couple in town; the Beauregards. But mainly he didn't want to give her the impression that he was spying on her, even if he was. Harry wanted her to come to him for help when she felt comfortable doing it. He only prayed that she didn't wait until it was too late. Until then he would continue to surreptitiously gather whatever information he could; he wasn't an Auror for nothing. For the time being he would be satisfied if she just simply stopped with the games, told him why she had been late to the Ball, shared what had her so wound up, and explained why her and Ginny were acting as though they could barely stand to be in the same room with one another, even more so than usual. It was a tall order, he knew.

But he must have stood out in that hall for nearly thirty minutes without seeing a single sign of Hermione emerging from the lavatory. After a while he began to restlessly pace back and forth in front of it. Without warning, his head had begun to suddenly throb and he had broke out into a sweat; he figured the fear that someone might mistake him for some perv who got his jollies hanging around the girls' toilets had begun to get to him. He had been at his wit's end and he couldn't think straight. But right when Harry had been ready to say the hell with it, storm the little witches' room, and haul Hermione out of the loo himself, Neville's girlfriend walked up and saved him from making an arse of himself. She was even kind enough to not look at him too oddly when he asked her if she could check to see if there was anyone inside the stalls; no one else had gone in for some time and he had been standing alone in the corridor for quite a while by this point. After being told that the restroom was completely empty, he thanked Candide profusely and went on his way.

At first Harry honestly couldn't figure out how Hermione had managed to get out of that restroom. His eyes had barely left the doorway, even when acknowledging the few colleagues of his who had passed by. The gaggle of Seventh Year Pottermates who had begged for his autograph hadn't distracted him much. A few of them had left with napkins signed by “Barry Trotter”, though. Harry had kept his focus trained straight ahead, never even glancing down for a moment as far as he could recall. Hermione couldn’t have given him the slip! It would have been impossible for her to have tip-toed by him without noticing her.

But then he remembered that he was a wizard, that he was intimately acquainted with both a werewolf and a half-giant, and that he lived in a magic filled world where virtually anything under the sun was imaginable.

Hermione had without a doubt gotten out of the restroom without him knowing it, he came to realize.

Right away Apparition had been ruled out. The last few weeks Harry had often wondered if she could still Apparate, but for some reason or another he had never fully broached the subject. When Hermione needed to go somewhere she either drove that petrol guzzler that they all jokingly called “Big Ben”, or if she needed to get to her destination in a hurry she simply floo'ed. Theoretically Hermione should have still been able to Apparate; it was an innate form of wandless magic that any witch or wizard could perform effortlessly once properly trained. She had been one of the first in their group to master it in school. But regardless if she still remembered the mechanics, Harry knew that it was impossible to Apparate within the walls of Hogwarts. You just don't stay best friends with someone who had read Hogwarts: A History well over 100 times and not remember such a sticky detail; especially one that had been drummed into your head over and over throughout the years. There was no question about it; Hermione wouldn't have been able to Apparate out of there.

But a self-proclaimed former witch with access to a wand could have easily cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself.

Very clever girl.

Hermione was using the wand he gave her! Why was Hermione using the wand that he gave her? And more importantly, just how long had she been using it, he had wondered. Not that Harry hadn't been pleased; he had given her the wand in the first place. But Hermione had been so adamant about not needing spells and charms anymore that the idea that she could have been secretly practicing magic all that time had actually saddened him. He wondered, wasn't there anything that she was being straight about these days? If he did a Priori Incantatem on his mum's old willow, just what spells would come out? And just where could she be hiding the damned thing anyhow? She hadn't been carrying a handbag, she had no visible pockets. Where on earth could the wand be, down her dress?!

Past images of Hermione slipping her vine wood down the front of a dress or blouse invaded his thoughts. It was a bad habit she had picked up during the war and continued after. Back then he had tried not to think too hard on where she would put it because of, well, where she would put it. But now...

That thought process didn't take very long to get away from him. Like a shot, Harry's mind had been claimed by an obsession that was so intense it almost overpowered him. He had been filled suddenly with a fervent desire to track down Hermione and settle his burning curiosity straightaway. He could be tolerant and wait for her to disclose most of her secrets, but somehow the wand was different. For his own sanity he needed to know if his hunch was correct and that she had been hiding it on her all the while. It overruled all else. He might have his suspicions and doubts to what Hermione was or might be hiding from him, but the wand was one thing he could prove right away. It was the principle of the matter, or so he had told himself.

Of course the fun of trying to locate the precious willow would have been merely a side benefit.

Figuring that Hermione would probably try to avoid the Great Hall, Harry had tried to think of just where she might sneak off to hide out for a while. At first his thoughts had turned to the library, but he had dismissed that idea right away. The library would have been where Hermione would go if she had wanted to be found. No, she wasn't in the library, he had told himself. Knowing Pince, it would be locked up tighter than the Hall of Mysteries, besides. Gryffindor Tower? That would have been highly unlikely as well. With school still in session all of the younger children were tucked tight in their dorms. He was positive that Hermione wouldn't have been hiding out there. The Astronomy Tower, perhaps? As soon as that one entered his head Harry had remembered a particularly memorable dream he had once had that centered on Hermione. The fantasy had taken place on the very parapet floor underneath the stars.

Well, it wouldn't hurt to just look; he had tried to innocently convince himself.

When he hadn't found her there, Harry hadn't known whether to be disappointed or relieved.

Finally deciding to take the search outside, Harry had pulled his trusty Firebolt out of his pocket and placed an Engorgement Charm on it. After kicking off from the tower, he scanned the grounds looking for her. He hadn't been looking long before he located Hermione standing by the lake, staring out moodily across the water. The moonlight off its surface had cast her in an eerie, almost unearthly luminescence, and despite the darkness of the night, the tears on her cheeks had glistened like trails of silver. The scene had tugged at Harry's heart, especially after realizing just where Hermione was standing. It had been on that very spot, where the grass still refused to grow, that one of Tom Riddle's Horcruxes had been destroyed.

The Ravenclaw relic had been in their possession for weeks. Well technically speaking, DuManoir had been in the castle for that long, holding on to the disguised Pensieve like a lifeline. Hogwarts was deemed the securest place to stash her, although there was usually an Order member or two patrolling the grounds whenever they could be spared. Most in the Order didn't know why she was so important to their side, all knowledge of Riddle’s Horcruxes was limited to only a select group of people, but many had their suspicions. It was believed that before he died Dumbledore had set Harry on some cloak-and-dagger quest and they figured that the girl somehow tied into it. That was all they needed to know; Harry was Dumbledore's man. If the wise old wizard believed in Potter that strongly maybe he truly was The Chosen One after all.

The prisoners captured at Boussac were mostly entry-level Death Eaters and none had much information that was of help to the Order. Those were quickly turned over to the Ministry. The mission's leaders, the Carrows, were believed to have escaped the botched assignment all together. Macnair had gotten a hold of a wand and killed two Aurors before turning the Killing Curse on himself and taking all he knew to the grave. That left Lestrange. Auror Shacklebolt handled his interrogation personally. Under the influence of Veritaserum, Rodolphus spilled the reason behind them traveling all the way to the French monastery to retrieve DuManoir for their master. Readying himself to ascend to his greatest moment of triumph, Riddle had decided that he would like a pet. Although everyone else had a hard time believing the story, Harry knew that it wasn’t that far-fetched. Dumbledore had once told him just how much Riddle enjoyed collecting his trophies.

After memory wiping the captive, Shacklebolt released Lestrange to his department superiors informing them that the Battle of Boussac had been a bust. The Ministry never learned of Boadicea DuManoir's miraculous reemergence into their world.

From the start it became apparent that some powerful magic had been employed to halt the aging process on the girl; some even believed dark magic was involved. How else to explain the fact that she didn't look a day over 17 years old? All Madame Pomfrey could deduce was that some enchantment or potion had been used on her, but the school nurse could tell no more. Several failed revealing spells ruled out the possibility of a glamor. Slughorn was brought in to brew a Retexilaxo serum that could reverse the effects of almost any potion she might have imbibed, but given the amount of time she would have had such a substance in her system, or probably due to its strength, it wasn't really surprising that it didn't work either. After a while it was decided to leave her be until they could get her to tell them exactly what Riddle had done to her.

That was as easy as pulling teeth from a basilisk. DuManoir no longer spoke English. And the only ones who could understand her crazed ramblings were Hermione, Malfoy, McGonagall, and Sinistra; and for a couple of reasons the last three had to be kept at a distance.

Although both women had aged considerably, McGonagall and Sinistra still looked enough like their younger selves that the girl was horrified at their aged appearances. Hermione was the only one who she would let near her; at times Tonks. Professor Sinistra was heartbroken over the rejection.

DuManoir was also wary of most men. For Ron that was no problem. According to him she was creepy and just the sight of her oftentimes blank expression made his skin crawl. Hermione had bawled him out good and proper one morning when he had said just that aloud. DuManoir had still been asleep in the South Tower bedroom she was sharing with Hermione, but it was the Gryffindor girl's belief that they needed to be careful of what came out of their mouths because the frightened girl could understand everything that the four teens said amongst each other. There had been no evidence to back up her theory, though.

As usual, Malfoy had had to learn the hard way to stay out of DuManoir’s way. Bragging one night that he could charm the ornament away from her in a snap, the blond had come slinking back down the stairs from the girls' room only a few minutes later sporting two rather impressive black eyes. She was clearly nutters, he had muttered sourly to no one in particular. Ron and Harry had laughed and laughed. Hermione had fumed silently at the lot of them.

The one exception to this rule, however, was Harry. She didn't fear him. In fact he seemed to hold some queer fascination for the girl. It unsettled him, though at first Harry couldn't put his finger on the reason why. Every now and then, having fallen asleep on the couch in the Common Room, he would awaken to find her cloudy purple eyes staring at him from between the bars of the staircase banister. Or he would be walking down a hallway in the castle and feel the gooseflesh tickle at the undersides of his arms. Turning around, he would see her form scamper away, wraith-like, into some dimly lit corner to hide.

“She's just confused, is all,” Hermione eventually explained to him one night when it was just the two of them alone by the fire.

The brunette had taken to DuManoir right from the start and seemed to be the only person who could get through to her. It had been Hermione’s idea to have the girl bunk with her; to make the former Head Girl more comfortable, she had said. She took charge of DuManoir almost exclusively making sure the girl ate, slept, and dressed properly; DuManoir became a new project to occupy Hermione's time. Sometimes Harry worried that his friend was becoming too attached, but he figured that in a way they all needed something to distract them from the uncertainty and oppression they constantly lived under. Hermione just wasn't Hermione unless she was worrying after someone; first him and Ron, then Malfoy after his injury, and now DuManoir. Harry would often find the two girls sitting next to each other by the hearth as they conversed together in a language of whispers and simple hand gestures. At times Hermione could even coax a dimpled smile out of her company.

“She knows you're not him. She understands that you can't be him,” Hermione had told him. “She sees the green eyes, the glasses, the scar...”

Her hand had reached up to gently caress his forehead. His eyes had languidly fallen shut at the tender touch.

“Her mind isn't completely broken you see,” she continued on. “Not really. But there isn't one moment that she doesn't look up to see you standing there and for a second think...hope, 'Tom'.”

Harry had hated the sound of that. Not just the unwanted comparison to Riddle yet again, but the idea that DuManoir could still love the fiend after all he had done to her. Harry knew that he could never be that forgiving if someone who claimed to love him betrayed him so heartlessly.

“She's mad!” he had said, open eyes burning bright with revulsion.

Hermione had only shrugged her shoulders at the claim.

“She's in love. Sometimes that's almost as bad.”

The four teens knew that they had to get the Pensieve away from DuManoir and figure out some way to destroy it; they just didn't know how to accomplish either feat. Hermione had cautioned the three boys that they had to be gentle with how they approached the girl, but every day they were reminded that they didn’t have much time to spare. Although they were all safely tucked away inside Hogwarts, beyond the castle's confines the War raged on fiercely. What the Muggle media was calling terrorist attacks, were in actuality Riddle's attempts to cause mass hysteria among both the magical and non-magical populace. The Order, working independently from the Ministry, was doing their part to preserve as many lives as they could, but they all knew that the War would only end once Harry and Lord Voldemort did battle. Doing away with the Ravenclaw Horcrux would put them one step closer to that day.

Everything came to a head not too long after Bonfire Night. Harry and Ron had set up a friendly game of chess in their tower for after dinner and were battling it out. Malfoy, having nothing better to do and no one to listen to him complain, tried reading out of a book he held with his un-bandaged arm while laying sprawled out on the Common Room couch. His other arm was taking longer to heal and rested lamely against his chest wrapped tight inside its dressing. Hermione and DuManoir, having had their usual evening tea, had long retired for the evening. Or so Harry had thought.

“So what happened, Sleeping Beauty?” drawled Malfoy indolently from his spot on the couch. “Someone pea'd your mattress or something?”

Malfoy's archly delivered greeting alerted Harry and Ron to Hermione's presence. As Harry looked up from the board, he watched as she cautiously crept down the stairs. Instead of holding on to the handrail, she awkwardly held her arms behind her. Curiously, she was still fully dressed despite having supposedly been in bed for well over an hour.

“Somehow Malfoy seems just the type to be into fairy tales,” said Ron studying the board in front of him and contemplating his next move. “Eh, Harry?”

As he and Ron exchanged brotherly smiles, Harry couldn't stop himself from chuckling. When Malfoy threw his book at Ron’s head, Harry laughed outright. Missing its mark, the book bounced against the wall, plopped down on the table knocking over Ron's queen, and sent the irascible little monarch into a tizzy.

“Is it too much to ask for you three to act like adults for a change?” asked Hermione dully, clearly fed to the gills with their ceaseless bickering.

She left the bottom step and approached them. By the way her hands were still concealed from view Harry wondered if she was hiding something behind her.

“Hermione, what's wrong?” he asked concernedly as he stood up and met her in the center of the room. “Did we wake you? I thought you said you were tired.”

“I...I just said that. I needed Boadicea to follow my lead, drink her tea, and go to bed like a good little witch.”

She nervously began to tap her foot. It was like she couldn't keep still. She was a ball of wired energy. She even snuck a quick peek back up the stairs as if making sure no one had followed her down. Harry found her behavior peculiar.

“But why?” he asked. She was so fidgety that he was beginning to get worried that something terrible had happened. It took a bit of hemming and hawing before Hermione finally put his worries to rest.

“So I could get this,” she said as she held out her two closed fists and opened them, palms turned upwards, for his inspection. Cradled in her hands laid an object that was decked out in tiny jewels and carvings and which looked deceivingly like a fancy hairpin. But Harry knew better. He was awe-struck by the find.

“HERMIONE!”

By this time both Ron and Malfoy had ambled over to get a better look at the surprising acquisition. All three boys crowded her as they looked down at the miniaturized Ravenclaw Pensieve. Ron even reached out to touch it, but thought better of it at the last second.

“How did you manage it, Hermione? I thought you already tried taking it from her while she was conked out once,” Ron wondered aloud as he pulled back his hand. “You said she freaked out pretty badly.”

“She did. I had a devil of a time convincing her that I was merely adjusting her blankets.” Her overly breezy tone caught Harry's attention. It was a little too forced.

“So then how did you do it?” he worriedly asked.

“Oh isn't it obvious, Potter?!” smarmed Malfoy condescendingly. “Granger there drugged that deranged simp.”

Harry looked back and forth between the two of them in shock. Although the guilt was plainly evident on Hermione's face, Harry still felt the need to hear it from her.

“Hermione, is that true?”

When she averted her eyes he had his answer.

“What did you give her?” he sharply questioned. It didn't sit well with him that the blond pest had been right. It also bugged the hell out of him that the bastard was probably gloating over the fact.

“Draught of Living Death,” she said briskly as she held her head high. She looked directly at him. When Harry's nettled expression morphed into one of disappointment she grew defensive. “Don't look at me that way; I just gave her a half-dose. Look, I'm not proud of it, and I know that she's never going to trust me again, but I did what I thought was best. We've reached the point where all of us are going to have to start making some tough choices. This was mines,” she said resolutely.

She walked towards the table that Harry and Ron had been sitting at and placed the ornament right in the center of the chessboard. It was no bigger than a large fig. All of the miniature moving pieces circled around it in wonder as though it were some fallen idol. One of the little bishops even gave it a sound thwacking with his staff before Hermione reprovingly confiscated it from him. She began to carefully put away Ron's chess set as Harry cheerlessly looked on.

“I just wish there had been a better way,” he bleakly said.

It wasn't that he didn't understand why Hermione had gone to such drastic measures to get the Pensieve for them; he just wished she would have come to him first before doing it. It almost felt like she was somehow going behind his and Ron's back; like she was keeping them out of the loop. There was also something ignoble about the whole sordid thing. It wasn’t like this was the first time Hermione had stooped to drugging someone to get a desired result, the memory of a couple of laced chocolate cakes she had whipped up extra-special for Malfoy's underlings during Second Year sprang to mind. But this instance felt a little too sneaky for his tastes, a little too Slytherin-y. Why, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if Hermione had gotten the idea from the blond git himself. Not for the first time did he regret the decision of bringing Malfoy into the fold. The bastard was like some bad infection neither potion nor liberal dousing of penicillin could get rid of.

Needless to say the resident snake in the grass found nothing wrong at all with Hermione's underhanded maneuvering. He opened up the gaping head wound he called his mouth and began to spew.

“Oh please! She's the only one of you three that has a decent set of stones on her,” said Malfoy crudely, forcing Harry's attention away from the girl. There was just something about Chosen Wanker's holier-than-thou attitude that rubbed the Slytherin the wrong way. He had no problem telling him as much. “Granger should be commended for taking some initiative, not belittled. There's no point in trying to make her feel bad about what she did.”

Harry seethed silently. If he didn't know that the creep was only trying to score points with Hermione, he might have felt as though he were being called on the carpet. And by Malfoy of all people! He held his tongue, though. As long as Malfoy continued to act like a neutered pet rodent in front of Hermione, the brunette would defend the bastard to her last breath. It had been that way ever since Malfoy had saved his life in Boussac and Harry couldn't stand it! All the same he tried his best not to mix it up with the Slytherin if the Gryffindor girl was around. The few times he had, Hermione had accused him of being ungrateful. Ron, however, felt no sense of obligation towards the wanker to hold anything back.

“Gee Malfoy; you must be getting really soft in your old age.”

Malfoy looked at him impassively.

“Soft? Care to explain Weasel?”

“Your fangs; they're starting to dull, Ferret Breath. You must be losing your edge,” taunted Ron with unrestrained relish. “You almost sounded sincere there.” He folded his arms over his chest and wrinkled his nose. “We all know that can't be right.”

Harry smiled to himself. Good old Ron!

Hermione's piercing voice sliced right through the impending Weasley/Malfoy grudge match, nipping it in the bud before it could fully get underway.

“If you all are quite done maybe you three would like to join me over here and....oh, I don't know...thwart Voldemort, foil the dark forces; rid the world of evil or something like that.”

Her fearsome expression made the three young wizards shuffle over to where she stood like well-behaved choirboys. Ron took his place next to his girlfriend on one side of the table while Harry and Malfoy stood across from them. As soon as he reached the table, Harry saw what Hermione had been up to while the rest of them had been otherwise occupied. The chess set was gone and so was the hairpin. In its place was a pewter-like basin that had unusual stones, peculiar markings, and funny looking runes, all completely unfamiliar to Harry, etched into its curved rim. In many ways it looked nothing like Dumbledore's old Pensieve. It was fancier; more feminine for lack of a better word. However what Harry found most remarkable was the silvery contents that swirled inside of it. Now that, that was familiar to him.

“It looks like light made liquid,” murmured Ron.

“More like wind made solid,” Malfoy doggedly insisted.

“It's a memory,” stated Harry plainly.

Neither of them contradicted him.

“So this is it, Ravenclaw's Pensieve?” asked the Slytherin, bending forward over the table while studying the relic with marked interest. Although the senior Malfoy had once owned a rather flashy one that he kept for the sole purpose of showing off to company, he had never allowed his son near it for fear the boy would ultimately ruin it. This was actually the first time that he had been close enough to a Pensieve to actually touch it. And did he ever want to! Its whirling, bottomless depths called out to him it seemed.

Ron, who had also been fighting a similar compulsion, said harmlessly, “It doesn't look like it's filled with evil.”

At his best mate's remark, Harry looked up and tossed Malfoy a loaded glance. “Some things rarely do.”

Hermione huffed in aggravation while Malfoy stood up straight and looked at Harry hatefully.

“So what are we thinking,” cut in Ron as he pulled his wand out of his pocket. “A Dissendium, a little Incendio perhaps?”

Focusing back on the matter at hand, Harry followed his lead. “I'm feeling quite partial to a Reductor, myself.” He held his wand aloft.

“Ah, a fine choice if I might say,” said Ron lightly. “I think I'll be going with a good old-fashion Blasting Curse. It might be simple, but it gets the job done.”

Harry snickered. “Then let's do this.”

“Let's. On the count of three?”

Harry nodded his head, extended his firing arm, and took careful aim at the Pensieve sitting before him.

“One...”

Ron pointed his wand as Harry continued the countdown.

“Two...”

Blue eyes sought out the green ones across from him and awaited the signal.

“Thr–”

“WAIT!”

Hermione seized the Pensieve and ran towards the other side of the room with it. The unexpected move took all of the boys by surprise. Malfoy, Ron, and Harry whirled around to look at the girl as though she were some sideshow attraction. She in turn stared back at them defiantly. She held the relic to her bosom like a mama griffin protecting its young.

“Um...Hermione, luv, you're acting all mental again. Be a good girl and bring that back here, would you?”

Harry cringed. He knew straightaway that Ron had stepped in it. And by the looks of her molten face, Hermione wasn't about to let him get off easy.

“YOU LISTEN HERE, RONALD WEASLEY. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TRY AND BOSS ME AROUND!” she yelled. “I'm the one who discovered that Boadicea existed. And I'm the one who got the Pensieve! I'm not some little Quidditch groupie you can just push to the side whenever you feel like it. I am a vital part of this team, just as much as you are and don't you ever forget that!”

Ron was taken aback by the onrush.

“S-s-sorry Hermione,” he stammered as he put his wand away. As an aside he mumbled, “Blimey, I can't say a thing these days without setting her off.”

Malfoy sniggered to himself.

Hermione eased down onto the bottom step of the staircase as she fastidiously began to plead her case.

“Look, you two can go and blow this Pensieve to Kingdom come if you like, but I think we just might be making a mistake,” she said, trying to explain her strange behavior. “I mean, this is history that we'd be destroying. The Society for Preserving Artifacts of Mythos hasn't had a find like this in ages!”

Malfoy chortled meanly. “That's because those pansies over at SPAM wouldn't be able to find their own arses unless you handed it to them.”

They all ignored him.

As Harry brushed past the blond idiot he said, “Hermione, it's a Horcrux. Horcrux bad, remember?”

“But what if it isn't, Harry?” she asked as she stood up. “What if we are wrong?”

“But we know that it is!” he replied. “The genealogist that McGonagall contacted was able to confirm that DuManoir is a direct descendant of the Ravenclaw line. All evidence points to the Pensieve once belonging to the Founder. What more do we need? The Pensieve has to be a Horcrux! And what's more, we destroy Horcruxes. So what am I missing?”

“I just...it just seems a bit obvious, doesn't it?” Hermione brought the Pensieve back to the table and sat it down. “Blasting things to bits is all a little too easy if you ask me. Plus where is the sacrifice in that? Remember, there has to be a sacrifice,” she reminded them.

Ron's freckled face frowned as he asked, “What have you got against easy?”

“Nothing. I just don't like lazy. I think we owe it to ourselves to see every possible avenue through.”

Harry had to admit that what she said made a hell of a lot of sense.

“So what do you suggest we do then?” he asked.

“Well...uh, I have an idea. Let's call it an...experiment. Mind you it is a bit out there.”

Harry stepped closer to her. “We're listening.”

With a shy smile Hermione proceeded to lay out her plan.

“So I was thinking, so little is really known about Rowena Ravenclaw. I mean, sure there are dozens upon dozens of biographies, but sometimes you don't get the whole story from a book.”

“Now that's the second time I've heard her insult a book,” said Ron as he reached over to feel her head. “I think you might be running a temperat–OW! THAT HURT, HERMIONE!”

She had delivered a swift rap to his hand. Ron cradled the injured appendage to his chest while Hermione paid his bruised hand little heed. His bruised ego was given short shrift as well.

“We now have a chance, an opportunity if you will, to get some information firsthand,” she continued. “We have a chance to look through Rowena Ravenclaw's eyes. We have a chance to see history being made.”

“You think we should go into Ravenclaw's Pensieve, don't you?” came Harry's response.

“Just think Harry; therein lies her final memories. We could see them. If the Pensieve isn't really the Horcrux we might even find a clue to what we really should be looking for.”

“And what if all we find is old Rowena making out her apothecary shopping list?” he countered. “There's no guarantee that we'll find anything of use in there Hermione. Dumbledore used his to store excess memories. Snape used it to hide what he didn't want me to see. Who knows, maybe all Rowena put in hers were the things she'd rather forget.”

“It can't hurt to try, can it?” she asked with hope burning bright in her eyes.

In the face of such optimism, Harry began to feel his resolve weaken. Matter of fact, he tumbled like a stacked deck of Exploding Snap cards. He couldn't help but give in, and in the end he decided that maybe Hermione was on to something. Had she ever led him wrong?

“No, it can't,” he said with a smile. “You're right. Let's do it.”

She stared at him for a moment, almost shocked into speechlessness. “Really?!” she asked with some wavering.

Harry nodded his head.

“Yeah! Sterling idea there, Hermione. I–oof!”

She practically tackled his midsection in a crushing hug.

“Thank you, Harry! Thank you so much! You won't regret this, I promise!”

Harry's arms wrapped around her as he gently patted her back. He even dropped a small kiss on her head to seal the deal. He felt his heart swell with some fuzzy emotion that warmed him from the insides. If given the time he might have placed it, but the sound of someone clearing their throat spoiled his awareness. Harry looked up in time to see his best friend's inscrutable face before him. His other best friend, that is.

Harry quickly let go of Hermione.

“So what are we doing then?” asked Ron tersely.

“We're going in,” Harry bluntly said. “You, me, and Hermi–”

Harry paused in mid-thought as his green eyes flew to the top of the stairs. Although Hermione had extinguished most of the lights on the first floor earlier to complete her ruse, Harry still leaned forward as if to peer into the shadowed darkness of the landing. Both Ron and Hermione looked at their dark haired friend with concern.

Hermione took one of his hands in hers and asked, “Harry, what's wrong?”

The contact brought him back to them. He turned to face her.

“I thought I just saw...”

Harry’s forehead slowly creased. He paused, thinking hard on what exactly he had seen, then gnashed his teeth in frustration when nothing came to him. He quickly looked back to the stairs, eyes having finally adjusted to the lack of light, and saw nothing there.

Maybe he just needed to clean his glasses?

“Never mind,” said Harry, shaking his head. “It was nothing. Back to the Pensieve,” he said as he tried to get them all back on course. “We'll go in, see if we find anything that might be of some use and if not...”

“Bye, bye Pensieve?” finished Ron.

Harry smiled at his best mate.

“Exactly.”

“Anyone mind telling me what I'll be doing while you three are out enjoying Ravenclaw: The Early Years?” asked Malfoy snidely. Harry had almost forgotten the pest was still in the room.

“Well I would suggest you just DIE already, but we both know that you're shite at following directions,” came Ron’s mean-spirited response.

“You'll stay here and watch our guest,” Harry answered simply before Malfoy and Ron could get going.

Malfoy balked at the order.

“You're leaving me with her?!” He motioned up the stairs. “She's worse than that Lovegood kook! No way am I staying here with her; she’s completely hatstand! If all of you go, I'm going too!” he petulantly whinged.

Harry had started to tell him just where he could go when Hermione stopped him.

“If we don't, he'll never shut up about it,” she advised him.

Harry reluctantly agreed. They had already wasted enough time. It was time for some action.

“Fine!”

“So we really are going to do this?” asked Ron tensely, glancing from Harry to the bowl in trepidation.

“We are. I'll go first. Ron, you and Hermione follow right after. Then you Malfoy; understand?”

Harry turned around to face the bowl. The other three teenagers followed suit and surrounded the table; Ron and Hermione on either side of him. They all gazed down into the silvery depths of the memory before them and contemplated the enormity of what they were about to do. Malfoy nervously coughed.

“What's with you?” Hermione asked him.

“I've...well...if you must know,” he began stiffly, “I've never done this before. It won't hurt or anything, will it?” His scowling face did little to hide his apprehension.

“Don't worry; Harry is an old hand at this,” she told him reassuringly while turning towards Harry. The admiration with which she looked up at him gave Harry all the confidence he needed.

“Well, here we go then,” he said as he lowered his face to the ebbing and undulating surface inside the Pensieve. “Hang on.”

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

The first thing Harry noticed after exiting the cold black nothingness that he had grown accustomed to, was that his grim, depressing surroundings were familiar. The mildewed stone floor his face was squashed into was easily recognizable. He knew that he was still in the castle, one of the toilets, from what he could tell. The second thing that caught his attention was the throbbing ache in his neck.

“Ron?”

“Yeah, mate?”

“If you don't mind, you're sitting on my head.”

The redhead jumped off of Harry and hurriedly helped his friend to his feet.

“Sorry, Harry.”

As Harry stood up, working his neck from side to side to get the kink out, he found that he and Ron had landed in a restroom stall together. He also found that Hermione was missing.

With rising alarm he called out, “Where's Hermione?!”

A phantom voice in the stall next door to him responded at once.

“On top of me,” it croaked.

The crass statement was then followed by a scuffling sound and an enraged howl of pain.

“FUCK!”

Harry opened the door in time to see Malfoy sail clean across the dimly lit room and bang into the sink facing the end toilet he had just been thrown out of. He crumpled to the floor.

“BE MINDFUL OF WHERE YOU PUT THAT HAND!” shouted Hermione as she emerged from where the git had just been, wand pointed straight ahead. “OR NEXT TIME I’LL PERSONALLY MAKE YOU THE LAST OF YOUR LINE, DRACO MALFOY!”

Always beaten but never bowed, Malfoy jumped up and threateningly pointed a finger at the girl.

“ALL I KNOW GRANGER, IS THAT WHEN I DO A CAREFUL ACCOUNTING LATER, ALL MY BITS BEST BE WHERE I LEFT THEM LAST!”

“SHUT UP, MALFOY!” yelled Harry and Ron as they both exited their compact compartment. Hermione conspicuously said nothing. Both boys turned on her as though she had committed some treasonable offense.

“HERMIONE?!” they exclaimed in disbelief.

The girl looked up from wiping the imaginary muck off of her jumper and gave them both a perplexed look.

“What?” she asked, oblivious to what her crime could be.

When Ron and Harry continued to stare at her as though she were some pod person she became indignant.

“Ooh! STOP BEING SO STUPID!” she yelled then paused as she looked between the sink in front of her and the toilet in back. “Why are we in the girls' loo?”

Harry slowly turned around and took in his environs. He came to a halt as he faced the door.

“I'm not sure,” he said, eyes glued to the ceiling. “But if I were to wager a guess, I would say that this is not Rowena Ravenclaw's memory. I'm pretty confident that they didn't have indoor plumbing in the medieval ages. Also she wouldn't be here,” he said directing their attention up towards the translucent bespeckled girl hovering idly near the exit.

Ron staggered back at the sight of her. “MYRTLE?!”

All four teens gawked at the spirit known to them all as Moaning Myrtle. The ghost didn't acknowledge them whatsoever. She floated on her back laxly as she quietly sang to herself in a watery, warbling voice.

“Yesterday upon the stair

I met a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today

I wish, I wish he'd go away..."

Over and over again she repeated the meaningless rhyme.

“Whose memory do you think this is, Harry?” asked Hermione as she came up beside him. She was dumbfounded by Moaning Myrtle's presence.

“I don't know, but we're about to find out,” he said as he looked back at the row of chipped sinks. He walked over to the one nearest the wall and studied it closely. As he expected, he found the tiny snake scratched into one of the pipes. “I think I hear something coming,” he said casually despite the funny feeling that he knew exactly what was heading their way.

Regrettably, his calmly spoken words had an adverse effect on Malfoy. They freaked him out.

“SHITE! HIDE!” he shouted as he somehow shoved Hermione, Ron, and Harry into the end toilet, slamming the door behind him and locking it. The tiny space was so cramped that Ron was relegated to standing on the seat of the bowl, hunched over, to fit. Harry somehow ended up crushed into the side wall while Hermione and Malfoy's limbs flailed all over the place. Harry was not a happy camper.

“You know Malfoy, the memories, they can't hear us. We're not really here,” Harry gritted out from between clenched teeth.

“Oh....right. I...uh...forgot,” the blond mumbled humbly.

Ron growled in annoyance.

“PONCE!” he shouted down at the idiot.

“ARSEFACE!” Malfoy yelled back at him.

“LIMP DIC–”

“KNOCK IT OFF!” shrieked Hermione, calling them off.

The two boys continued to glare, but obeyed her. The ensuing ceasefire provided just enough quiet for them to hear Myrtle trilling on. They were also able to hear the padding of hard soled shoes across the stone floor. Harry looked down and watched as a faint shadow drifted by each stall and came to a halt in front of theirs.

“...I met a man who wasn't there

He wasn't there again today...”

“Do you hear that?” asked Hermione as a hushed, sibilant sound began to fill Harry's ears, mind...waking nightmares. “It sounds like–”

“Parseltongue,” came his dull-toned response as he pushed his way to the door. Brilliant white light poured over and under it.

“I wish, I wish he'd go away...”

Harry's response seemed to make the tension in the crowded toilet ratchet into high gear. He could feel Malfoy's shallow breathing on his neck. The sound of Ron grinding his teeth together was like sandpaper being rubbed across his raw nerves. Hermione trembled against him like a terrorized child awaiting the boogeyman outside the door.

“What's it saying, Harry?” her small, quivering voice whispered.

With little emotion, Harry answered her.

“'Open for the Heir of Slytherin'.”

It was a testament to the insanity of the nail-biting scene that someone as knowledgeable as Hermione could lose her head so easily. Ron and Malfoy forgot that no one could see or hear them as well. Harry had to admit that even he was ruffled a bit by the experience. He didn't know what he had expected to find in Ravenclaw's Pensieve, but this wasn't it.

Trying to maintain his composure, Harry decided to put on his game face. He was supposed to be their leader; it was time for him to lead. He needed to show them that there was nothing to fear.

Not bothering to lower his voice he said, “Someone is trying to open the Chamber of Secrets. Three guesses who, and the first two don't count.”

He placed his hand on the sliding lock of the door and prepared to pull it back.

“Who is here?” asked a cunningly sly voice that punctuated each word. Ron, Hermione, and Malfoy weren’t familiar with it. Harry was.

His hand jerked away from the lock as if a bolt of electricity had been dispatched through him. Had...had they been heard? How could they have been heard?!

Outside the stalls, Myrtle paused long enough to dourly say, “I am, as if you cared.”

She then continued her singing.

“...I met a man who wasn't there...”

“I wasn't talking to you, Mayhugh,” the intruder said rudely. “Go bother Hornby and get out!”

“He wasn't there again today

I wish, I wish he'd go away..."

“LEAVE!” ordered the voice imperiously.

Bursting into a rattling, anguished sob, Myrtle flung herself all the way inside the stall the four teens were hiding in and threw herself into the toilet headfirst. Water splashed up everywhere causing Hermione to scream at the unexpected action. Ron swore loudly as his foot slipped and went into the bowl.

All went still then. Malfoy had slapped a hand across Hermione's mouth to quiet her and Ron had swallowed back the rest of his angry curses. They all had lost their minds! Harry had even begun to believe that the person on the other side of the door knew that they were huddled there. Common sense had done a runner.

“Come on, don't be so shy,” the cajoling voice called out to them. The silver-tongued tone was strangely compelling, yet awful to the ear. There was an unsated hunger underneath it. “I know someone is in here. I can hear you. I can smell you,” it said. “You're dripping in fear. You stink of it. Do you know who you are dealing with? Do you even know who I am?”

Harry angled his head to peek through the crack of the door. All he could see was the swishing of black school robes and the glint of what he thought might be a Prefect or Head's badge. As the intruder moved out of the way Harry saw the exposed pipe that led into the Chamber. When he looked up into the cracked mirror over the sinks all he could see was a splintered image of the person walking over to the very first stall before heading down the line. Theirs would be the last. Tonelessly the voice began to recite Myrtle's rhyme.

“Yesterday upon the stairs...”

Ron began to hiccup hysterically. He did his best to suppress them.

“I met a man who wasn't there...”

Hermione's nails dug into the thin material of Harry's jumper and sank into his skin.

“He wasn't there again today...”

Harry closed his eyes, wishing only that this were all just some bad dream.

“I wish, oh how I wish...”

He'd go away.

*BOOM*

Harry, Hermione, Malfoy, and Ron jolted backwards, pressing themselves as far away as they could get, as the wood panel in front of them was blasted off its hinges. They clung to one another mindlessly in their fright.

“AHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Their screams of terror were cut short by the sound of the door banging to the ground. All four sets of eyes stared out at the tall young man standing in the opening.

Tom Riddle blankly stared back at them.

It was the Riddle that Harry first encountered when he was a Second Year. This Riddle was just a couple of years older and thinner than Harry remembered. His cheeks had already begun to become sunken giving him a deathly serious countenance, but as Harry recalled, it did not detract from his good looks. However there was something unnatural about his appearance. Harry likened it to meeting a mannequin that could walk and talk and looked just like you. But you never forgot that you were looking at a storefront dummy, no matter how good it was at pretending to be human.

Cocking his head, Riddle furrowed his brow as his eyes remained devoid of any reaction. The dark pupils scanned back and forth but nothing seemed to leave an imprint on him. His wand remained pointed outward, but had no target.

“Either that blind sonofabitch can't see us,” muttered Ron, “or he has no clue that we're even here to begin with.”

Harry had started to agree when the sound of squeaking hinges stilled his tongue. Riddle stepped back from their doorway and looked off to his right. He walked away from them without even glancing back.

“What are you doing here?” he asked someone impersonally.

The four teenagers looked between them in confusion. Who could he be talking to?

The question was answered shortly when a soft-spoken voice responded.

“I was looking for you, Tom.”

Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy silently filed out of their hiding place to discover the owner of the second voice. DuManoir stood outside the first toilet where she had apparently been concealed during the whole ordeal. Dressed in her crisp white shirt, her yellow and black tie, and her standard issue black robes with the Head Girl badge proudly pinned and displayed on it, the girl was visibly different from the one they had just left alone in the South Tower. It was the eyes that gave it away. Instead of scarily vacant, her purple eyes were filled with worry as she stared at Riddle.

“You found me,” said the Head Boy as he walked over to DuManoir and ran his fingers down the side of her face. “Didn't I tell you never to come in here? Mayhugh learned the hard way the price of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. Don't you know I care about you? I would just hate it if anything ever happened to you.”

He had all of the warmth of a brown recluse. The way he brushed a lock of long black hair behind her ear sickened Harry. Knowing what the monster would eventually do to the girl, Harry's stomach churned, repulsed.

“Come along. Now,” Riddle commanded as he turned towards the entrance to the Chamber fully expecting her to trail behind him without objection. She did not disappoint.

“So that’s the Boy Who Would Be Voldemort,” said an awed Hermione as she watched Riddle with fascination. “He looks so...so...”

“Normal,” provided Ron.

With the lines of his face set grimly, Harry shook his head.

“He was never normal.”

Hermione, Ron, and Malfoy then turned to him to see what their next move would be. Riddle and DuManoir had already disappeared from sight and the entrance was closing. But Harry didn't want to follow after them. The choice, however, was taken out of his hands in the next second when the world dropped out from under him. The bathroom dissolved away as if it had been only a mirage. He could hear the muted sound of Hermione screaming, calling out his name, but he couldn't find her. He couldn't even see his own hands in front of him. There was nothing but darkness...

And then everything came into focus again. He was laid out on a hard floor, feeling as though he had just been put through the spin cycle. Myrtle's bathroom was gone, replaced with the one place in the world Harry had hoped never to see again.

“RONNIE?! RONNIE?!”

Hermione's frightened voice cut through Harry’s consciousness. As he sat up, he looked over to find her and Ron huddled together behind him. The dumbstruck look on Ron's face told Harry that he knew exactly where they were as well. He was almost as green as the gloom that hung over them. Hermione kept looking to Harry for some explanation for Ron's near catatonia, but he gave her none.

He found Malfoy standing right next to them. The monkey faced statue of Salazar Slytherin against the back wall had him transfixed. The young blond wizard reverently gazed up at it, ensnared by its sheer grandeur.

“Great Grendelwald's Ghost!” gasped Malfoy. “This is the Chamber of Secrets, isn't it?” he solemnly asked. It was the way a person would speak when walking on hallowed ground.

Harry saw no reason to answer a question that the arse damn well knew the answer to. So he didn't. For the time being he also chose to look away from the young lovers that sat on Slytherin's enormous left foot. He was feeling discouraged. And crabby. He had let Hermione talk him into this wild goose chase, had been scared nearly witless(literally), and instead of catching a glimpse of the revered Founder's memories he had been subjected to one from Tom Riddle. This whole experiment had been a waste of time!

Then again, how could they have been seeing one of Riddle's memories if they were already standing in the lavatory when the future dark lord walked in, Harry wondered.

Before he could think on it further he caught the shape of some shadowy form scuttle past the dimly lit exit that led out of the main chamber. It was too big to be a rat, far too small to be the basilisk. Harry whipped his glasses from his face and blinked into the looming darkness.

“Are you going to tell me why you were spying on me, dear heart?”

Tom Riddle's flat, emotionless voice ended up pulling Harry's attention back to him.

With her head bowed as though awaiting some form of punishment, DuManoir mumbled, “Professor Dumbledore came up to see us. ’E wished to speak to ze 'ead Girl and Boy. I told 'im zat you were not feeling well and ‘ad gone to bed.”

“What did the old conjurer want?” He began to creepily play with her hair.

“'E wanted to notify us zat Saturday's 'ogsmeade visit ‘as been canceled,” DuManoir told him.

“Oh?”

“Oiu. All of ze 'eads of 'ouse 'ave been informed. Someone was killed een ze village. Monsieur Gingold was found dead een 'is store zese evening.”

A slick smirk creased Riddle's face. “How sad.”

“You said you were going to see 'im today, non?” DuManoir asked carefully. “You said you were going into town during your free period to Gingold's Gallery. Did you, Tom?”

He slowly nodded.

“I did. The peddler even closed his curiosity shop for me after some...persuading. And do you know what happened?”

DuManoir shook her head.

Riddle reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the jeweled hairpin.

“He confirmed what I already knew,” he said in an exaggerated honeyed voice as he affixed the transfigured Pensieve into her hair. He pulled back his hand to admire his handiwork. “Your family heirloom is priceless my dear. It once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw. You're special.”

“Does zat mean...am I good enough for you now, Tom?” she anticipatively asked. Her eyes shined bright with worship as she smiled.

“Not quite. But soon. Soon.”

Riddle patted her head and stood up. DuManoir grabbed for one of his hands to stop him from walking away.

“Tom, did you...you did not do some'zeeng to Monsieur Gingold, did you?” she hesitantly asked.

Riddle's facile smile hardened. “Why would you ask a thing like that?”

Despite the warning signs that she should stop, DuManoir soldiered on.

“You were probably ze last person to see 'im alive.”

Riddle grabbed her by the upper arm and hauled her up to her feet.

“DID YOU TELL YOUR PRECIOUS DUMBLEDORE THAT?!

Riddle's well maintained mask had fallen revealing the sleeping demon inside him. His face was contorted by rage. The girl should have broken apart from the force with which he shook her. Her head snapped back and forth violently. The fear that it would come off if he kept at it surfaced in Harry's head until the fiend finally stopped.

“NO! No, Tom! JE T'AIME! JE T’AIME! I would never betray you! NEVER!” she pitifully swore as she stumbled back from him.

“I did what I had to do!” proclaimed Riddle. “Gingold threatened to tell everyone about the Pensieve. He said he wanted to write papers about it; take it to museums. Then everyone would find out just how important you are. I couldn't let that happen. It would spoil all of my plans.”

“What plans?” she asked.

The question caught him off guard. A blank look passed across his face before being replaced by a deceptively charming smile.

“For us. All of my plans for us,” he told her as he pinched one of her dimpled cheeks.

“Us? Oh Tom!” she blissfully cried as she circled her arms around him and squeezed.

Riddle looked like he could barely stomach her touch. He weakly laid a hand on her back.

“’Ow can I prove to you just ‘ow much I love you?” she asked as she snuggled closer to the Head Boy. “I only want to make you 'appy, Tom. Eet eez what I was born for.”

The heartfelt admittance seemed to overwhelm Riddle. It was like he didn't know how to handle the unconditional love that the girl so blindly offered; didn't know what to do with it. His arms went around her unwillingly it seemed. DuManoir sunk further into the embrace.

“I’m scared, Tom. Ever since you...you...'urt Myrtle you just 'ave not been ze same. But I know zat eet was not your fault; an accident. I'm scared for you. I'm scared for what you might become,” she said.

Riddle's arms slowly lowered from her.

In a crisp tone he asked, “And what might that be?”

DuManoir knew right away that she had said the wrong thing.

“I...I...I do not know,” she stammered trying to recover. She cupped his chin lovingly. “But if you will let me, I will save you. We can both go to ze professor–”

“Dumbledore?!”

“Or...or...ze ‘eadmaster and tell ‘im–”

Riddle wrapped his two hands around DuManoir's delicate neck and began to squeeze. Harry, Ron, and surprisingly enough Malfoy all seemed to come to attention at the sight of the appalling abuse. The three young wizards looked on at the scene helplessly knowing that there wasn't a thing they could do about it. Hermione just stared at Riddle and DuManoir with a look of dawning horror on her face.

“Tell him what?” asked Riddle forebodingly.

DuManoir clawed at his hands to free her. “You're 'urting me,” she struggled to say.

He gave her a good shake.

“Tell him what?” he asked once again. His eyes glowed sinisterly as he tightened his grip. She began to beat at his arms and face as she fought for air. “Just what have you been telling dear Dumbledore?”

“NOTHING!”

“Just what do you tell him? Do you tell him all of my secrets?”

“I can't breathe, Tom!” she cried weakly.

“Do you lie on your back for him like the dirty little Mudblood whore that you are? Do you open your legs for him? While the two of you are rutting, just what sweet nothings do you whisper in his ears? Do you tell him about me? Do you? Do you?!”

The robotic way in which his inflectionless voice never went up, nor down, made the scene that much more horrific.

When he finally removed his fingers from her throat she seemed to just collapse to the ground, wheezing and gasping for air. Harry could see the fingerprints stamped into her pale white skin. He thought he would lose his gorge when the miserable creature clutched at the leg of one of Riddle’s trousers. The sick fuck just shook her off.

“Know your place,” he told her.

Still trying to fill air into her lungs, DuManoir shriveled into a pathetic heap and began to sob.

“I love you so much, Tom,” she tearfully cried. Her voice sounded feeble and waterlogged. “I would do anyzeeng for you. Anyzeeng!” she insisted. “Why do you not believe me? What can I do to make you believe me?”

She rose to her knees and lifted her purple eyes to look at him.

“Je t'aime de tout mon coeur. Dans tes bras c'est mon destin. Don't you know I belong to you?”

A pleased look seemed to smooth the features of Riddle’s face.

“Yes,” he began. “Yes you do, oh Daughter of Rowena. On that we both can agree.” He leaned forward and petted her. “I told you that you were special, didn't I? Soon I'm going to make you into something that defies all words. I'm going to bestow a great and powerful honor upon you.”

Harry felt the bottom of his stomach drop.

Oh no...Merlin please, no...

“Really? Pour moi?” DuManoir asked adoringly. She stood up.

Riddle nodded his head.

“You are going to have a piece of me forever. Doesn't that sound nice?”

An anguished scream tore from Hermione's throat.

DuManoir wrapped her arms around his waist and held him tightly. She pressed her face into his chest.

“Oh I love you so much, Tom!”

Riddle's falsely benevolent smile warped into something truly terrible to behold. Sadly for DuManoir, she would never get to see it.

“Show me.”

DuManoir stood back from him and obediently sunk to her knees.

At the sound of a zipper being pulled down, Hermione scrambled over to Harry and grabbed at him wildly.

“Make it stop, Harry! We've seen enough. MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE!”

“I'm not sure how to. I don't know how...” he had frantically begun to say when the room began to fade away once more. With Hermione holding on to him they seemed to rise out of the abyss of the Chamber.

The next thing Harry knew, they were all back in the South Tower of Hogwarts. He opened his eyes to find Hermione crying onto his chest as he held her. They were sitting on the Common Room couch. For a second Harry thought that they had just entered another memory, Riddle and DuManoir had lived here once during their final year at Hogwarts, but the sight of the book Malfoy had been reading out of before their adventure had begun settled his fears.

“Is it just me,” began Ron who was sitting in the same chair that he had been playing chess in earlier, “or does anyone else here think that the Pensieve isn't what we've been looking for after all?” He looked wiped. He leaned against the stone wall and stared listlessly at Harry and Hermione.

Hermione began to sniffle.

“Oh well spotted, Weasel the Red. Bravo! It's good to see that you've caught up with the rest of the class,” Malfoy sniped from the chair across from the redhead. The Pensieve sat innocuously between the two wizards.

“FUCK YOU, MALFOY!” barked Ron.

Malfoy gave him the finger. The pureblood had been picking up such lovely Muggle habits since taking up with them.

Ron tried to explain himself.

“What I meant was who would have thought that a person could be a Horcrux?”

Harry felt Hermione's whole body become rigid in his arms. She looked up at him with such heartbreaking intensity, then looked away. She then pulled out of his hold and scooted over to the far side of the couch.

“Ron, what's your point?” Harry asked, impatiently turning back to him.

Ron's freckled face frowned. “Dunno. Guess I'm just trying to make conversation.

“WELL DON’T!” snapped Harry. He didn't like how upset Ron's chatter was making Hermione. Ron, however, just wouldn't give it up.

“So um...what do we do now? I mean, about the Horcrux. What do we do?” Ron asked fretfully as he looked at the two people who usually had all of the answers. If he hadn't been so heartsick, Harry probably would have laughed at the expectant expression on his friend's face. Truth was he had no answers to give. None that he wanted to talk about at the moment.

Naturally Malfoy would be the one to push the issue.

“Oh, I think it's quite obvious to everyone in this room just what has to be done with the Ravenclaw Horcrux,” he sneeringly said.

He looked from face to face, saving Harry's for last.

“We get rid of it.”

Harry hadn’t needed to alert Hermione to his presence when he finally flew down to her; it was like she instinctually knew that he was there. She just turned her tear streaked face towards him and watched silently as he landed his broom, then approached her. No words were spoken, he just opened his arms and she walked into his embrace. Any questions about wands and what have you were shelved for the time being. All he thought of was comforting his friend. The lake had obviously brought back some painful memories. He simply turned her away from the water's edge and they made the long trek back up to the castle in silence.

When they reached the doors near the courtyard they ran into Lavender. She walked with them back to the Entrance Hall where they eventually met up with Ron, Charlie, George, and their two dates; Bernadette and Pristine. Lavender had excused herself to the loo when the three brothers began to complain about the watered down drinks they had been knocking back all night. According to Ron's questionable accounting he had swilled at least eight glasses of champagne that evening and wasn't nearly as pissed as he would like to be. At the time Harry had been tentatively broaching the subject of Apparating Hermione home since Luna and Draco were nowhere to be seen, but when Ron opened up his big mouth he ended up spoiling all of Harry's prospects.

Ron was bored with the Ball and wanted to go whoop it up somewhere else. He wasn’t ready to call it a night yet. Charlie and George (both only slightly as buzzed as their brother) had agreed, as did Glinda and Fred when they finally sauntered up together. Hannah and Ernie, who had been passing by, overheard the conversation and suggested that they move the festivities over to their pub and close it for a private get-together. The Weasleys had all thought it was a capital idea. Although Harry had been hoping that Hermione would beg off so he could take her home, she instead seemed receptive to the whole thing. Dismayed at being thwarted yet again, Harry had ended up reluctantly agreeing along with everyone else.

In all, nearly fifty or so of their closest friends had stumbled their way drunkenly in the dark towards the Three Broomsticks for a V-Ball afterparty. Once there, almost all of the late night revelers commenced to getting rat-arsed drunk for the next couple of hours. Harry chose instead to deposit himself into a booth in the back and there he had remained for the rest of the night.

“So your wife, Zabini...”

“Amparo,” the wizard said as he tilted his head back and sneered at Harry haughtily. Zabini probably figured that the nauseating way he looked down his nose while flaring his nostrils out at people was intimidating and lordly. In Harry's opinion it made the prat share a rather unflattering resemblance with a Komodo dragon.

“Amparo, yes, um...she went to Hogwarts?” Harry asked, trying to make polite conversation. Well, if one wanted to be technical about it, he was fishing.

“No, actually, Amparo attended an all girls' boarding school in Nova Scotia. They all read Sappho for kicks and diddled each other in the dark after lights out,” he answered with an infuriatingly straight face. “Why are you so curious to know, Auror Potter?”

Harry forced himself not to swear at him. Merlin was Zabini a humorless twat! But Harry swallowed his irritation and tried to be civil.

“I was just wondering how Hermione knew her, is all,” he answered truthfully.

Zabini raised his glass to his mouth and took a painfully long pause to drink the rest of his cordial down. Harry was sure that the bastard was just drawing out the action as long as he could to purposely wind him up.

“Well, from what I've been able to ascertain, my wife made your dear little Granger's acquaintance only yesterday in Diagon,” he finally said after placing his glass back on the table.

By now it was old news to Harry that Hermione had somehow managed to wander into Diagon Alley the day before without him there to guard her every move. It still irked Harry to hear it, though. It was just his good fortune, he supposed, that the only person she had encountered was whatever snooty, pureblood slag had bamboozled Blaise Zabini into marrying her. In Harry's opinion it was a close call and he was determined to be even more vigilant when it came to keeping tabs on his friend.

“Granger was with that hellcat the Weasley twin married. The vulgar woman made the introductions.”

“Glinda, you mean.” Harry didn't particularly care for how Zabini spoke of Glinda. Sure she could be a bit...brash, maybe even slightly obnoxious at times, but she was still family. Besides Glinda was rather fun to have around for a few laughs as long as that acerbic wit and tart tongue of hers wasn't turned against you. But Glinda was a Muggle so it wasn't all that surprising that Zabini would look down his nose on her, pure-blooded snot that he was.

“Oh, is that her name?” the Slytherin disdainfully asked. “I just know she's wrapped up in the POWW alongside Amparo.”

For a second Harry didn't quite make the connection. In his work with the Cadmus case he had become quite familiar with the Muggle support group as well as some of its smaller offshoots, but what the POWW had to do with Zabini's wife was beyond his–

“WAIT!” shouted Harry as comprehension suddenly hit him like a brick to the head. “YOUR WIFE'S A MUGGLE?!”

Unfairly taking Harry’s shock as disparagement, Zabini's eyes nearly turned into slits as he glowered at him.

“Merlin, you are sharp Auror Potter. Can't get anything past you, now can we?”

The dig rolled off of Harry's back. In truth he was still too shocked by the revelation to be bothered by it. Blaise Zabini was married to a Muggle?! Just how in the hell did that happen?!

Swallowing his surprise, Harry decided to probe further.

“So in other words, Hermione and Amparo have only just met then? They never knew each other before yesterday.”

Harry's eyes strayed towards the two women again. For strangers, that had only just been introduced the one time, they were acting awfully chummy.

Zabini stiffly nodded.

“Correct, though they seem to have become fast friends already. Amparo even met your dear little Granger in town for lunch today. Of course she called it a working lunch but–”

“Working lunch?” Now that caught Harry's attention.

“Amparo is a solicitor,” explained Zabini, a genuine smile forming on his face for the first time since he had sat down. He looked towards his wife. “A highly paid one, at that. She charges through the teeth for everything,” he added with more than a hint of pride.

Having caught his wife's eye across the room, Amparo slyly winked at her husband and waggled her fingers at him. The spouses shared a private look with one another before Hermione said something that drew Amparo's interest back to her. To Harry, for perhaps the first time since knowing the man, Zabini had almost appeared...human in that moment. Of course that promptly vanished once the prig turned back around to face him.

“I'll tell you one thing, if your dear little Granger is seeing Amparo for something she's paying a Seeker's ransom for it. Of that you can be assured. Now if you don't mind, I believe I see some business associates of mines I'd rather be conversing with.”

Zabini rose from his seat and straightened his robes. Then, after giving Harry an annoyingly jeering look, reached into one of his pockets and tossed a galleon on the table

“Here, Auror Potter, why don't you treat yourself to something on me,” he gibingly said before turning and walking away.

Scrote!

Harry watched as the man crossed over to the bar and stopped at his wife's side, barely acknowledging Hermione's presence. He whispered something in the woman's ear, dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, and sauntered away to join a table filled with a few quiffy looking characters playing a round of wizard's faro. Harry's eyes only lingered on them for a moment before they came back to rest on Hermione and her new friend again.

She appeared to be completely absorbed in whatever Zabini's wife was saying to her. Deciding that he was a bit curious as to what had his best friend's rapt attention, Harry decided to discover the answer for himself. After quaffing down the rest of his ale in one swallow and dropping his mug, Harry got up and turned towards the bar. Stealthily edging his way around the counter, he slowly crept up near where Hermione was standing. Zabini's wife, who had just removed her oval framed glasses and was wiping at their lenses, was speaking to her in a muted tone. Neither of them noticed Harry hovering nearby at first.

“...so first thing Monday morning I'll file the petition and we'll officially get the ball rolling.” Harry heard Zabini's wife say as she mole-ishly squinted up at Hermione. He had an unobstructed view of the unremarkable looking, stern faced young woman but had to settle for staring at the back of Hermione’s head or glimpsing her through the mirror. “I'll make a few calls to all of the concerned parties and in a few months time...”

Hermione lowered the pumpkin juice in her hand quickly. Her grim reflection in the glass shook its head wildly at the woman.

“MONTHS?! Oh no, no, no. This thing needs to be over now!” she almost shrilled before becoming mindful of her volume. “Whatever it takes, however much it takes, you have to make it all go away as if it had never happened, Amparo.”

Make it all go away? What was it that Hermione needed the other women to make “go away”, Harry wondered. Was Hermione really a client of Zabini's wife as the wizard had intimated earlier? Harry had already come to the conclusion that his best friend was in some sort of trouble, but now things were becoming thornier. Just what in the world was Hermione seeing a Muggle solicitor for? Or was it instead Harmony Darlington who needed the legal advice?

Sliding her spectacles back up the bridge of her nose, Zabini's wife reached out her other hand to rest over Hermione's as it rigidly gripped the bar. Slowly the tension in it eased and she reached for her beaker of juice again. Hermione greedily began to drink from it as her companion looked on, genuinely concerned.

“I'm good at what I do, Hermione,” the woman said confidently in a well practiced, reassuring tone that sought to soothe its listener. “Sure the circumstances are a bit twisty and I’ve never handled something quite like this before, but I know that any judgment would fall in our favor. The fact that you are an expat doesn't hurt us either. However it will take time. Rome wasn't built in a day, after all.”

She smiled at Hermione encouragingly and it lightened up her appearance considerably.

“Look, Blaise's grate in his office is open access to his employees on Sundays. Why don't you stop by the house tomorrow for Low tea? We'll sit in the solarium; it has the loveliest view of the River Teifi. We can discuss this further and–”

Harry hadn't been able to turn his back fast enough. Amparo's brown eyes had simply been focused on Hermione intently one second, and in the next had shifted ever so slightly to land on him.

“Auror Potter?”

Pumpkin juice shot out of Hermione's mouth like a geyser. The empty ceramic cup fell from her hand. Because of the many charms Hannah was shrewd enough to have on all of the pub's drinkware, it didn't shatter. It simply hit the counter and rolled, none the worse for wear, as the bartender came and reclaimed it. The same could not be said for Hermione. She was bent forward, gasping and wheezing desperately to catch her breath. At a loss for what to do, Amparo gingerly hit her across her back and shoulders.

“Anapneo.”

As soon as Harry's spell hit Hermione, she straightened and took in a lungful of air like a woman who had been drowning.

“Oh, Amparo! Oh, oh I'm s-s-so s-sorry,” she stammered frantically as soon as she had caught her breath. She reached across the bar to retrieve a napkin and began to wipe at the pumpkin juice that she had hosed all over the front of Zabini's wife's austere robes. She made sure to avoid all eye contact with Harry and concentrated all her attention on the task.

“It's alright. Don't trouble yourself too much over it,” said Amparo, unconcerned over the soaking.

Hermione was so wound up that she didn't notice that her intentions made the mess worse. She only succeeded in blotting the juice into the material causing an ugly stain to form.

“Oh, oh I'm so terribly, terribly sorry! I didn't mean to!” cried Hermione as she continued her fruitless efforts.

“Don't worry about it, Hermione. I'm not mad,” Amparo tried to convince her.

“But your robes!”

Harry stepped between them.

“Ladies, maybe I can be of some assistance,” he said as he pointed his still drawn wand at the ruined robes. “Evanesco.” Once the spots faded away, Harry returned his wand to its holster. “There; that should do,” he said as he looked at his work.

Amparo smiled brightly at him. “Why Auror Potter, how chivalrous of you!”

From the corner of his eyes he could see Hermione's ill at ease expression. It was quite obvious to Harry that she didn't want him anywhere near Amparo, probably fearing what the woman might say in his presence. Zabini's wife, however, didn't appear to notice the air of tension that had suddenly descended upon their corner of the bar.

“Thank you so much,” she continued, “but as I tried to explain to Hermione all the fuss wasn't necessary. I had every intention of burning these damned things as soon as I got home tonight. Although I have no complaint against her skill, I think I’m a little more Stella McCartney than Madam Malkin, if you understand me,” she said with a good-natured smile.

He didn’t, but since Hermione woodenly tittered along with her at the apparent joke, Harry forced a smile in the name of politeness.

“Amparo Leon, by the way,” she said as she reached out a hand.

Hermione dolefully shook her head.

“Apparently my nerves as well as my manners are shot. Amparo, I'm sure you have heard of Harry Potter,” she said looking between them. Harry took the woman's proffered hand.

“Scads. It's a pleasure to finally meet the famous hero behind the name,” said Amparo as Harry blushed at the flattery. She gave his hand a firm shake, making Harry note a certain weightiness to the woman’s character. She was regal without being arrogant; dignified without being overbearing. It was all so very appealing and made Harry rethink his initial lackluster impression.

“Harry, this is Amparo Leon. You remember Blaise Zabini from Hogwarts, don't you? Well this is his–”

“Wife, yes I know. We shared a drink earlier. He told me all about his brilliant bride.”

The news seemed to please Amparo; Hermione...not so much.

“Did he now?” asked a delighted Amparo as she let go his hand.

“Yes,” Harry said as he purposely reached over Hermione to take a few cashews out of the bowl on the other side of her. “He also happened to mention the fact that you were a solicitor.”

He gave Hermione an off-handed glance that was anything but, before shuffling the slightly stale nuts into his mouth. By the way that Hermione's hands began nervously fluttering about it was clear that she had found the news disconcerting.

“And all this time I thought that you and Blaise didn't get along,” Amparo said as she curiously looked to where her husband was and turned back to face Harry. “Are you and Blaise friends?”

Harry briefly wondered if there was ever a polite way of telling a person that they were married to a pompous, snake-eyed, twat.

Instead he gravely answered, “Your husband and I aren’t even acquaintances I'm afraid, Ms. Leon.” He somehow even managed to sound disappointed over the fact. “Never were, unfortunately. We barely even knew each other in school, to be honest.”

“Harry and I were in a different house from Blaise's,” chimed Hermione.

“Oh, right. Blaise explained to me all of this house business once. Sounded rather silly,” Amparo said dismissively with a wave of a hand. “You can just call me Amparo, by the way. I certainly hope that no old schoolyard grudges between you and my husband will deter us from getting to know each other better Auror Potter,” she told him as she looked directly into his eyes. “After all, we do share a person of common interest now.”

Harry didn't miss Hermione's quick intake of breath. Harry nonchalantly turned to look at her as she willed herself to stay calm, nearly biting her bottom lip off in the process. Her eyes bounced from Amparo to Harry as though she was waiting in fear of what might be said next.

“Is that so?” Harry asked with a smug little smile on his face as he kept his focus on Hermione. Merlin was she cute when she got all flustered. He took a few more cashews, tipped back his head, and funneled them into his mouth.

Amparo nodded her head as she answered him.

“Yes, Ptolemy Cadmus,” she answered.

It was a shame that the pumpkin juice was gone, it would have gone well with the chewed up mush that Harry spat out onto Amparo's clothes.

Looking down at the mess she dryly muttered, “This just doesn't appear to be my night, does it?”

Harry smiled at Amparo apologetically as he vanished the mess. Hermione, however, frowned as she looked confusedly between him and the other woman. Hermione's forehead was puckered in deep thought and a clear query was stamped across her features.

Don't ask it; please don't ask it! Those thoughts screamed through out Harry's head as he watched Hermione's mouth work open to form the question he was dreading to answer. All of his effort to keep the details of his most troubling case from her had ultimately come to nothing in the end.

“Who's Ptolemy Cadm–”

“HERMIONE!”

Harry instantly let out the breath he was holding. Saved by the witch!

Amparo, Harry, and Hermione all turned to watch a plump blonde with a scowling face march right up to them.

“Merlin and Morrígan woman, how long does it take you to get a bloody drink?” asked Susan as she came to a halt in front of Hermione. “You said you were only going to the bar to get another glass, what has taken you so long?”

“I...I...”

Susan folded her arms across her chest imposingly.

“Don't you know I need you? It's bad enough that I'm surrounded by them all day at Mungo's; I'll be damned if I'm going to let a table of militant pregnant witches push me around while I'm off the clock,” said Susan in a jocular, half-serious tone while eyeing the table full of couples in the middle of the room where she had just been sitting. The women in the group all laughed and catcalled after the blonde.

“Hannah, Padma, and Su are driving me insane! If I hear one more story about tender nipples I'll go spare! Sorry, Harry,” she added as an afterthought.

Harry chuckled. Susan Bones-Goldstein was a pistol.

“Quite alright, Suze.”

After Harry took a moment to courteously inquire if Susan and Amparo had ever met before (they had), Susan dramatically stated her reason for intruding on their conversation.

“I need someone else to tell those hormone heavy harpies that it's perfectly normal and respectable for a woman our age to be content without having a couple of toddlers hanging about our necks,” she said to the three of them as she forcibly latched onto Hermione's wrist. “Harry, you don't mind if I borrow her do you?” Susan asked him.

Mind? Harry would have dropped down on one knee right then and there and professed his eternal devotion to the good Healer if it wouldn’t have caused too much of a scene. Instead he smiled inwardly. Not only had their old school mate distracted Hermione from asking anything further about Ptolemy Cadmus, but with his best friend's attention diverted elsewhere, he would be free to pump Zabini's wife for any information Hermione might have told her. Things were looking up.

“Be my guest,” he happily told Susan. He tried to train his face not to look too smug as he said it.

Hermione looked back at him and Amparo helplessly as Susan dragged her away.

Harry glanced back at Amparo. She had turned around to the bar and was signaling to Johannes, the Broomstick’s barkeep. When Johannes came and took her request, Harry decided to join her by having another mug of ale himself. As the bartender set about preparing their orders, Harry racked his brain for ways to engage Amparo in friendly discourse without it sounding like some sort of interrogation. The woman was a solicitor after all; Harry knew that he had to be on his toes around her. If Hermione was Amparo's client, there wasn't much that she would (or for that matter could) tell him. But if he was lucky, and she was juiced enough, she might just let a few things slip.

“You know, until a few days ago I felt as similarly as your friend there does,” Amparo said, effortlessly striking up conversation again and saving Harry the disgrace of trying to make idle chitchat. Johannes came and placed a cocktail glass and mug in front of them along with the checks. She smiled at the bartender in thanks and turned to look at Harry as she raised her drink. “My career had always been my primary focus," she said before taking a long sip from her glass. “And then I found out I was pregnant.”

Harry realized right away that what he had mistook for wine was in actuality sparkling cider she was drinking. He hurriedly tried to offer a few kind words.

“I guess congratulations are in order. You and your husband must be so pleased.”

She set her glass down on the counter.

“Oh, I haven't told Blaise yet. Actually Auror Potter, besides Healer Bones-Goldstein and my own private physician, you are the only other person that knows my secret. In fact, I haven't even told my parents.”

The information took Harry by surprise. Why was she telling him all of this? He wasn't so sure where any of this was headed, but he decided to play it safe and hear her out.

Harry slowly nodded his head and said, “I see.”

Though he didn't really. The fact did not miss her attention.

“Do you?” she asked with a wan smile.

When Harry offered no further response, she asked him another question.

“Have you ever met my mother-in-law, Mr. Potter?”

“I can't say that I've ever had the pleasure,” he replied. He raised his mug to his lips and proceeded to swallow the whiskey-like malt down. Wiping the back of his hand across his mouth as the brew burned inside his chest, Harry set the mug back on the counter.

“Well when Blaise told her that we were going to get married she threatened to disinherit him. Sadly for her, she found out that everything was in his name and that he was the one who controlled the purse strings. Even then she still told him that our marriage would be cursed and that any child born from us would be a walking abomination.”

Harry smiled bitterly. “Well isn't she a regular old softie."

Amparo chuckled lightly.

“Quite. But you see that kind of hatred comes with the territory. When Blaise and I decided to marry I knew what I was in for. It wasn't an easy decision, but I still made it. I figured that as long as I could see it coming, that kind of blatant prejudice, I could protect me and mines from it. But do you know what my very first thought was when my doctor told me that I was expecting?”

Harry shook his head gravely. The candor in which she spoke was most captivating.

“Will my child live to take his first steps or say her first words; that was all I could think about.”

With a furrowed brow, he concernedly asked, “But why? Is something the matter?”

Amparo smiled sadly. “Yes, something is the matter. It’s hard to think of baby names or waiting lists for fancy schools when all I can wonder is am I next...are me and my husband next.”

Harry immediately understood her.

“You're talking about Cadmus.”

“He is still out there and as long as that is the case there will be many couples such as Blaise and myself who will be left to ponder that very question over and over again. That's no way to live.”

“I understand your concern.”

“That's all very well and good, but what are you doing about it?" she asked. “Please understand Auror Potter that my intention is not to sound condemnatory, but you should be aware that there is a growing faction amongst the POWW membership that believes that the British Ministry is purposely being negligent in its pursuit of the blood bigot Cadmus.”

This was news to Harry. He knew there were grumblings in certain sectors that it was taking far too long to bring the suspect in, but he wasn't aware that relations between the Ministry and the public had broken down so severely. He stared at her in outright shock.

“There's even been a rumor floated about that the exterminations of the Moon family, the Pembrokes, and one or two of the other couples were in actuality part of an elaborate plot by your government to weed out all possible Muggle 'taint' from some of the oldest English wizarding lines.”

Harry was horrified at the revelation. His jaw went slack at the very idea. He started to offer some form of protestation, but Amparo cut him off before he could speak the words.

“People are scared, Auror Potter,” she said resignedly. “They are willing to believe almost anything at this point. No matter how nonsensical it all may sound any explanation is far better than none.”

“Amparo, nothing could be further from the truth,” Harry firmly told her. “Cadmus is my case and apprehending him is one of the Ministry's top priorities. I would swear an oath by that. As long as I am in charge, his days are numbered. Personally I have my own reasons to want to put the bastard away for good.”

Harry's eyes had drifted towards the table where Hermione sat laughing with some of their old friends, completely unaware of the longing look that Harry couldn't help but direct towards her. She wasn't the only one who missed it.

“But of course you do,” said Amparo as he turned to look at her again, “your brother and sister-in-law, how could I forget?”

For a moment, Harry was confused at her meaning.

“Oh...oh right, Fred and Glinda,” he said once catching on. He was ashamed that his wife's brother and wife had been the furthest thing from his mind. “Please believe me Amparo when I say that I will not rest until Ptolemy Cadmus has been apprehended and sentenced to the full extent of our laws. You have my word,” he said earnestly.

A pleased smile graced her lips. “Funny, Blaise had always described you as some ineffectual pretty boy. I guess I have to tell him that he got it all wrong.” She drank the rest of her glass down.

Harry tried to scowl at the joke, but her jovial demeanor made it hard to. He might not like Zabini, but his wife was a bit of alright.

“You know, you really should tell your husband the good news,” said Harry after finishing up his ale.

“Oh I will. Blaise's birthday is in another week. Do you think he'll like his present much?” she asked with an impish look.

“I'm sure he will love it,” said Harry, sincerely smiling at her.

Amparo smiled back, then began rooting around in her handbag for money to pay for her drink. Unsure of whether or not the Muggle woman had a galleon or knut to her name, Harry took it upon himself to pay both of their tabs. She smiled gratefully at him as he settled up the bill with Johannes.

“Thank you,” she said appreciatively. “It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Auror Potter. I hope soon we'll be able to speak again under better circumstances.” She reached into her purse and handed him a thick business card decorated in golden filigree. “Perhaps we could have you out to Carregbryn some day. The house is a bit ostentatious, but I think you would like Newcastle Emlyn. In my not so humble opinion, my husband and I live on some of the most beautiful Welsh countryside to be had. Blaise and I would love to have you.”

When Harry quirked an eyebrow up at the declaration she laughed.

“Well I know that I would love to have you. You have my card. If you ever need to discuss anything feel free to call. I would be happy to help in any way if I can.”

As Amparo walked away to join her husband, Harry studied the business card in his hand. Along with a very sedate looking photo of the woman, it gave Amparo’s name, the name and location of her firm in Vauxhall, as well as its offices in Belfast and Edinburgh. There was also two separate contact numbers listed; one to her personal mobile. Harry placed the card in his robe pocket. Although his brief conversation with the well-informed solicitor hadn't gone the way he had hoped, he would definitely be calling on Amparo Leon in the near future. He'd be interested in hearing what she could tell him.

And if all else failed, Harry was pretty confident that the Muggle woman was no Occlumens.

A noise to his left caught his attention. The group at the table that Hermione had been sitting at had begun to gather their belongings and disband for the night. In the midst of the throng headed towards the door was Hermione chatting away with Susan and her husband, Anthony. Harry had just begun to cross the floor to follow after them when he ran into a two-headed roadblock.

“Whoa there, Harry!”

“Where's the fire mate?”

Harry looked between the Weasley twins and tried his damnedest not to look as anxious as he felt.

“Fred, George, if you don't mind,” he said in a deceivingly calm tone as he tried to sidestep the two of them. Instead of getting the message, Fred and George closed ranks around him.

“But that's just it, Harry. We do mind,” said George.

Fred's head bobbed up and down in agreement.

“We have a few sticky things to discuss with you,” he said. “I know you've had a lot on your mind lately...”

Fred glanced over his shoulder at the doorway. Harry watched as Hermione passed through it.

“...but George and I figured that you might like to hear what we have to say.”

Harry felt his displeasure intensify. If he didn't hurry up and catch her, Hermione would disappear off any second. He had wasted so much time playing spy that he still hadn't found out if she had his mum's wand with her or not.

Harry gave George an impatient glare as he asked, “Can't it keep 'til later?”

George shook his head.

“Hmm, 'fraid not,” he said as he threw an arm around Harry's shoulder and turned him away from the door. “Our baby brother is about to be tied into knots.

Harry frowned. “Don’t you mean he’s tying the knot?”

“Considering who he's marrying, the two are practically one in the same,” said Fred as he took up the spot on the other side of his brother-in-law. “He deserves a proper stag night to remember just what he's going to be giving up once he marries the shy and retiring Mrs. Brown-Pye.”

“Stag night?”

Harry looked between the twins dazedly. What were they talking about a stag night for? Ron's Seclusion was days awa–

“OH FUCK!”

Harry felt as low as a slug’s underbelly. And that was pretty low! With all the worrying he had been doing running after Hermione these past few days, he had unconscionably let a few things slip.

“Forget that it was Wednesday, did you?” Fred asked him.

Harry looked down to the ground ashamedly. He was a lousy best mate and best man.

“Well take heart, Harry! It's Fred and George to the rescue!”

“My brother and I are going to take everything out of your hands,” piped up George.

Harry looked at both of them gratefully.

“Wow, that's awful nice of you guys!” he exclaimed before he remembered who he was talking to. “Wait, why are you two being so nice? What's in it for you?” he asked as he looked them both over warily.

“Harry, that hurts! How could you think that me and my twin would stoop so low as to try and turn a small profit by charging a reasonable admission to the festivities?” asked George with a fake little pout on his face. It was strangely reminiscent of the look Ginny had been so fond of giving him during the first few years of their marriage when she would try and wheedle him into getting her way on something. Back then he had thought it cute. Harry almost shuddered at the freaky comparison now. Last thing he wanted to picture was George Weasley in his bed.

Shaking the image off, Harry said straightforwardly, “I didn't.”

George was astounded.

“You didn't? And here I thought you were smarter than that, Harry!”

Harry decided that the best thing to do was to humor Fred and George or he would never get shot of them.

“So I take it that you two want to try and plan Ron's bachelor party?”

Fred and George looked across Harry at each other.

“TRY?!” they both bellowed at him.

“We've already come up with a theme!” cried George enthusiastically.

Despite himself, Harry was amused.

“A theme?”

“Ever hear of a sleepy little berg called Vegas?” asked Fred grinning widely.

“It's in the States, right?”

“Aye,” he said. “The Muggles call it 'Sin City'. It's a marvelous, magical land of wonder where the money is easy, the liquor flows freely, and the women are tops optional.” He knavishly winked an eye at Harry.

Harry pulled himself away from the Weasley brothers and shook his head sternly.

“Sorry guys, no strippers,” he told them.

Fred and George looked at him as though he were an escaped patient from Mongo's fourth floor.

“Wait...”

“What?”

“There can't be any strippers at Ron's party,” Harry said again.

The twins looked at him in shock for another second before they both hooted merrily at the obvious joke.

“Good one, Har!” said George as he gave Harry a playful shove to the shoulder.

“No, I'm serious. No strippers allowed. Ron's orders,” Harry reiterated, this time with a tad more conviction.

Having finally figured out that Harry was indeed telling them the truth, both freckled faces broke out into outraged expressions.

“WHY WOULD HE DECIDE A PINHEADED THING LIKE THAT, FOR?!” Fred didn't appear to take the news well at all.

Out of loyalty to his best friend, Harry tried his best not to take too much enjoyment out of his poor henpecked pal's predicament.

“I believe it had something to do with Lavender threatening to make him sleep in the bathroom for the duration of their Honeymoon unless he promised her that there wouldn't be any loose women cavorting around naked at his party.”

“AND HE AGREED?!” they yelled wrathfully.

“You both know Ron; he hasn't had sex in two weeks. He was vulnerable.”

“But...but...we were going to get Naughty Ninotchka from the Lamia's Lair to perform,” said Fred despairingly. “She was going to do her Dance of the Disappearing Python. She was only going to charge us half-price. SHE WAS ONLY GOING TO CHARGE US HALF-PRICE!”

Fred dropped his head onto George’s shoulder in a hammy, overwrought fashion that hid his face from view. George gave him a comforting pat as he threw their brother-in-law an aggrieved look.

“Are you happy, Harry?! You made Fred cry!”

A momentary concern in just where Ninotchka’s python disappeared to nearly distracted Harry from answering him.

“Sorry lads, but we wouldn't want to upset Lavender, now would we?”

Fred’s head sprang up as though pulled by a string.

“Upset Lavender, you say?” A truly devilish expression unfurled itself on his face. He and George had barely glanced at each other before they both turned their attention back to Harry.

“We wouldn't dream of it,” George swore in overdone innocence. He wore the same trouble-making grin as his brother. Whatever plot the two had cooked up already, Harry knew that no earthly good could possibly come of it.

“I don't even want to know,” he simply told them. “But if the two of you are serious about putting together the party, just tell me where and what time and I'll make sure that Ron shows.”

Fred smiled at him. “Always a pleasure doing business with you, Harry!”

Harry shook his head at the twins as they parted to allow him to pass between them. With hurried steps he quickly made his way to the door, pretending not to see the various friendly and smiling faces beckoning him towards their tables for a shared drink or laugh. Instead he plowed his way straight towards the exit, practically hurling himself out onto the front walk as the door slammed shut behind him swallowing the raucous noise of the pub.

“HERMIONE!” his voice boomed out in the quiet of the faintly lit street as he skidded to a halt and looked frantically from left to right. Although the night air was cool, Harry could feel perspiration sliding down the back of his neck and collecting in his pits.

“Harry?”

Harry swung around to find a shadowy shape leaning against the building. When it stepped forward, the light of the full moon revealed Hermione's bewildered face to him. He found himself staring into her large, Kohl rimmed dark eyes. Her hands had been clasped together tightly in front of her and remained that way. She looked as though she had been catching a bit of air until he had so rudely interrupted her. Harry supposed he should have felt some form of regret or shame for disturbing her peace, but truthfully he was so happy to see her standing there that he forgot all sense of decorum.

“Hermione you're...you're still here!” he shouted joyously after taking two wide strides to stand directly in front of her. He grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. “I thought you might have Ap–gone home already.”

Apparently missing Harry's near slip of the tongue, Hermione smiled at him winsomely as though he had just told a whopper.

“In these shoes?” she asked grinning from ear to ear. She looked down at her silvery sandals with their spindled heels and pretended to examine them carefully. “Hmm...I suppose they are comfortable, but that would have been some walk all the way from here to the Hollow,” she added teasingly as she brought her eyes back to his.

The two young people grinned stupidly at one another at length before Hermione's toothsome smile made Harry suddenly feel all of 15 years old again. Sometimes he had a hard time remembering that he had grown into a pretty sure-footed adult when a simple gesture from her was all it took to turn him into a bumbling teenager. Now was not the time to act like some love struck schoolboy, he strongly reminded himself.

Harry quickly drew his hands away from her before he could leave wet, clammy hand prints all over her pretty sleeves.

“Right...right,” he embarrassedly mumbled as he glanced down at his own boots and rubbed at the back of his neck. He turned away and stepped a few paces from her, never seeing the pained expression that spoiled Hermione's cheerful visage. When he did finally look back at her she was smiling once again, though Harry did take note that it wasn't half as easygoing and carefree as it had been mere seconds before.

“So are you heading off home to Ginny now?” asked Hermione in a painfully chipper voice as she edged closer to him.

Despite his best intentions, Harry couldn’t help but wince at the question. He wanted to talk to Hermione about a great many things, but Ginny was a bit of a complicated subject to bring up in their current surroundings. Just what could he say on the matter? There was one side of him that wanted to sit down with his best friend, the person whose opinion he valued most in this world, and confess the details of his fruitless marriage; his failure at being a good husband. But the Hermione that he knew would scoff at such a profession from him. Hadn't she once been his and Ginny's biggest cheerleader? She would laughingly tell him that such a thing couldn't possibly be true, that he loved Ginny and all he needed to do was try harder to make their relationship work. She would probably offer him her advice and her encouragement, because she was such a good friend. All the while Harry would smile weakly at her, neglecting to tell Hermione that he was arse backwards in love with the very person he was pouring his heart out to.

No, he definitely did not want to have that conversation just now. Especially when the door to the pub would occasionally swing open and they would be joined outside by other partygoers who would wave goodnight before Apparating away. Besides, he had told himself over and over again that the time just wasn't right to let her know that he loved her. No, not yet. Besides, knowing that he had a tendency to bollocks things up when it came to his feeling, Harry wanted everything to be perfect when he finally told her.

“Ginny? Oh no, no...I'm sure she got back to the house just fine,” Harry replied as unconcernedly as he could manage, searching for something else to distract Hermione with. “But I'm far more worried about you. Malfoy was a ponce to have left you stranded like this,” he said as a brilliant idea suddenly occurred to him. “Say, here's a thought, I'll take you home!”

The suggestion seemed to catch Hermione off-guard. She wordlessly stared at him for a moment before quickly saying, “You don't have to do that. I can find my own way. I don't want to keep you from your wife.”

Although Harry had no reason to find anything odd in what she said, the rushed manner in which the words were spoken did make him scratch at his head. It almost sounded like she was trying to get rid of him.

“And just so you know, I told Draco to head home with Luna,” she continued. “He would have come here tonight if only to make sure I got back to the Hollow in one piece, but I didn't think it fair to make him stay where he felt so uncomfortable. As you know, the Broomsticks holds rather bad memories for him.”

Harry tried to keep the eye rolling to a minimum.

“Well he did Imperio Rosmerta,” he cynically retorted.

“Yes, but only under duress,” Hermione primly stated which earned her an annoyed huff from Harry.

She ignored it.

“His family's safety was hanging in the balance. Still, he does regret many of his actions early on during the War. I know you think him morally bankrupt, but Draco does have a sense of right and wrong, however warped it might be.”

Harry knew that Hermione was right to an extent; he just hated it whenever she blathered on and on extolling the many virtues of the Great Albino Ferret.

“It's hard to believe that Malfoy believes in anything other than making sure that his boots are spit shined just right,” Harry griped sourly.

With a small shake of her head Hermione said, “Oh Draco Malfoy can care intensely. And when hurt, can lash out just as viciously. Everything else is a well maintained veneer.”

“Well, I still think he was an arse for ditching you!” Harry testily stated. He had had enough of talking about the git. However his partner had given him a valid excuse to get Hermione alone. Malfoy was good for something, it would seem. “But no matter, I'll just take you home and maybe we can talk,” Harry told her as he took a step forward.

Hermione took a shaky step back.

“Talk? What is there to talk about?” she asked sharply.

He would have been lying if he said that the distrusting note to her voice hadn't been painful, but it really didn't surprise him. She had spent most of the evening avoiding him. But now that he had the chance to get her alone he wouldn't allow it to pass. Someone was usually always interrupting their time together, but at the house it would just be the two of them.

Harry took yet another step closer to Hermione. The good news was that she didn't make any effort to back away from him again. The bad news was that Harry couldn't help but feel that the gulf between them had nothing to do with any physical distance.

Shaking that thought off, Harry said, “Anything. Nothing.” He took one of her hands in his. “I just...I just want to spend some time with you, Hermione. That's all.”

And maybe frisk you, he added cunningly in his head. Well, there was that too. As though reading his heathen thoughts, Hermione pulled her hand from his grip.

“Maybe you should go home to Ginny. I'm sure she's expecting you. I'll be alright. You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

If she had meant to make him feel better about leaving her to her own devices, her insistence on brining up Ginny yet again had only helped to make Harry feel two things; guilty and cross. It had also reminded him of how troubled she had seemed earlier.

“OK, THAT'S IT!” he angrily snapped. The corners of her mouth turned downward, obviously taken aback by his out of the blue display of temper. “That's it,” he said again as he lowered his voice.

A couple had just exited the pub and he didn't want him and Hermione to draw any unwanted attention. He watched the man and woman disappear before speaking again.

“What is the deal with you and Ginny?! Pardon me for saying it Hermione, but the two of you have hardly been what I would consider friendly in a long time. So why are you so concerned about her now?”

“No reason. It just...she seemed a little disappointed when you decided to stay out, didn't she?” Hermione perceptively asked, veering her eyes away from his.

A little? Hermione had a gift for the understatement. Ginny had looked like she was ready to hex him to Hades and back again when he had told her that he was going into Hogsmeade instead of back to the house with her. Ginny wasn't pleased with the decision at all; she had been all wired up to get him back to the house for some reason. She seemed almost manic in his opinion.

Harry had found it odd; all of a sudden she was anxious to keep him tethered at her side when she had been only too glad to avoid him the last few days. Her strange change of mood had almost made him relent and follow her back to the Wiltshire estate to find out what was going on. Doing so would have meant leaving Hermione though and Harry couldn't bring himself to do that.

Of course that's not what he told Ginny. Ron needed someone to make sure he didn't splinch himself in two, he had said. Lavender, who had been eyeing Hermione distrustfully at the time, looked relieved over the news that Harry would be playing chaperon for the night. She didn't mind leaving Ron with Hermione as long as Harry was there to watch over them. It was Lavender who ended up persuading Ginny to just “let the boys be boys” and Ginny, after a good twenty minutes of deliberating, had reluctantly agreed. But Harry knew that as soon as he eventually made it back to the Palace, there would be one angry little red haired witch to contend with.

“She was a bit...irritated with me,” said Harry carefully, “but I'm sure she would understand why I would feel the need to make sure that you were well taken care of.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Hermione had turned her head away and muttered the words so quietly that Harry had almost missed them.

“Doubt what?” he asked, clearly perplexed.

Hermione's face screwed up as though she were fighting off the urge to say something. Or not say it. She crossed in front of him, away from the pub, and all Harry could see of her was her back.

“Listen Harry; go home to your wife. I'll be fine. I can side-along with someone else. Charlie offered a ride. When he gets back I'll just go with him.”

Unconsciously, Harry felt his back teeth grind together.

“Or Ron could take me home,” she said, finally turning back to him. Harry's face went from mild annoyance to disbelief.

“Ron?!”

She would rather have Ron take her?! The same Ron who failed his first Apparition test, that Ron?

“But he's tanked!” Harry exclaimed bewilderedly as he marched right up to her and stopped. “Sorry Hermione, I can't in good conscience allow you to side-along with Ron in his condition. He's had too much to drink tonight! You would just be begging for a splinching. The night the Cannons advanced to the finals I learned that the hard way.” Harry almost shuddered from the memory of it.

Intrigued, Hermione asked, “What happened?”

“Well–and keep in mind I was pretty pissed myself–Ron got it into his head that he was sober enough to get us both home. To make a short story even shorter, I ended up with his and he ended up with mines.”

Hermione had tilted her head, the befuddled expression on her face confirming that she was trying to puzzle out the strange tale, when suddenly her mouth popped open. Her eyes clamped shut as though trying to ward off the disturbing mental image she could almost see before her.

“I'm scarred for life!” she yelped.

Harry tried not to smile at her queasy expression.

“Well you did ask. Don’t worry though; a quick wake-up call to Madame Pomfrey and two hours later saw everything sorting itself to right. But let me tell you,” he said with a conspiratorial chuckle, “those were two very long and confusing hours.”

The wide and gaping hole that Harry had imagined between them then seemed to close all on its own. A loud and unladylike snort escaped from her before Hermione could cover her mouth with her hands to stop it. Before he knew it, she was bubbling over with laughter at his outrageous tale. She laughed so hard that tears welled in her eyes. Harry laughed along with her. Although at the time the situation had been anything but, looking back now he could see how funny his and Ron's calamitous night turned out to be. As an added bonus, it had brought a smile to Hermione's lips which made it all worth the while. She was still laughing, even as she tried to stifle a yawn.

“Hey, you really do look zonked,” he said smiling softly. “Why don't you just let me take you home and–”

“I SAID NO!”

The easy laughter instantly died with Hermione's livid objection. She had pulled back from him again and was staring at the ground in vehemence. Harry could barely see her red and splotchy face.

“Why do you have to keep pushing at me, Harry?!” came her question, although it was directed more to his shoes than to him. She absolutely refused to look him in the eye. “I got along just fine without you for five years. FIVE YEARS! Why do you think suddenly all of that has changed? I've told you that everything is fine. I've told you that I can take care of myself. But you won't listen! You chase me halfway across the school grounds like I’m some wayward child you have to keep track of. I had to take refuge in a restroom just so I could have a moment’s peace. Thank goodness you looked away or I would have never gotten my chance to sneak out of the damned loo. I know you care about my well-being, and that you're only trying to be a good friend, but enough is enough. I don't need rescuing, Harry!” she exasperatedly proclaimed.

“You won’t even look at me,” he said, trying to catch her eye.

Harry knew that he was essentially doing what she had just accused him of, pushing at her, but he had a feeling that if he backed off at that precise moment something crucial would slip between the cracks.

“It's been like this all night,” he continued. “You've been keeping me at arm's length practically. Are you mad at me? Did I do…or…or say something to offend you somehow?”

Hermione quickly lifted her head. “What? No. No. I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.”

Harry couldn't help but scoff disbelievingly at that. Against her will it seemed, Hermione smiled weakly.

“At least not for long,” she conceded. “I'm not mad at you. I'm just mad at myself, mostly.”

“I don't understand.”

Hermione sighed.

“I knew this would happen. I knew that I would end up telling you. But I would never want it to seem as if I was trying to purposely come between you and Ginny, cause a rift. That would never be my intention. Never! You have to believe that, Harry. You have to!”

It was like she was speaking gibberish. She spoke in such a harried stream of sound that it was barely decipherable. When her emotions got in the way, Hermione tended to get very excitable. Usually at those times her voice would become strident, and her pitch would ratchet up steadily every other word. Her eyes would grow so large that all one could see were the whites of her eyes, like now. It looked like whatever it was she was holding on to was driving her around the bend. The feeling that he might not like what he was about to hear crossed Harry's mind.

“Ginny should have just left me out of it. I don't know why she felt the need to involve me. It’s not my business! It’s not my place. Never should have been my place...”

Desperate to find some understanding, Harry grabbed a hold of the one thing that made any sense to him.

“Ginny?”

Hermione rambled on as though she hadn't heard him.

“...but then Ginny went and made it my place by accusing me...”

Hermione paused, too worked up to even continue her thought. The last few words had left her lips as an indignant hiss.

“…but you should know!” she eventually continued finally looking at him evenly. “Ginny is your wife now, you should know. You have every right to know; even if you might not like hearing it.”

“Hermione, you aren’t making a whit of sense!” he said when he could take no more. “What's this about Ginny?”

“I...Ginny and I had a fight,” she finally spat out, exhaling heavily afterwards as though throwing off some cumbersome burden.

“Ok, so now I know why the two of you were snarling at each other all night.” said Harry. The explanation didn’t surprise him. Hermione and Ginny’s queer behavior finally made some real sense. Now all that was left to find out was what the fight had been about.

“So you caught that then?” she asked shamefacedly. “I figured that you might.” A subtle smile curved her lips and she ducked her head to hide it. “I knew that I couldn’t keep anything from you for long. That’s why I tried so hard to stay away...”

Her eyes screwed up tightly for an instant before opening again.

“...tonight. That's why I tried to keep my distance at the Ball all evening. I knew that I would eventually break and tell you everything, even if I didn't want to. Even if it might hurt you. I would never want to hurt you, Harry; be the cause of your pain.”

Harry only wished that what she said was completely true, there was so much that she was keeping from him. He wanted her to keep talking though so he didn’t say a thing to contradict her. Not now when she was finally opening up. He took both her hands in his to encourage her to go on.

“I’m so sorry; I never meant to get into it with Ginny. And I hate it that I have to be the one to tell you this, but I just can’t keep quiet any longer when it might mean your marriage.”

She stepped closer to him, taking a moment to look around to make sure that there were no prying ears nearby, and leaned forward. Harry barely heard the words; he had to steel himself not to lean in to her. The exotic scent of her perfume was far more intoxicating then anything he had had to drink that night and made him feel almost lightheaded. Impulsive. Reckless. If he were only to lower his head...

“Harry,” began Hermione, a hushed and confiding tone to her voice, “you need to go home and talk to your wife because right now she is operating under the scurrilous presupposition that you are engaged in a most illicit liaison with some contemptible slattern!”

After a mouthful like that it wasn’t all that surprising that she was at a loss for breath. She inhaled deeply and looked to Harry closely for his reaction. He merely stared blankly down at her.

“Ok, now this time try it in English,” he dryly volleyed back.

Hermione didn't take kindly to the ill-timed remark. She threw his hands off her and smacked his arm.

“OW! NOT SO HARD HERMIONE!” He drew back from her and rubbed at the sore spot. She could be so violent at times.

“THIS IS NO TIME FOR JOKES, HARRY JAMES! GINNY THINKS YOU’RE SCREWING AROUND ON HER!”

That was all it took to startle Harry into a near debilitating panic. How he ever found the strength to form a coherent sentence, he never knew.

“G-Ginny th-thinks I'm...I'm having an affair?!” came the stammering question.

Hermione mutely nodded her head up and down.

Harry felt as though he were going to be sick. It didn't even matter that Hermione's revelation wasn't true (technically speaking at least). The argument that he hadn't physically cheated on Ginny was thin, but it was the one detail that enabled him to keep his head high through all of this. But that would soon be coming to an end. Ginny knew! That was it; game over. Quaffle blocked, Snitch caught; 150 points to the opposing team! He hadn't even gotten a chance to get off the bench and the whistle was already being blown.

One of his worse fears had come to pass, Ginny had figured out that he was contemplating leaving her before he'd had a chance to tell her himself. Maybe it was simple-minded of him to believe that he would have somehow made it better, but he honestly thought that he might have been able to soften the blow if he was the one that broke it to Ginny. He would have sat her down and gently explained his side of things. He would have begged her for her forgiveness for not loving her the way that she deserved; the way that she loved him. If given the opportunity to do things his way he might have even convinced her that ending their union was in both of their best interests. But now his impossible situation had been made worse. He didn't know how she had figured it all out, and he certainly couldn't figure out why she assumed that he had been physically unfaithful to her, but he knew one thing for certain; his wife was a smart one. Whatever evidences of his disloyalty Ginny had managed to gather, had led her directly to the so-called other woman's door.

And now here was dear, sweet Hermione, completely clueless as to how she had gotten pulled into this fiasco.

Harry sighed hopelessly. Knowing Ginny, the whole situation had officially gone off the rails. That's why Ginny had been so hell-bent on getting him to the Palace earlier; she had already chewed out the competition and was now preparing to lay into him. No doubt Hermione would have vehemently denied Ginny's accusations, but the way he had chased after her all evening had probably done little to disprove the charge. Ginny was a very proud woman, of course she wouldn't take the news that her husband wanted to be with another woman lightly. The fact that the woman just happened to be Hermione only helped add salt to the wound.

The worst part was that Harry knew that he had created this clusterfuck. If he had gone to Ginny the moment he first realized that their marriage was over maybe all of this ugliness could have been quashed. But he had made the decision to put other matters ahead of his own selfish desires and that gamble had ultimately blown up in his face. If Ginny now knew that his feelings for Hermione were far more than filial in nature, it was only a matter of time before everyone else found out as well. All of the Weasleys would be caught in the crossfire, undoubtedly forced to choose sides, and there was no question which would prevail in the end. He would lose his adoptive family. But even knowing all of that, the one thought that weighed the heaviest on his mind was that Hermione would now find out his feelings for her in the ugliest of ways. He was officially in Hell.

In a way though Harry was almost glad; maybe it was better to get everything out in the open now, no more hidden agendas or mixed signals. Ginny had probably given Hermione an earful and now it was time for him to do damage control. Maybe it was time to tell Hermione the truth. He was so determined to get her to reveal all to him, but wasn't he being a hypocrite by keeping things from her too? Sure he could say that he had done it in her best interest, and in the case of Ptolemy Cadmus he fervently believed that still to be the case, but Hermione had every right to know that he was in love with her. His only wish was that he could tell her without screwing it all up.

“I'm so sorry that you had to find out this way, Hermione…” Harry began anemically. He bravely tried to meet her questioning gaze.

Hermione's hand jumped to her mouth as she gasped.

“You mean...you mean Ginny was right?!” She sounded wounded and her voice barely registered higher than a whisper. “You...you aren't having an affair with some strange woman Harry, are you?!”

Baffled, Harry gawked at her. “Strange woman?”

His eyebrows knitted together as he tried to sort out the oddity of the question.

“Strange woman?! What are you on about?!” he almost demanded.

Hermione chewed nervously on her lip. “Ginny came to see me at the cottage today because she thinks that you've been cheating on her. To make matters worse, she thinks that I've been playing your willing accomplice. She thinks I know who your mystery woman is.”

She then turned big, mournful eyes up at him.

“Ginny isn't right, is she Harry?” She almost sounded hopeful to his muddled head. Her eyes seemed to search his face, intent on finding the answer for herself. Harry was so stunned by the question that it took him a second to recover from it.

“NO!” he proclaimed forthrightly once he began to make sense of everything. “No. I'm not having an affair! I’ve never cheated on Ginny!”

Harry ignored the pang of conscience that reminded him that he was being very generous in his avowal of innocence, all things considered. He refused to feel guilty though, especially when his answer produced such a beaming smile from Hermione. Sweet relief seemed to flood every inch of him causing a giddy rush of blood to his head.

Ginny didn't know about Hermione!

Hell, Hermione didn't even know about Hermione!

For the time being his secret was still safe!

Believing that Harry's gladdened smile was due to the ridiculousness of the situation, a self-satisfied smirk played about Hermione's face.

“Ha! I knew it,” she crowed, her nose tipped upward grandly. “I told Ginny that she was just being delusional. She had some nerve shoveling that garbage at me.”

“I'm so sorry Hermione that you're involved in this mess.”

“Why? You didn't do anything. Ginny is the one who tried to pull me into this...this,” she said gesturing between them. “And it's not like I haven't been on the wrong end of one of Ginny's tirades before and lived to tell the tale. The only difference between this time and the last is that I gave just as good as I got!” she said proudly, eyes narrowed. “I mean the nerve to accuse you of...to even suggest that you would...OF ALL PEOPLE!”

She punctuated her point with a stamp of her foot.

The elation that Harry had been feeling began to fizzle. Although he was relieved that Ginny didn't think he was seeing Hermione behind her back, he had to now wonder what would make his wife think he was carrying on with anyone in the first place. And if she did think he was cheating on her, why wouldn't she assume it was Hermione? There was no other woman that he was closer to, and goodness knows he had been shameless in how he acted around her since the very moment she got back into town. Why wouldn't Ginny suspect his best friend? For that matter, Harry had to wonder why no one in the family had become suspicious of his brazen behavior when it came to Hermione. Was he really that good at hiding his true emotions or were they all just that thick? He personally sided with the latter.

And what of the woman herself? When they were younger he and Hermione had such an uncanny connection that she always seemed to be attuned to what he was thinking, feeling. There was a time he couldn't hide anything from the insightful witch; why was now so different? Had the years and distance caused their relationship that much disrepair? If anyone should have figured out what was going on in his head it should have been her. She had been the first to know that he had fancied Cho. She had figured out that he had feelings for Ginny almost before he had acknowledged the fact to himself. Why was she being so dense now when the true object of his desire was so obviously her? Was she just as oblivious as all the others? Or worse, was she acting dim on purpose? How could Hermione not know how he felt about her, that he wanted her so desperately? He heard of love being blind, he never counted on it being deaf and dumb as well.

Hermione, who had been practically frothing at the mouth still, ended up inadvertently answering his question in that high and mighty tone of hers she was known to take from time to time. She was so engrossed in her righteous wrath that she barely noticed that he had grown conspicuously silent.

“Of course I was right; I knew that you weren’t some philanderer. I told Ginny that she didn't know you at all if she could think so lowly of you! You would never do something like that; forsake your vows. Harry Potter an adulterer; what utter rubbish! You have far too much nobility in you to ever dishonor the commitment you made to her just to go chasing after some cheap tart! You would never, ever do that to Ginny! Not you, not my Harry! Hmph!”

Finally realizing that Harry hadn't uttered a single word throughout her impassioned speech, Hermione spared him a glance. She nearly did a double take at Harry's sickly pallor. He looked positively ashen.

“Gracious Harry, you went all gray all of a sudden!” she said, quickly wrapping an arm around him to offer some form of comfort. “Are you alright?! Have you had too much to drink? Is it heartburn, indigestion?”

With a dispirited shake of his head Harry feebly croaked the only words he could muster.

“No, irony.”

Harry absently reached out for her hand as though it were some cord to keep him connected to this world. Earlier he had compared his situation to being relegated to the pits of perdition, but this was oh so much worse. This was limbo. Of course Hermione was blinded to the fact that he had fallen in love with her. In her mind the Harry Potter that she knew was above such indiscretions. The Harry Potter she knew stood for all that was moral and right. The Harry Potter she knew was a model husband, an upstanding citizen and not the lying, cheating bastard that he secretly knew himself to be. How was he ever going to tell Hermione how wrong she was; that he had the same faults and weaknesses as any man? How could he look her in the eye and watch the high regard she had for him crumbled into dust?

He was screwed.

He couldn't even glean a bit of pleasure out of the possessive manner in which she had called him, “her Harry”. How could he even begin to tell her how accurate she was? He was hers, only hers, if only she would claim him.

“Hermione, I need to tell you someth–”

*bang*

Whatever he had been about to say was lost in the sound of the door to the Three Broomsticks banging against the wall after being thrown open. The glow of numerous lanterns from inside the pub poured out and bathed Harry and Hermione in a harsh, blinding beam of light. Out of that light stepped Ron and Neville.

“BLIMEY NEV, YOU WERE RIGH'!” bellowed the redhead in a loud, trumpet-like voice as the door slammed shut behind the two men. “NEVILLE 'ERE SHAID WE'D PRO'LLY FIND TH' TWO OF YOU OU' 'ERE TOGETH'R.”

The tense atmosphere slowly became undone as both Harry and Hermione grinned at their best friend's exuberance and traded humored glances between them. Judging by his volume and his somewhat slurred speech Ron, finding himself completely freed from under Lavender's thumb for the evening, had bellied up to the bar all night. So much so that Neville seemed to be supporting his substantial weight as they came staggering outside. Ron, however, threw him aside and came tottering towards his two best mates once spying them. A loopy grin decorated his florid face.

Ron was what was commonly known as a happy drunk.

“WHY'RE YOU OU' 'ERE WHEN TH' PARTY ISH IN TH'RE?” he boisterously asked.

“And why are the two of you holding hands?”

That question was posed by Neville. In a daze, Harry looked down and was almost surprised to find that Neville was right. Still entwined with his own fingers were Hermione's. Harry stared at them, marveling at how perfectly well they seemed to fit together. He almost lost himself to the feeling, in spite of the incriminatory tone that Neville had asked the question in. Forcing himself to remember that the other wizard was practically his wife's best friend, Harry tried to work his fingers from out of Hermione's grasp before his face gave too much away.

Hermione wouldn't let him. She held firmly to his hand and took it upon herself to respond.

“Not that it's any of your concern, Neville; Harry was just about to Apparate me home. Isn't that right, Harry?” Her words came out clipped, precise, and as sharp as a pickaxe.

Harry turned his head to get a good look at her. She was staring Neville down, chin jutting out superiorly at him. Harry didn't know what surprised him more; her sudden one-eighty, or the chilly delivery of the reply. He had never known Hermione to address Neville that harshly; she was always so kind and patient with him when they were younger. What further disturbed him was how quickly Neville seemed to back off, almost like a kicked dog.

“Harry, your offer to escort me back to the cottage is still good, is it not?”

Brown eyes met his as if daring him for defiance.

“I...YES!” he said without further delay before she could change her mind. He realized that he simply didn't care why Hermione had suddenly decided to change her tune. He was only too happy to reap the benefit of it. He had to remember to thank Neville later.

Neville, looking bashful and thoroughly upbraided mumbled out a meek, “Sorry. Didn't mean to pry.”

“WELL I DO!” Ron blurted. “You can' go 'ome ye'. Ish shtill early! Th' night's shtill youn'!” he whinged as he wedged himself between Harry and Hermione, and threw an arm around both of their shoulders. He bent his head to give Hermione sloppy, wet peck on the cheek.

“Eww, Ron! If someone were to light a match to you, you would go up in flames,” she said reproachfully, face pinched. She even covered her nose. Harry could tell that she was only half-serious, even as she half-heartedly struggled to pull away from the hulking redhead.

Ron, holding to her tightly, looked down into her face and grinned dopily.

“Are you callin' me a poofffff'ter Mer-minee?”

Realizing his mistake, he paused as though in deep thought.

“…'er-mimi,” he arduously tried again. He then smiled brightly as he mangled her name nearly beyond recognition.

“'ERMA-MINI-ME!”

Harry doubled over from laughing so hard. Neville, probably still smarting from the earlier dressing down, coughed to blanket any signs of mirth. Hermione still paid each of them a disgruntled look.

“No, I'm saying that you smell like a distillery,” she primly told Ron while pursing her lips cutely.

Ron took the insult in stride. He let go of Harry and wrapped her in a big bear hug, ignoring her protests. He took it all for a joke, rocking her from side to side.

“Aww 'ermsh, I've sheen you drunker. And you've sheen me drunker. And I've sheen you...”

She haughtily sniffed. “Yes, yes; you've seen me drunker. I believe we covered that earlier.”

Harry couldn't help but smile. It almost felt like old times; Ron ribbing Hermione, Hermione telling Ron off. If he listened hard he could almost hear a young girl and boy arguing over a strange cat or a mysteriously gotten broom. Such thoughts made him smile wistfully.

Ever the mediator, Harry approached them.

“Mate, I think you should call it a night too,” he said lightheartedly with a pleasant expression on his face. “You've had one too many and you know how your Lav-Lav hates it when you get like this,” he teased.

Ron looked affronted at the seeming dig at his manhood.

“I'm no' shcared of my w'man!” he slurred.

“Oh?” asked Harry spotting Glinda and Neville's girlfriend emerging from the pub side by side just in time to hear the conversation, especially Ron’s assertion. Glinda, eyes sparkling bright with mirth, raised a finger to her lips as she caught Harry's eye.

Ron bobbed his head up and down. “Yesh! Lav'nder knows who'sh bossh!”

“'Lo Lavender!”

For a man so large, Harry often wondered at Ron's agility under the proper motivation. While he was whirling around looking for what he assumed would be his insanely enraged fiancée, Hermione was lying back in Harry's open arms where Ron had tossed her like a toy broom.

“THANKS A LOT, RON!” she yelled amidst the whooping laughter from Glinda and Neville, as well as Fred and George who had just come outside and had witnessed it all. Candide shyly smiled at the whole scene. It took Ron a moment to realize that Lavender was nowhere to be seen and that his sister-in-law had been having a go at him.

Harry tried not to chuckle; instead he deftly raised Hermione back to her feet and set her up straight.

“Careful there Harry or Hermione will think you're trying to feel her up,” Glinda jested as Fred came up next to her and wrapped an arm around her waist. The twins both thought that was just hilarious.

Harry laughed along with them, although with less levity. Harry had actually very subtly patted Hermione down. He had never lost interest in finding the wand and he hadn't believed her for a moment when she explained how she got out of the girls' toilet. When the opportunity to do a quick search had presented itself he took it. Other than a slight tightening of the pants, Harry had come up with zip. Short of pulling back the neckline of her bodice and looking down the damned dress it had been the best he could do, although that was still a contingency plan as far as he was concerned.

He was almost positive that the wand was concealed on her, he just hadn't figured out how. But Harry figured that he would get another chance to look once he took her home; he didn't want to risk getting caught in the act again, especially with an audience. Fortunately Hermione had been none the wiser the first time and had thought Glinda was simply making a joke at her expense. At least Harry hoped Glinda had been kidding. The fact that Glinda was still smirking in his direction and had suddenly taken a keen interest in him did not sit well. Harry casually tried to refrain from making direct eye contact with her.

“Oh stuff it, Glinda!” barked Hermione to her friend, cheeks pink from the innocent sounding joke. She wasn't the only one displeased with Glinda's mischief making.

“Oi Fred, you need t' tell tha’ wife of yoursh t' shtop pickin' on me!” groused Ron as he looked crossly at the couple.

Ron was Glinda's usual target of mockery, mainly because he was so easy to provoke and she was so easily amused. Harry found himself exhaling gladly as Glinda turned her interest from him and on to her other brother-in-law.

Fred couldn't stop himself from laughing as he told his wife, “Stop picking on Ron.”

Glinda looked at him as though he were speaking in tongues.

“No,” she deadpanned.

Fred turned back to his baby brother and smiled gaily. “Well you can't say that I didn't try.”

Everyone (save for Ron) hooted with laughter.

“So people, what is next on the agenda?” asked Glinda as she looked from face to face in the assembled party. Neville had worked his way to his girlfriend's side and was holding her hand while Harry, Hermione, and Ron huddled in closer to the group. The twins flanked Glinda. “I've got a babysitter that's charging us a mint and the kid isn’t due home until morning. Freddy and I are going to make the most of tonight.”

Instantly, warning signals shot through Harry's head.

“Well I was just about to take Hermione home, you see and…”

“But you can't go home!” Glinda said firmly turning to Hermione, cutting Harry off. “My new BFF Candy here–you've met Candy haven't you Hermione–”

The two women smiled across at each other.

“–was just telling us about this lovely little disco on Central Street.”

Candide, smiling timidly as seven pairs of eyes fell on her, nodded.

“It's a Latin dance club called Bongos. I'm pretty friendly with the head doorman; his niece is in my beginner's pointe class. He's always after me to come out and bring some friends. I've only been a couple of times myself, but it's always loads of fun. They play everything; mambo, merengue, samba, salsa...”

“Ooh, I just love salsa music!” gushed Hermione enthusiastically.

This was all Glinda needed to hear.

“There you go, you have to come now! Come on Ducks, don't be a stick in the mud! You know you want to; all the cool kids are doing it. One of us! One of us!” she chanted.

The twins, as well as Ron, looked on entertained. Harry could tell that they were all up for trying out the Muggle nightclub that Candide was talking up. To his consternation, Hermione looked equally open to the idea. Harry had a sinking feeling that he was about to lose out on getting his alone time with her.

“How pathetically sad is it that at my age I can still be peer pressured by the likes of you,” Hermione said in good humor, shaking her head.

“Yay!” Glinda said excitedly, clapping her hands together.

“Wait...wait! Hermione can't go!”

Although everyone was now looking at him as though he were a madman, Harry still pressed on. He had almost had Hermione all to himself; he wasn't giving up on that so easily. He was prepared to go down fighting if need be.

“She's tired and...and...it's high time that she went home!” he continued, arguing his point. He pretended not to notice Ron's disappointed frown or Hermione's put out scowl. He couldn't ignore the highly fascinated and amused expression Glinda wore, though. It was like a kitten who had found a brand new cat toy to swat at.

Bloody fuck, thought Harry cheerlessly, all he needed now was Glinda Weasley heckling him for kicks.

Hermione had started to say something, when Glinda held her hand up.

“Let me handle this, Ducks,” she said first smiling wilily at Harry, then arranging her face into a semblance of a pout as she batted her eyes. “Ooh, ooh Mr. Potter sir, please oh please can't Hermione Jane come out to play with the rest of the gang; me, Freddy...the Beav?” She motioned her head towards Ron, eliciting a chuckle from Hermione, a muttered curse from Ron, and perplexed looks from the rest of them. “All we want to do is go to the malt shoppe to split a soda pop.”

Harry could feel the color rise in his cheeks. He could empathize with Ron now; he felt foolish under the weight of Glinda's incessant mockery. She was a real ball-buster, that one. He knew that she was only trying to hector him, probably for being a stodgy old killjoy, but Harry detected something else behind the friendly clowning.

“Stop teasing, Harry,” said Hermione, trying her best not to enjoy his discomfort.

Harry gritted his teeth. “I'm not trying to be her father; I'm just looking out for her,” he said in his defense.

Glinda waved him off.

“Well I'm looking out for her too. A girl's got to have some fun!” She turned to Hermione. “Come on Hermione, live a little! What do you say?”

Hermione looked around at the group. Other than Harry's moue of displeasure, everyone else seemed to be agreeable to the idea.

“I say...sure, why not!” she giggled.

“Whoo-hoo!” shouted Ron, pumping his fist.

Glinda laughed merrily. “Yeah, what he said!”

Harry was beyond disappointed. Not only had he lost the chance for some precious one on one time with Hermione, he was going to have to suffer it out at some smoky, overcrowded Muggle club. If Hermione went, he went, though he could already see Ginny's incensed face upon his arrival back at the Palace.

He had just let out a thankless sigh of resignation when the sound of a nearby Apparition cracked the air. Everyone turned to see who the new arrival was.

“CHARLIE!” chorused his three brothers merrily.

Under a lantern, on the opposite side of the street, stood Charlie Weasley.

“Oh good! I was hoping that you lot were still here,” he called out cheerfully as he quickly jogged over to the group, settling in the space between Hermione and Ron.

“What are you doing back so soon?” asked Fred as he gave his brother a mighty clap to the shoulder.

George grinned at Charlie lewdly. “We figured you'd be spending the remains of the evening tucked snugly inside some lush French territory,” he said while bawdily waggling his eyebrows.

Hermione tutted reprovingly.

Glinda rolled her eyes at the two of them. “Oh that’s just classy,” she sarcastically drolled.

Charlie ignored the twins' lecherous innuendos.

“Get your minds out of the dust bin boys,” he said jokingly. “Sorry to disappoint, but I was only seeing the lady home like any good friend,” he made sure to emphasize the word for their benefit, “would. By the way, just whose bright idea was it to slip Bernadette the Puking Pastille and tell her it was a cough drop?”

Fred and George found themselves the center of the majority of the group's condemning attention.

“OI!” they both said taking umbrage at the unsaid accusation.

“A stunt like that is beneath me and George.”

“No finesse at all. Only a rank amateur would stoop so low.”

Chagrined, Glinda raised her hand and all eyes steered towards her.

“That would be me then. Sorry.” She sheepishly smiled at Charlie. “But I would just like to state for the record that Bernadette was circumstantially the victim of friendly fire. My intended target was that heinous, horse faced shrew George forced on us,” she said heating up to the subject. “What was that profound little chestnut she dusted off again? Oh yes, ‘If Muggles had any sense to them they would be able to do magic just like the rest of us’,” mimicked Glinda in Pristine Pringle's sugary, simpering inflection. “Bitch had it coming!” she added for good measure.

Hermione agreed.

“I always told Draco that Pringle was simply too stupid to live.”

“Luckily she was smart enough to realize that the vomit on her robes just did not match her troll hide pumps,” Glinda said with a pleased sneer.

The fact that his date had had to call it an early evening didn't seem to faze George in the slightest. His face broke out into an easy grin.

“That Bernadette does have good aim. She’s a keeper, Charlie!”

“I’ll put in a good word for you then,” Charlie quipped with an indulging shake of his head. “So is everyone heading home for the evening?” he asked looking from face to face.

“No, we’re all headed off to a hot little London spot to go shake our bon bons,” said Glinda high-spiritedly, wiggling her bum. “Want to come?”

“How can I say no to that?”

“Great. Now that that's settled let's get going before we wake-up old Aberforth down there at the Hog's Head and he decides to come with, eh?” Fred stated, taking charge of the situation. “We’ll all Apparate over to George and Ron’s, and from there Neville's friend can show us the way.”

Everyone seemed to find no fault with the arrangement.

“Sounds like a plan to me. Need a lift?” Charlie asked as he turned to Hermione and offered her his arm. Hermione slipped her arm through it with ease.

“Why thank you, kind sir,” she said while wearing a flirty smile.

With a *pop* they were gone.

It took Harry all of a full second to realize that Hermione and Charlie were no longer standing in the spot he was gaping dumbly at.

Son of a bitch!

George let out a long whistle and shook his head in amazement.

“Blimey! Charlie sure doesn’t waste any time, does he?” he joked right before Disapparating with a still unsteady Ron hanging off of him. Next went Neville, his girlfriend holding tightly to his hand.

“What the…I just…BLOODY HELL!”

Harry was nearly left dumbstruck. It had all happened so fast.

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” he thunderously asked. Just what in the hell was Charlie playing at, he wondered.

Glinda, finding Harry's hacked off blustering comical, said with a smirk, “I’d say that Charlie was just quickest to the snatch, that's what.”

Harry looked at her dubiously, not liking what she might be implying.

Fred took his wife's hand in his and corrected her.

“That’s Snitch, luv.”

Glinda winked at Harry.

“Tomato. Tomahto.”

And then she was no longer standing there.

It was as he watched Fred and her go that Harry understood why it was never wise to assume anything in life. Standing there, all alone in front of The Three Broomsticks with the sound of Glinda's very keen and deliberate words still ringing in her wake, Harry realized that there just might be one Weasley that wasn't all that thick after all.

Damn.

To Be Continued...

A/N: Next up is the conclusion to chapter 19. A lot of stuff from this one (ie: the wand & Boadicea) gets resolved in the next. Glinda has a little fun with the Pumpkins, Hermione and Harry continue to dance around each other (literally and figuratively), and two startling admissions cause VERY interesting results.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Tabor Joles, Vadoma Joles, Mr. Gingold, Johannes, the Pembrokes, and Naughty Ninotchka are canon.

2) The coronation of Elizabeth II, the second Kinsey Report, Christine Jorgensen, the polio vaccination, color television, the Nobel Prize for Churchill, the premier of the Crucible, the first James Bond book published, and the birth of Michael Bolton are all events that took place in 1953.

3) The Three Broomsticks and Madam Rosmerta's back story is all my doing. When I started writing this one I found that there wasn't much information about either so I simply made my own. If you haven't learned by now I LOVE a good back story. LOL!

4) Romnichal is the name by which groups of Romany people(Gypsies) found in the UK call themselves in their own language, Anglo-Romany.

5) Barry Trotter is the star of a series of Harry Potter parody books written by Michael Gerber.

6) “...light made liquid...wind made solid...” is Harry's impressions of what the memories in Dumbledore's Pensieve look like. Chapter 30 of GoF.

7) “Yesterday upon the stairs...” is from the poem Antigonish written by William Hugh Mearns.

8) French translations…

Je t'aime!=I love you!

Je t'aime de tout mon coeur. Dans tes bras c'est mon destin.=I love you with all my heart. My destiny is in your arms.

Pour moi?=For me?

9) I had always intended the teens to go into the Pensieve and into the Chamber of Secrets but upon my 1000^th re-read of CoS I caught where Riddle tells Harry that he never went into the Chamber again after Myrtle's death. Still I wanted to do the scene so let's all just wank it that he lied ok? Hee. I relied heavily on GoF, OotP, and HBP to try to capture the Pensieve experience, but I did take my own liberties here and there. If Harry can actually sit on the memory of a chair he can damn well open a door. LOL!

10) Carregbryn, the Zabini/Leon estate in Newcastle Emlyn is taken from the welsh words for stone(carreg) and hill(bryn).

11) “One of us! One of us!” is a quote from one of my favorite movies Freaks.

12) Voodoo Wop, The Erl Kings, Ironbelly’s vodka, the Retexilaxo serum, the Society for Preserving Artifacts of Mythos(SPAM), Gingold’s Gallery, Carregbryn, Lamia’s Lair strip club, and Bongos nightclub are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

24. Chapter 19b

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 23,757

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: murphsmine. Best snarky beta a girl could ask for. *g*

WARNING: A little green-eyed Harry and a minor character's death. You've been warned.

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.

"I like it like that (yeah baby)
I like it like that (I like it like that)
I like it like that (I got soul, I got soul)
I like it like that (Por ti me quiero)
I like it like that (oh oh baby)
I like it like that (I like it like that)
I like it like that (Si aquí me quiero mi amour)
I like it like that (I got soul, I got soul)"

“Merlin! It’s like one gigantic, hedonistic orgy in here!” exclaimed Charlie, voice filled with wonder as his eyes swept across the spacious interior of Bongos from the lobby's exit.

From where he was standing (right next to Hermione, thank you very much), Harry found himself hard pressed not to agree with him. As far as the eye could see were bodies writhing and twisting around each other in a tumultuous blur, driven wild by blaring horns and a percussive throbbing that could be felt more than heard. The music came booming out of dozens of loudspeakers embedded in the walls throughout the venue. Across the darkened room shot laser light beams of red, green, blue, and gold that made the partying crowd look like they were transplants sent from some distant galaxy. Every so often a fog machine would pump out dry mist to add to the other worldly atmosphere. The whirring of the aircon could be heard over the restless hubbub, but the body heat of the dancers coupled with the sweat in the air made the temperature nearly sweltering and somewhat reminiscent of some tropical den. Despite the heat, the party raged on.

When things looked like they were beginning to lull the DJ would flip a switch and a siren blast would incite the crowd into frenzy. The dancers in turn openly worshiped him as though he were some living god, calling out his name and shouting words of praise whenever he played a song that met their approval. The adoration seemed fitting seeing as how he and his turntables were situated in a booth perched several feet off the ground like an altar. The only way to reach it (and from what Candide shared with them, many a pretty girl often kicked and scratched their way up) was via a narrow set of rickety stairs. This left plenty of room for dancing as there was barely a piece of ground or surface in the club that wasn't being used as a floor. Even the bar towards the back held scantily clad women shimmying and shaking rhythmically on top of it. Bongos was a veritable feast for all of the senses. The final, perfect touch was the two massive drums that hung from the ceiling, suspended over the dancers, giving the nightclub its catchy name.

“Cor! Are they doing that there forbidden dance? Dad told me about it once,” shouted Ron who was standing on the other side of Harry. He was gawking at a couple dancing nearby. There was hardly room to squeeze a sheet of parchment between the pair; they were wound so tightly around each other.

“That's right Ron, they’re doing the Lambada,” Glinda yelled back, barely suppressing an eye roll. They all had to speak loudly in order to be heard over the volume of the music. “The year also happens to be 1990 and Madonna still has her original accent. Ponce!”

Fred and George chortled hysterically as Ron glared at her.

“It’s called salsa dancing,” said Candide knowledgeably as she and Neville came forward from the back. Their small group crowded the doorway and had yet to enter Bongos fully. Other club goers had to go around them to get in and out the entryway. “In English it means sauce; zesty, sizzling...spicy,” she told them, tapping her foot to the beat.

George gave her an affable grin. “Forgive us Candide, but I think this all might be a little too hot for the likes of us.”

Glinda snorted.

“Speak for yourselves!” she boldly proclaimed as she grabbed her husband by the arm and yanked him into the mass with her.

Candide turned to Neville.

“Coming, Nev?” she asked sweetly giving him a rather sexy, doe-eyed look. The poor young man was powerless against it. Wearing a dreamy expression on his face, he followed her out onto the floor without further prompting. The rest of them all smiled at each other as they watched the lovebirds go.

“That just might be a little too much woman for our dear friend Neville to handle,” joked George admiringly. The fancy oriental robes Candide had worn to the Ball, a hanbok as she referred to them, had been transfigured by Neville into a rather fetching mod styled minidress that sent many of the male tongues in the club wagging.

Charlie chuckled at his brother's observation.

“Oddly enough, I don’t hear Longbottom complaining,” he said.

The two brothers shared a hearty chuckle as they wandered off into the pulsing mob leaving Ron, Harry, and Hermione behind.

"Ella tiene fuego
Y tiene un ciclon en las piernas
Ella tiene fuego
Es la atracion de la fiesta
Ella tiene fuego

Y todo el mundo pregunta de que esta ella”

The three friends stuck close together as they too entered the fray. Although Harry had originally been against coming, he had to admit that the club was ripping. The music was lively and the crowd was spirited; some even singing along with the tunes the DJ was spinning. He only wished that he wasn't such shite at dancing. He would have had a legitimate excuse then to take Hermione out onto the floor and hold her tightly against him without a single worry of how it all might look. Sadly, he had two left feet and both of them were made of lead. Even Ron was a better dancer than he was, though that wasn’t really saying much. Hermione, probably resigned to being a wallflower considering her present company, didn't appear to be too bothered missing out on all the action. Besides, she was too reserved for this type of crowd, Harry surmised.

“I could do for something to drink; would you like anything?” he asked turning to her, trying to catch her attention. The three of them had come to a halt near the DJ platform. “A pop...uh, some water?”

Hermione's hand rubbed at her throat as she nodded her head.

“I am a bit parched. Ooh, a mojito would be nice,” she said as her eyes followed after a woman sipping the very same drink.

Harry looked ambivalent at the request. A drink like that just might lay her out.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It's just one drink, dad,” she said tartly.

With a twinkle in his eyes Harry conceded. “Alright, but when you can't speak tomorrow morning because you've been singing Henery the Eighth at the top of your lungs all night, just remember that I did warn you.”

She had the decency to blush at the valid jest. At the sight of Hermione's pinkening cheeks, Harry and Ron traded amused grins over the top of her head.

“One mojito it is. I’ll be right back. Stay right here,” he told her.

She nodded her head gratefully and turned from him to look back at the dancing multitude. Before walking away, Harry gave Ron a loaded look that he hoped his still bombed out pal understood; keep an eye on her. He was entrusting Hermione’s safety to the redhead, a fact he thought should have been transparently clear. Ron, having received the look, only wondered if Harry had a touch of gas before his mind then flitted off to its next thought.

As Harry headed off towards the bar he was surprised to discover that he was in an unexpectedly chipper mood. There was a pronounced pep to his step. His spirits were so high that he even hummed along to the Latin ditty that was being played.

Actually, since leaving Hogsmeade and Apparating into Diagon Alley the night had been going quite well, all things considered. Charlie's questionable hijacking of Hermione had been long forgotten, and Glinda hadn't made any further salty remarks in his presence or around the others. Harry supposed that meant that his earlier guess had been wrong and that his sister-in-law hadn't fallen under the impression that he was lusting after his best friend. If she had, she had yet to give him any further sign. What's more, she had practically ignored him since leaving Ron's flat. They had stopped there briefly to allow the men to drop off their robes before crossing to the Muggle side of London. When all of them began to walk over to Central Street, she situated herself between Hermione and Candide and stayed there as Harry, Ron, Neville, Charlie, and the twins followed up in the rear. She and Hermione took the time to get to know Neville's girlfriend while the men appreciated the dazzling view before them.

The walk to Bongos went by so quick, especially with the twins cracking jokes and teasing Charlie about Bernadette and a few of his other noteworthy conquests, that before long they had reached their destination. Once arriving at the club they had followed Candide to the front of the queue where she whispered into the ear of a rather beefy looking fellow whose thick arms gave off the impression that he bench pressed steel girders for fun. Candide called him Tiny. All nine of them were then ushered through the doors after receiving a purple stamp on the hand that entitled them to unlimited access at the bar.

“Hey mama, this that...that make you groove, mama
(hey)Get on the floor and move your booty mama
(yaw)We the blast mastas blastin' up the jamma
(hey)So shake your bambama, come on now mama
Hey mama, this that...that make you groove, mama
(hey)Get on the floor and move your booty mama
(yaw)We the blast mastas blastin' up the jamma
(la la la la la)”

The pulsating beat of the song sent the crowd into near rapture. So much so that Harry almost had a hard time navigating his way back to his friends while trying not to spill the contents of the two glasses he carried with him; Hermione's mojito and a whiskey neat for himself. He held them high above his head to keep them from sloshing over as people bumped and banged into him from all sides.

After not finding his two best friends where he last left them, he finally located Ron, George, and Charlie by their beacon-like hair off to the left. They were sitting in a booth on the sidelines unashamedly watching two women who were grinding against each other. Before Harry could even ask after Hermione, Fred and Glinda came staggering up to the table looking sweaty and rumpled, yet exhilarated. Without asking, Glinda snatched the cocktail out of Harry's hand, threw the tiny straw over her shoulder, and drank it all down in a single gulp. Harry could only scowl at her nerve.

“It’s a madhouse out there!” she exclaimed breathlessly after tossing the glass aside.

Fred, wearing a huge grin on his face, agreed.

“All hands and arms and other assorted appendages,” he added breathing heavily.

“And groping. Don’t forget about the groping, Freddie.”

“How could I? Put me in the mind of our first date.”

Glinda gave him a pinch to his bum.

“Cheeky bastard.”

“Whoa!” said George pointing off to the side.

All of them turned to find Neville and Candide dancing up a storm. The wizard looked like he was holding his own against his rather skilled partner.

“Would you just look at Neville go!” rooted Charlie.

“Would you just look at Neville fall. Oh…and he’s back up again!” zinged Glinda.

Ron, Charlie, and the twins all hooted with abandon as Neville popped up from the floor and dusted himself off, the happy-go-lucky smile never leaving his lips. They could see Candide fall into his arms giggling as they continued to dance.

Harry turned from the merry scene and looked expectantly at Ron.

“Where’s Hermione?” he asked, setting his drink down on the table.

Ron's face wore a puzzled frown. Even though the walk to the club had worked some of the alcohol out of his system, helping to straighten out his speech and wiping the drowsy look from his bleary eyes, he was still half-pissed and his faculties were a trifle sluggish.

“Where's Hermione's wha’?”

Harry had to resist the urge to hex Ron into minuscule freckled bits.

“You were supposed to be looking after Hermione, remember?” he edgily queried, pushing his glasses back up from where they had fallen down his nose.

Charlie, wearing a cheery grin, tried to help his younger brother out.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Harry. Something walked by and distracted Ron. You know how he likes it when they walk.”

“Oh?” Harry peevishly looked between the two men. “Did that something just happen to have blonde hair as well?”

“Yeah. And a skirt cut up to here!” answered George mirthfully as he held a hand over his head. “You could practically see all of her–”

Harry fired a severe glare at him.

“Then again perhaps I'll tell you more about it later,” he hastily amended, busying himself with the abandoned glass of whiskey and chugging it down to avoid Harry's stern gaze.

“Sod off, George! I did not get distracted!” snapped Ron. “I very well know where Hermione is!”

He then followed that implicit pronouncement with silence.

When it looked like he would provide no further information Harry practically hissed, “Well then where is she, Ron?!”

Ron gestured off in the distance. “Over there humping that pipsqueak’s leg, as far as I can tell,” he said with little to no concern.

Five pairs of eyes quickly found what Ron was referring to. Near the center of the room, illuminated by a spotlight of neon green, was Hermione. She was dancing (if what that obscene gyrating and undulating of the hips she was doing could even be classified as such) with some Mediterranean looking bloke who barely reached eye level with her. The lucky little maggot did have a more than ample view of her cleavage; that is whenever Hermione chose not to rub her arse against the bastard's knob.

“WHAT IS SHE DOING?!”

It was at this point that George and Charlie chose to discreetly extract themselves from the table and head for higher ground, each going in different directions. Glinda, however, barely batted an eye at Harry.

“Dancing!” she answered him as her eyes sparked with gaiety. “Although I think the more apt turn of phrase might be, ‘flying her freak flag’. Go Hermione! WHOO!” she cheered enthusiastically.

As if hearing her, Hermione looked towards them and gave a high spirited little wave before her partner pulled her into a steamy clinch. Harry spun around angrily on the woman standing next to him. That was not the Hermione Granger that he knew gallivanting about out there, dancing with abandon, letting some strange man put his filthy mitts all over her. Harry practically seethed with unrestrained resentment.

“Did someone give her something?! Glinda did you…”

Before he could even finish the question she cut him off with an exasperated huff.

“Slip one person a mickey and suddenly you develop a reputation,” she muttered, throwing her hands in the air. She then put a hand on her hip as though settling in for a row. “Listen here, Old Man Potter, that out there is not of my doing. And even if it was, would it be so bad? Why are you getting so bent out of shape? If you haven't noticed Hermione could do for a bit of fun! She's been wound up all evening. What she needs is a chance to just let her hair down and kick her heels up for the night; preferably over the shoulders of some strapping piece of man meat,” she saucily declared. “Ooh…like that one right there. Hullo!”

The retreating backside of some mincing nancy trussed up in a skin tight muscle shirt had suddenly captured her fancy. She even waved.

Fred nudged her hip. “Stick to the topic,” he playfully warned his wife with an indulging look.

“Oh, sorry luv,” she said grinning back at him. “Topic…topic…what was my topic again?” she flightily asked her husband.

“Hermione needs to get laid.”

“Oh, that’s right.” She turned back to Harry and narrowed her eyes at him. “Hermione needs to get laid!”

Ron looked distressed at the turn of conversation. Harry was less than thrilled.

“Oh you two stop! You’re both worse than a pair of old maiden aunts,” Glinda chided them. “How is that girl ever to enjoy herself if she’s too busy being the paragon of virtue that you two wankers insists she be? Leave Hermione alone! Let her have some fun, dance 'til her feet fall off, and kiss a few boys…or girls if she feels so inclined.”

“Here! Here!” Fred readily concurred.

Ron slid out of the booth. He stubbornly felt the need to stick up for himself against his sister-in-law’s assault.

“Don’t go trying to pull me into this, Glinda. I already have one sister and Hermione isn’t it. Sure I don’t want to see her get hurt, but if good old Herms wants to let some random bloke stick his tongue halfway down her throat she has my blessings, provided the poor sod over there can reach it. Besides, it’s Harry that’s having the fit, not me.”

Oh, oh.

“I've been properly toasted and keeping to myself all this time. Harry is the one whose been acting like he's Hermione's keeper.”

Even as she addressed Ron, Glinda's eyes shifted over to Harry giving him a penetrating look.

“You make a good point there, my fine freckled friend,” she said. “I wonder why that is?”

Damn! Damn! Damn! It was apparent that Ron was finally sobering up because his ramblings were starting to become lucid at last. Under the current situation this was not good seeing as how Glinda was taking an almost predatory interest in all that he was divulging.

One of the oft-told family jokes was that the youngest Weasley boy tended to do his best thinking while coming off a bender. Although Ron could be counted on to be generally oblivious to the goings-on surrounding him, it was usually after a night of a few too many Screaming Banshees, or pitchers after pitchers of 'Ye Olde Troll that he would suddenly come to some earth shattering epiphany that had previously eluded him up to that point.

It was on such a night that he realized that he had been in love with Lavender without knowing it. Sure he was marrying Luna that next day, but it was still better late than never. It was as if the alcohol vacating his system left him in some reflective meditative state, and with little fanfare the loud, happy drunk would turn into a thoughtful, introspective young man. At such times he would think with more clarity than when he was plotting one of his next chess moves. It was truly a wondering sight. That's why it came as no surprise to Harry when Ron's hazy blue eyes started to brighten and become more focused, as though he were seeing Harry for the first time in ages. While Glinda seamlessly prodded him to keep talking, each second that his friend innocently jabbered away Harry could feel the pressure building up inside his own head, dreading just what Ron might say next

“Well Harry thinks of himself as Hermione’s brother you see,” explained Ron, completely unaware of the minefield he was stepping into. “He has to look after her!” he told Glinda.

“Is that right?”

Harry absolutely despised Glinda’s smirk and the insincere way she phrased the question. He couldn’t help but squirm under her gaze.

“Yeah! Haven’t you ever noticed how protective Harry gets over Hermione?”

“Hmm…now that you mention it,” she began coyly, “There has been a time or two or ten that he acted damned near territorial.”

Now she was being downright facetious. Harry could feel the sweat accumulating at his hairline. Glinda was like a rabid dog with a meaty bone, and yet Ron blathered on and on without end. If he continued on his current track he was going to unwittingly open up a can of flobberworms in front of his brother and sister-in-law that would make everyone uncomfortable, Harry most of all. And to add to his suffering, George had just rejoined them as well. There was going to be an even larger audience to witness the revelation Ron was about to inadvertently expose.

“You know, you're right Glinda. Harry would get so cranky just about any time Davies or the little Scotsman would get near Hermione. Hell, he was even worse than me.”

And then Ron paused.

A peculiar look smoothed his features, as though he were just about to figure out the right incantation or wand pattern to conjure something that had been eluding him for quite some time. He stared at Harry for a moment, mouth agape as if to ask a question, then promptly popped it back shut. When he finally began to speak again he did so pensively, as though measuring out the words to examine each one carefully. It was as if he were reaching out for some intangible thought just beyond his grasp that could fall into his hand at any moment.

“Looking back on it now I suppose the whole thing was sort of bizarre, don’t you agree Harry? If anything, you acted more like a jealous boyfriend than a brother to Hermione. Until just this very moment I guess I never thought about it that way. I wonder why you…SON OF A BITCH!”

Harry had cast the spell at Ron so fast that his wand was already back in his pocket by time Ron's outraged cry notified George, Fred, and Glinda that something had happened. He wasn’t the fastest draw in the Department for nothing. Harry hated to do it, but Ron just wouldn’t shut his yap! Judging by the hodgepodge of swear words that his best friend began hurling, the non-verbal spell had wasted little time doing its job.

At the sight of Ron’s twisted expression of agony, Glinda’s amusement swiftly dried up and turned to concern for her brother-in-law.

“What happened, Ron?!” she worriedly asked as she reached out to touch his arm. Fred and George looked equally as alarmed.

Ron was bent over, resting his hands on his thighs. He glared up at Harry and gave him an almost threatening look

“HARRY JUST HEXED ME IN A ROOM FULL OF MUGGLES, THAT'S WHAT!” he crabbily howled. The music was so loud though that his accusation barely carried beyond their little group.

Dear Merlin, I'm as bad as Draco Malfoy, thought Harry to himself.

“Stop being a jackarse, Ron, I was only sobering you up. You were babbling. It was annoying. That wasn’t a jinx it was a Temperatus,” said Harry effortlessly, shaking off the shame. Whatever guilt he felt was extinguished by the sweet relief of knowing that Ron was so preoccupied with his own supposed misery that he had completely lost track of whatever he had been about to say. Harry almost felt he deserved a medal for that bit of on-the-spot thinking. The crisis had been averted.

Once hearing what spell Harry had thrown at Ron, both Fred and George’s worry seemed to diminish at once. They even laughed at their brother's melodramatic cries of anguish. However the explanation did little to placate Glinda.

“If you only sobered him up, why is he reacting that way?” she asked doubtingly.

“Because a fucking Temperare Charm only takes the liquor out of you. You know, the whazzit that makes you effing ripped,” answered Ron as he slumped back down into the booth on wobbly legs.

“The ethanol,” said Glinda.

Ron nodded his head furiously.

“That's right, the ethy-hol. That's what I said. However it does little to help the goddamned hangover!” he said between grinding teeth. “What in the hell did I ever do to you, Harry?!”

Seeing that their brother was in a bad way, the twins offered to help Ron to the bathroom so he could get himself together.

“We’ll throw some water at his face,” suggested George as he slung one of Ron’s long arms over his shoulder.

“What will that help?” Fred curiously asked while holding Ron up by the waist to try and steady him.

“Nothing, but it should be loads fun,” said George beaming brightly as they both trooped off with their younger brother slouched between them. Other club patrons paid them only a passing glance as they wobbled by. Harry watched them go until he lost sight of them. It was only once they passed his line of vision that he realized that their departure had left him alone with...

“Interesting. Very, very interesting.”

...Glinda.

“What?!” he apprehensively asked turning to find her staring at him intently.

“Oh nothing…nothing,” she said lightly. “Just things are suddenly starting to make some sense now, is all.”

Harry cringed at the remark. What did that mean?

“Why are you giving me that look?”

“And just what look might that be, Harry?” she asked, feigning ignorance. She was all wide-eyed as she brought her hand up to her chest in a phony looking gesture.

He was becoming weary of playing this game with her. If Glinda had something to say he wished she’d just get on with it.

“You look like the cat that got the cream,” he told her.

Glinda scoffed at that.

“Don’t be silly Harry. By the way it might please you to hear that Hermione is no longer dancing with that swarthy little chap from before.”

“Oh?”

He tried to sound disinterested, but the over eager manner in which he craned his neck to look for Hermione out on the floor gave him away. He kept trying to locate her in the thick swarm. It wasn’t until a couple stepped to the side that his eyes landed on her and the man she was with.

His jaw sagged ajar.

Glinda was all smiles.

“Yes. Now she’s dancing with Charlie.”

Now had it been any other day, the sight of Hermione inside of Charlie Weasley's arms grinning and laughing as though she were having the grandest time ever might have sent Harry's already roaring temper blasting off into the stratosphere. During the most recent of Weasley Sunday get-togethers Molly had spent most of the evening dropping little hints about Charlie to Hermione and vice versa. Though it had grated like nothing else, Harry had done his best to ignore it. He simply chalked it all up to Molly being Molly; the woman was known to show off pictures of her two bachelor sons to complete strangers in the market hoping to reel in potential daughters-in-law.

But with Hermione being back home it looked like Molly had finally found in her the perfect prospect for Charlie, never mind the fact that she had once had the young women practically betrothed to her youngest boy. For Molly that was all inconsequential. On that particular evening she had arranged it for the two of them to sit next to each other when dinner was served and monopolized the whole meal talking non-stop of her precious boy's accomplishments. Charlie had laughed outright at his mother's guerrilla matchmaking tactics while Hermione acted as if she were completely clueless about the busybody woman's true intentions. George had simply looked relieved to be left out of the entire equation.

While most of the family treated the shameless exhibition as though it was nothing out of the ordinary, Harry's face had clearly displayed his annoyance with the whole state of affairs. In Harry’s not so unbiased opinion, Charlie hadn't looked as though he wasn't open to the idea of dating Hermione. Not one bit! Since then Harry had caught Charlie and Hermione in a handful of flirtatious exchanges. Add to it all the fact that Hermione was known to go for redheads, Weasley redheads to be precise, and it wouldn't have been all that surprising that Harry might have been a wee bit distressed to see the two of them so intimately entwined.

His hand familiarly caressing her lower back. Her thigh lifted coyly over his hip. A turn. A pause.

But surprisingly that was not the source of Harry's astonishment as he watched Charlie skillfully twirl Hermione around by the hand as though she were a dervish.

The whirling motion had sent the skirt of her dress flaring up and out revealing a tantalizing stretch of skin that had been previously hidden. An undergarment had become visible for only a second, a scrap of black lace and leather encircling her left thigh. To the casual observer it would have easily been taken for a sexy little garter and nothing more. One probably would have even been shocked to find that Hermione Granger owned such a naughty bit of lingerie, much less wore it. But having seen Peggy O'shea, Doreen Dollanganger or any of the other women under his command at the Department wearing one just as similar, Harry was quite confidant that he knew the look of a loaded wand holster when he saw one.

Gotcha Granger!

“Wow, look at them. They're really going!”

Harry’s sense of vindication was short-lived. His intense concentration on Charlie and Hermione was broken by Neville's voice. Harry turned to find him and Candide standing next to Glinda. Glinda, who had been silently studying Harry all that time, turned her attention towards the bubbly twosome.

“They do look like they’re having a ball. Who knew that Hermione could shake it like that?” she joked.

Candide nodded. “She's not bad, but that brother-in-law of yours is fantastic! Where ever did he learn to dance so well?” she asked looking between the three of them.

Neville scratched his head and smiled at Glinda. “Probably from that snotty Castilian witch he brought home with him for Christmas that time, wouldn't you say?”

Glinda shook her head.

“No, the Castilian was Primavera, remember? Freddie and George pretended that they couldn't remember her name and kept calling her Pasta; Molly was terrified that the family would scare the poor girl off,” she answered. “I mean we did, but that's neither here nor there. I actually liked her. She was flaky, constantly nattering on about that sanctuary for wayward cyclopes she ran out in Bath, but she was always willing to pick up the check at dinner. The one you're thinking of Neville worked at some fancy zoo in Lisbon; Esperanza. She was what they call a Muggle, like you and me Candide,” Glinda explained to the other woman. “Oh Molly just loathed her! Charlie had to have her memory wiped first thing after Boxing Day.”

Candide gulped.

“I...I...I don't right recall an Esperanza,” Neville hastily covered, probably hoping that Glinda would lighten up on all the Memory Charms talk in front of his very young and impressionable girlfriend.

“’Course you do,” said Glinda. “She was the aviation blonde with the fake cha-chas and the high opinion of herself.”

“Oh.” A blush rapidly stole over Neville's cheeks. “Oh.”

Though Harry had been paying the conversation only marginal attention at best, he had been watching Charlie (and Charlie's ever lowering hands at the time); he still heard enough that when his and Neville's eyes met, Harry saw the same question that popped into his head reflected back at him.

Those weren't real?!

Glinda smirked at the expressions on both men's faces.

“Charlie sounds like a bit of a ladies man,” said Candide smiling.

“Oh he is. He's quite the catch. Women just can't seem to keep their hands off of him.”

Harry could practically feel the might of Glinda’s piercing stare. He was sure that that was what was causing the vein at the side of his head to pulsate painfully. Then again the fault could lie with Hermione and Charlie. They were still wrapped up in each other, completely unaware of Harry covetously watching them from afar. Against his will, Harry found himself envying the ease and confidence in which Charlie maneuvered Hermione around the floor. He spun her. He swung her back and forth. Charlie dipped her like a real pro! And as the music started to slow and take on a mellower, more sensual tempo, Charlie pulled Hermione so close that the space between them became virtually nonexistent. Hermione didn’t look like she minded the lack of personal space.

“Your friend looks like she can't keep her hands off him either,” replied a giggly Candide. “I must say though, the two of them look rather good together. Don't you think, Nev?”

“I...um...er...well...”

Neville looked appreciative when Glinda answered the question instead.

“You know Candide, I think you might be right. Red does seem to suit Hermione. Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

The two of them sized each other up. She wore an impish grin while the look on Harry’s face left little doubt as to where his personal opinion rested on the subject. It was like a mischievous child poking at a slumbering hornet's nest with a stick, never realizing the true menace it was rousing. Harry could feel the thin control he had been employing to keep himself from marching right over to the pair and dragging Hermione off behind him like some low browed caveman become taught and start to fray at the center. Any moment it would snap in twain.

“No,” he said decisively, eyes boring into Glinda, “I wouldn’t.”

And with very little explanation after that, Harry walked away.

"No quizo hacerte daño no le guardes rencor
Y sí ya el daño esta hecho pa que pedirle perdon
Es el que me hace sentir lo que contigo nunca sentí
(repitelo, actepatlo, comprendelo de una vez)"

He didn’t go very far. Instead he circled the area where Hermione and Charlie were as his exhausted mind circled round and round from one jumbled thought to the next. He was tired of Glinda taking the piss out of him and he didn't necessarily want to be around when Ron made his way back from the toilets. What he really wanted was to be out there, out in the center or the room with Hermione in his arms, but there was someone already taking up the space where he was supposed to be; Charlie.

Harry was jealous; he wasn't above admitting that to himself. Whereas he knew his possessive posturing towards Ron or the Ferret was often uncalled for as well as unmerited, Harry now realized that he actually regarded Charlie as a genuine threat. He didn't know for sure if Charlie even fancied Hermione or if Hermione was interested in him in the least, but the mere possibility made a new monster take up residence inside Harry's chest; one whose eyes was just as green as his. All the same, acknowledging this fact did nothing to solve matters. His best friend had every right to date whomever she pleased and Charlie didn't have a wife waiting up for him at home to complicate things. No, the redhead had a laid back temperament that most found charming, a natural way with women, and knew how to dip a pretty girl in his arms without looking like a gormless idiot. More important, Charlie was free to do so if he pleased, unlike Harry.

Glinda was right, Charlie was a catch. Harry only wished he could hate him for it. If it were any other tosser practically mauling his best friend Harry would have had no problem jinxing the bastard cross-eyed for daring to get that close to her. But it was Charlie. Harry liked Charlie, had liked him since the day he first met him. He was a Weasley, filled with all the vigor and vim, warmth and good humor that Harry always associated with the clan, save for Percy of course. Charlie was a good guy. Charlie was his family. Charlie was a–WAIT; DID HE JUST GRAB HER ARSE?!

“Mind if I have the next dance?”

He hadn't realized he had moved until he was standing right behind the pair. Thankfully he had only raised his hand to politely tap Charlie on the shoulder and not punch out his lights. It had been close, though.

A pleasant smile, far more relaxed than Harry's painfully fake grimace, formed on Charlie's face once he saw who had interrupted him and Hermione.

“Hey, Harry! Of course you can,” he said without pause, readily releasing Hermione's hand and letting go of her waist as if to hand her over to his brother-in-law. Harry, ashamed of the unkind thoughts he had just had about the man, nodded his head gratefully and took a step towards his prize to claim her. Hermione, however, remained rooted in place.

“But...but...HARRY CAN'T DANCE!” she yelped, eyes bulging out at the both of them.

Charlie, probably made uncomfortable by the off-the-cuff remark, chuckled nervously while Harry felt his face become hot. Sensing right away how tactless her comment must have sounded, Hermione ineloquently tried to soften the blow.

“I mean...well...you can't dance, Harry. Can you?”

Not that she did a good job of it.

Hermione looked to Charlie at once, as if hoping he might help her extract the foot currently lodged inside her mouth. Charlie looked like he was very cautiously trying to ease his way from the maddening duo. Probably from all of his years working with temperamental beasts he undoubtedly recognized a tense situation for what it was and knew not to make any sudden movements.

“You know, I really don't mind,” he shakily said to her and Harry, still inching away. “I was thinking of wetting my whistle anyhow. Can I get the two of you anything?”

Both Harry and Hermione shook their heads. Finally judging it safe to go, Charlie hurriedly made his escape. Harry and Hermione watched him go.

“So what happened to my drink?” she asked when she finally turned to face Harry again.

Harry eked out an abashed smile. “It met with an unfortunate accident; Glinda.”

The right side of her mouth turned up.

“That's alright.”

Agitatedly, Harry began to swing his arms back and forth. Hermione, unsure of what else to say or do, shifted restlessly from side to side.

“So...”

Dirty looks began to be flung at them from those nearby. Then again the two of them were standing in the middle of a packed dance floor taking up valuable leg and elbow room. Hoping to solve the problem, Harry decided to just take the Minotaur by the horns and get what he had come out there for in the first place.

“So I was watching you...and Charlie,” he added quickly, “dancing and it looked like you two were having so much fun that I figured I'd join in.” He hoped he sounded as smooth and cocksure as he imagined Charlie might. “Ron's hands were too sweaty for my liking though so I thought that you and I could give it a go,” he said gesturing to the couple dancing right next to them.

It took him only a second to recognize the male as the same berk Hermione had been dancing with previously. However the sneer on Harry's face vanished as the little fellow lifted his current partner by the waist, flipped her over, and set her back down on her heels without ever breaking his stride.

“Though I don't think we can do that,” Harry said, gawking in awe.

Hermione chuckled dryly. “Are you joking? I don't think Torvill and Dean can do that.”

A small smile played at Harry's lips. He was glad to hear the overstrung tenor fade from her voice.

“So tell me, Harry; have you ever salsa danced before?” She looked at him skeptically as though already knowing the answer.

“Honestly? No. I was kind of hoping that you would be willing to show me the ropes.” Harry gave her the puppy dog eyes in hopes that she would agree.

“Oh no!” Hermione cried out in dismay.

“Then again if it's too much trouble...”

With hunched shoulders, Harry quickly tried to cover his embarrassment by looking anywhere but at her. Her refusal sliced as swift as a switchblade. Hermione, who had been staring at a spot just over Harry's shoulder, gave him a sharp, baffled look.

“What?! Oh I'm sorry, Harry; I wasn't listening to a word you said. I was too busy looking at that!”

Harry turned to see what she was pointing at. His eyes landed on the DJ booth where two figures stood close together; a man and woman. One of the figures, who looked fishily like his sister-in-law, appeared to be speaking into the ear of the fellow at the turntables.

“Now what do you suppose she's up to?”

Harry stammered, “I...I'm n-not sure.” For some reason he felt the contents of his stomach wriggle around each other. “I wonder how she got up there.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. “Well this is Glinda Weasley we are talking about here. She has all of the impulse control of a 16 year old boy. Knowing her, she probably barreled her way up into that booth for whatever ungodly purpose drove her.”

Harry thought the painted on, backless black dress the woman was wearing might have played its own part as well. Glinda had herself practically draped all over the DJ and the poor sod looked smitten from all the attention she was doling out. Harry had been about to make mention of this when he suddenly realized that Glinda was staring directly at him. He did a double take, puzzled at first by the thumbs-up signal she sent him, but as the DJ began to speak into his microphone Harry's bewilderment quickly changed into complete and utter mortification.

“WE'RE GOING TO SLOW THINGS DOWN NOW FOR A SPECIAL REQUEST. THIS SONG GOES OUT TO H FROM G. HERE’S HOPING YOU LIKE IT. PERHAPS THE REST OF YOU WILL TOO.”

A soft, sultry tune began to slowly drift out from the speakers as the woman on the record began to croon out the first verse of the song.

"You won't admit you love me
and so how am I ever to know
you always tell me
Perhaps perhaps perhaps”

Harry visibly blanched. Hermione groaned loudly.

"A million times I've asked you
And then I ask you over again
You only answer
Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps"

“She's a menace! A goddamned menace!”

Startled by the remark, Harry's green eyes found Hermione fuming in her friend's direction.

“P-p-pardon?”

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and continued to glare as Glinda flounced her way out of the DJ booth.

“She thinks she's so damned clever!” Hermione hotly cried.

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck in uncertainty as he looked back and forth. Glinda's little stunt had nearly knocked him on his arse, but it was Hermione's indignant grumblings that made him long for another stiff drink. He was utterly confused.

“I...I...I don't understand,” he dazedly said.

Hermione paid him a patronizing glance. “Come on, Harry; to H from G? Don’t you get it?” she asked, looking at him as though he were the daftest git alive. She rested a hand on her chest. “Hermione...”

She pointed across the room.

“...Glinda. She's being a smartarse. I should have never told her–”

“Wait, told her what?” Harry tersely cut her off.

Hermione opened her mouth, but all that came out was a strangled cough as her words collided together at the back of her throat. Her lips clamped together and she cast her eyes away from him furtively, almost as if rethinking what she had been about to say.

Now Harry was really befuddled. When the DJ had made the announcement, Harry had naturally assumed that he was the “H” that Glinda's snarky little dedication had been directed at. She had been riding him all night, and when the opportunity to have a little fun at his expense had presented itself, she had taken advantage of it full tilt. The question of whether or not Glinda knew that his aspirations towards Hermione were more than friendly was now moot, at least by his reckoning. But from the sound of it, Hermione had thought that the gag had been meant for her. What exactly was going on? Just who was being played here?

With a sigh, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand and dragged him behind her to the other side of the club, hoping to put as much distance between them and Glinda's mocking presence as she could. When they reached a spot that was less populated she stopped and turned to him.

“Look, at lunch yesterday Glinda made this outrageous claim that it was impossible for a man and a woman to share a strictly platonic relationship,” she said while chuckling lightly. “She even tried to use you and me as an example to prove her convoluted theory.”

“SHE DID WHAT?!”

Hermione held up her hands as if to slow him down.

“Don’t worry; I cut her to the quick. I told her that we were only friends and that we would only ever be friends.”

Harry felt his jaw stiffen.

“I mean for God's sake, you're married! What kind of scarlet woman does she take me for?”

She looked at him expectantly, smiling faintly at her own quip. When she got no response she gave him a funny look.

“That was called a joke, Harry. You were supposed to laugh.”

With vacant eyes, he forced a mirthless snickering sound from his throat. The breezy tone remained in her voice as she continued to speak.

“Well I guess I might have said something that made her think that I had proved her right. Add that to the rather compromising position she found us in earlier that day, it’s not all that surprising that her imagination simply...ran away from her. She's pretty confidant that I'm lusting after you now. She said as much.”

Hermione let out a jaunty laugh to underscore the absurdity of the notion. Harry didn't find it nearly as entertaining as she did, though. In fact, it almost made him anxious. There was something about the way her eyes had guiltily shifted away from him as she spoke.

“Oh? And what was it you said Hermione?” he asked, really interested in hearing the answer. It looked like he wasn't the only person whose cage Glinda had been rattling lately. The thing was he knew that Glinda had hit the mark with him.

The question caught Hermione off-guard.

“I said...look, it doesn't matter what I said.” Her forehead furrowed. “The point is you and I have never seen each other that way. Glinda obviously doesn't buy it hence the public humiliation. Well I for one will not give her the satisfaction of thinking that her infantile prank unnerved me in any way. Put your hand on my waist,” she ordered.

Harry's mind had been picking over what Glinda had said earlier, something about things suddenly making sense, when Hermione’s bossy command cut through his thoughts. It had come out of nowhere.

“Put my what, on your what now?”

Hermione puffed herself up with impatience.

“You wanted to dance; let's dance! There is nothing unseemly about an innocent rumba between two friends. Come along.”

She raised her right hand and placed her left on his shoulder while Harry's arms hung floppily at his sides. He was still working through everything she had told him about her chat with Glinda and his brain had failed to send out the correct signals to the appropriate parts. Then again, she was standing so close to him all of a sudden.

“R-rumba? W-what happened to the s-s-salsa?

“Oh Harry, do keep up!” she scolded, frowning. “This music isn’t appropriate for salsa dancing.” she said, roughly taking one of his hands and slapping it to her waist.

Harry felt like a proper clod; completely ham-fisted, nearly pigeon-toed. He was unsure of just where to place his other hand or even where he should look. All of his instinctive authority during basic maneuvers or natural grace while flying on his broom seemed lacking. He was made impotent by her nearness.

“I...I don't know what I'm supposed to do, Hermione. I'm rubbish at this,” he bleakly admitted as he turned his face from her.

Hermione grabbed his chin, moving his head so that he could look at her straight on.

“Nonsense. There isn't a thing that Harry Potter can not do.”

And she meant it.

He smiled. “You think?”

“I know, because I'm going to teach you how,” she said pertly pulling a chuckle out of him.

She dropped her hands and pulled away from him. She began to move back and forth, suggestively swaying her hips with each step.

“Are you looking at my feet?” she asked.

Harry almost snorted aloud. Instead he densely nodded his head as his eyes lingered considerably higher. In comparison to the various states of dress, or rather undress of most of the women in the club, the simple yellow gown that Hermione wore might have seemed demure, plain even. But as the delicate material pulled, and stretched fluidly against her body with her every movement, Harry thought of another word that best described it. Distracting.

“This is what a rumba looks like; it's often called the Love Dance. This and the bolero are the slowest of the Latin dances, also the easiest. If you can waltz, you can rumba. Anyone can rumba,” she said assuredly.

“Somehow I doubt that,” said Harry, cocking a disbelieving smirk.

“It's true!”

Her face broke out into an effervescent smile as she moved close to him. From the energetic dancing she had been doing earlier most of the pins in her hair had fallen out haphazardly and the humidity in the room had helped to make her already unruly mane frizz out wildly about her head. It was all over the place, and coupled with her flushed and glowing skin, gave her a disheveled, almost debauched appearance; like she had just been caught doing naughty things in some secluded niche somewhere and didn't care if everyone knew it. Harry thought it made her look sexy as hell.

“Now one of the most important factors in dancing is the timing. If you can follow the beat, you can pick up the steps easily.”

Hermione placed both of her palms on Harry's chest and splayed her fingers out, gently giving one of his pectoral muscles a light squeeze. At the rather intimate touch, Harry felt pleasure lick through him and flame his blood. The pace of his pumping heart heightened.

She tipped her large, golden chocolaty eyes up at him. “Am I too close?”

At a loss for anything better to say he roughly grunted, “No.”

Hermione tilted her head. She seemed to find his slightly flustered state terribly intriguing. Her eyes twinkled at him.

“Am I making you nervous?”

Goofily, he smiled.

“A little.”

She grinned at his apparent silliness. She then began to tap out the rhythm of the rumba on his shirtfront. Their eyes met and held.

“You feel that?” she breathily asked him.

Merlin!

Harry nodded his head. If she kept that up much longer she would soon feel it too.

“Slow...quick-quick, slow...quick-quick, slow...quick-quick...”

She continued to rap gently on him.

“Do you think you can handle it?”

He swallowed. “A-yup.”

Hermione giggled in amusement.

“Now as the man it's your job to lead,” she stated matter-of-factly.

Harry placed both of his hands over hers, stilling her actions for a moment. The pattering sensations had become harder to handle elsewhere. To hide this from her he jokingly asked, “Doesn't that go against your feminist leanings?”

Hermione's perfect, Cupid’s bow mouth stretched itself coquettishly.

“Au contraire,” she said moving even closer to him. Harry wanted to shrink back as much as possible. He didn't want her to discover just how turned on he was, but her dark, smoky rimmed eyes were hypnotic. He couldn’t look away or move. “You see the rumba is considered a woman's dance. The man might lead, but it is the woman who teases, who seduces.”

She pressed herself up against his arousal.

“The woman holds all of the power.”

If she was toying with him, and Harry wasn’t so sure that she wasn’t, she was doing a corking job of it. She had him fully under her spell.

“Now when the man advances, she steps back as if to say 'ah, ah, ah you can not touch'. But then she goes back to him, tempting him over and over again. She pulls all of the strings and all her partner can do is endlessly chase after her.”

“Story of my life.”

Hermione removed a hand from his grip and teasingly ruffled the shaggy hair against his neck, lightening the suggestive mood that had just begun to simmer between them. For a while there the music had become nothing but background noise and they had been the only two people inside the cavernous room, in the entire world almost. For Harry, all there had been was the bewitching sound of her voice and the acute awareness of where her body and his touched. But now a bit of reality had seeped back in.

“Be serious, you!” she said.

For the next few minutes Hermione set about walking Harry through the uncomplicated footwork of the rumba, still beating out the meter on him. His hands had found their way to her waist and there they stayed, unconsciously stroking her side and back, as he watched his feet to make sure he didn't step on hers. Surprisingly, Harry caught on to the simple box-step in little time, just like Hermione told him he would.

"Other dancers may be on the floor dear

But my eyes will see only you
Only you have that magic technique
When we sway I go weak."

“See, you're getting it,” she said proudly. She moved one hand to his shoulder and reached for his left hand with the other, holding it in the proper position. “Once you get the proper rhythm it begins to feel good, yes?”

Harry looked up. There was a scampish luster in his eyes.

“We are still talking about dancing, aren't we?”

Hermione's mouth hung open as she laughed outright at the daring of his remark.

“Harry!”

He chuckled at his own bit of boldness.

Deciding to play along, Hermione's eyes glinted minxishly.

“You know, dancing is the most fun you can have without taking your clothes off. Or so they say.” She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“Now who are 'they' and just what sort of baseless propaganda have they been filling your head with?”

Her head fell back as she emitted a throaty laugh, exposing all of her well formed neck for his eyes very appreciative consumption.

“You know, I'm not sure. I never met 'them',” she said before both of them began to shake from the force of their merriment. Without forethought, Harry pulled her even closer to him. She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed while burrowing into his warmth.

“You're pretty good at this,” he said just above her ear. “That flat mate of yours teach you?”

He felt her head move up and down.

“Everything he knew. Benitez's mum had a dance studio in Havana before she fled the island. He was born dancing, or so he claims.” She reared back from him slightly, beaming with approval. “You're not doing too shabbily yourself. Before long we'll have you doing a Texas Two-Step.”

Harry pulled her back and held her tightly. He wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

“Then again you've always been a quick study,” she continued. “Look how fast you learned how to do a Summoning Spell.”

“I had a good coach then too,” he said, the tenderness in his voice ringing true and heartfelt.

Though he couldn’t see it, Hermione’s cheeks burned warm and pink and ached so blissfully good.

“So is this all there is to the rumba?” asked Harry after about the third...fourth...fifth song. Harry wasn't sure, he had long lost count. “This was easy!” he boasted, filled full with confidence.

“Don't get ahead of yourself, Mr. Cockypants,” she said making Harry guffaw loudly. She looked up at him. “This is just the basic framework. From here you add on breaks and turns and...”

“Dips?”

An image of Charlie lowering Hermione to the floor had popped up in his head suddenly. Harry’s muscles began to quicken with some nameless anticipation.

Hermione shook her head at him prudishly.

“That is considered a trick and can be a tad difficult to pick up right off. I'm not so sure that you're ready for it.”

Feeling a mite rebellious, Harry abruptly plunged Hermione back into a low sweeping incline. He supported her weight firmly on his arm. Hermione’s eyes rounded like coins and her bottom lip began to weakly quiver as he held her there.

“I'd say I'm ready for anything,” he said as his face hung just over hers. He noticed the gold flecks in her eyes.

In answer, all Hermione could do was blink at him.

Harry gently eased her up. Even when he resumed steering her around as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, she still uttered not a single peep, just continued to stare at him wordlessly. Her entire body became malleable to his direction and there was little doubt who was leading whom now. She had virtually become putty in his hands. Why yes, Mr. Cockypants was feeling quite sure of himself.

“Your heart is beating fast,” Harry murmured seductively against her ear, taking note of the faint shiver that ran through her as he did it. It was hard to miss really.

Hermione thickly swallowed, uncertain of what might come out.

“I...I know.” She quickly bowed her head.

Seeing her frazzled like this, when she always tried to be the one so poised, so cool, and so zealously in control of their every interaction, made Harry feel a modicum of power surge through him. He was doing this to her. It was his touch that was affecting her. He was the one who was making her body respond to him so forcibly. Come to think of it, she had been like this that night in the cottage's kitchen.

Deciding to press his luck, Harry said, “You know, we can stop if you'd like.”

His hand had boldly begun to caress her side, gathering and smoothing out the fabric at her waist. Hermione's head popped up.

“I mean, if you rather dance with Charlie again I'd–”

“NO!” she vehemently squawked right before wincing at her lack of comportment. “No I'm...I'm...I'mfinerighthere.”

She latched her arms around his neck and lowered her head again. Harry placed both hands around Hermione's waist. If possible, she clung to him even tighter than before. Harry was near rapturous with joy. She wanted to dance with him, only with him. It was his arms that she held fast to, not Charlie or Ron or Malfoy's or some other faceless man; only him. She wanted him. That's what Harry's heart wanted to believe. He didn't even care that he was building some illusion out of nothing more that a friendly dance. They were so much more than friends. They just had to be!

He had been so swept up in his own euphoria that he barely recognized the fact that Hermione had been speaking to him.

“Come again?”

“I said, I remember the last time we danced like this.”

Harry's stride broke. His feet stumbled over themselves before he found his footing again.

“What?” asked Hermione, confusion registering on her face as she saw the stunned look on his. They had stopped moving.

Harry racked his head for the memory that Hermione was referring to, but came up short.

“I...don't,” he said feeling suddenly wary. For some unknown reason a chill passed through him.

“That's ok. I mean...it's not like it was a big deal or anything. It wasn't important.” She looked away, but not before he could see how much his admission had hurt her.

They had begun to rock back and forth, unmindful of the livelier music that had begun playing. Neither was aware of anything much; the tenor of the air between them had become strained once again distracting them both to their surroundings. Harry wasn't exactly sure what had caused the change, but he tried to rectify it valiantly.

“Yes it was...is. Important, I mean.” She glanced back at him, drawn by the gravity of his voice. “I just...I don't recall you and me ever dancing together. Strange, isn’t it?”

Out of the dozen or so parties and countless balls he and Hermione had attended together before her leaving, Harry couldn't remember a single instance where he and Hermione had ever shared a dance. But now here she was saying that they had.

Staring straight forward, focusing squarely on his shoulders, Hermione said it again.

“The night before you got married…It was the night before your wedding day. We danced at the Ending Party.”

Ah, his Ending Party thought Harry to himself, well then that explained it. He had spent most of that night in a drunken stupor. One of his few recollections of the reception was Seamus jumping behind the bar at the start of the evening and staying there all night serving up highballs of Guinness topped off with just a shot of Ogden's; a Witch's Hammer he dubbed the potent brew. Harry had had about six of them, maybe eight. No more than ten, certainly. He had sought out the liquid courage to help fortify him for his nuptials that next day.

“Hmm...Truth be told, that night was a blur to me,” said Harry. He quirked a smile. “Still is, obviously. I do remember Ron saying that he didn't know where you had gotten off to towards the end, but when we searched the place we couldn't find you anywhere. Other than that I’m just drawing a blank.”

Harry cupped her chin and raised it to get a better look at her.

“Where did you go?”

She answered him at once.

“My flat. I wasn’t feeling well so I decided to go home,” she told him.

Harry raised a hand and gently smoothed down her hair.

“I wish I could remember dancing with you. Was it terribly bad? Was I the reason you left so early? I didn’t hobble you or anything, did I?”

Hermione smiled. It was an achingly bittersweet one. “No, you were perfect.”

Her eyes broke contact with his and looked away.

“Oh look, here comes Ron,” she brusquely said, pulling away from Harry and waving her arms like mad. On her face she fixed a perky smile. “RON! OH RON!”

When Harry looked off to the right he saw a head of flaming red hair cutting its way through the dense crowd. Harry was dismayed at the sight of it. Though he loved his mate dearly, Ron couldn't have picked a worse time to show up. Why was it that anytime he tried to steal a moment with Hermione someone or something was always there interrupting it?! If he was a superstitious bloke he would think the universe was conspiring against him or something.

Walking right up to his two best friends, Ron grabbed Hermione about the waist and gave her a robust squeeze, raising her slightly from her feet. Hermione squealed and swore at him as soon as she touched the floor again.

“So,” he began, tetchily eyeing Harry up and down, “thought you could keep her all to yourself, did you Potter? Probably why you hexed me. We've been looking for you two all over this place,” he said.

Hermione looked back and forth between them.

“You hexed him in front of a slew of non-magical people?” she asked Harry before turning on Ron. “Ok, what did you do?” She placed both of her hands on her hips and gave Ron a haughty once-over. Harry chortled out loud at the sight of it.

“NOTHING! I was just minding my own business when Super Auror there–”

“YOU PEOPLE NEED TO STOP CALLING ME THAT!”

“–went all spell happy on me,” grumped Ron, completely ignoring Harry’s protestation.

“Well you must have done something,” said Hermione prissily. “That can be the only possible explanation.”

Ron stared at her, open-mouthed.

“WELL DOESN’T THIS JUST TAKE THE BISCUT?! And here I was, being a good friend, rescuing you from Harry committing some crime against nature on your feet. See if I ever care again!”

“Oh, I'm not that bad!” Harry grouchily contested.

Seeing Hermione nod her head in agreement nearly made him burst with pride.

“And you have no room to talk, Ron. Lavender was practically limping around the day after the last party we all went to.”

Smugly, Ron smiled.

“Well if you must know, that didn't come from dancing!”

Harry and Hermione both gaped at him, too appalled to say anything at first. It took a moment before either of them could react.

“Eww!”

Although Harry's own opinion on the subject wasn't as strong as all that, he still blushed to hear Ron speak so frankly in front of Hermione. That was the kind of talk you had over ale when it was just the blokes around.

“Too much information, mate!” he scolded.

Ron merely smirked at their stricken expressions.

“You're both just jealous.”

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

It was nearing four in the morning when their group finally disbanded and departed the club. Ron and Harry had early plans for the day, while Neville was due to open his shop in only a few hours. They were all exhausted as well. Their excursion to Bongos had evolved into a full-blown bash. Once Ron located Harry and Hermione on their cozy patch of floor, the rest of the gang had joined them. They had a grand time dancing together, laughing, drinking, and generally enjoying one another's company. It had been a fun evening, but like all good things it had come to an end.

“So you and Ron are going house shopping, hmm?”

Harry and Hermione were walking through the sleepy village of Godric's Hollow. Although she had accepted his offer to take her home again, he ended up Apparating them to the very outskirts of the town. He was trying to extend their time together for as long as he could. Hermione didn't seem to mind, though. She appeared to be just as reluctant to end the evening as he was. The two of them chatted comfortably as they picked their way towards the cottage in the dark. Despite it being morning, sunup was still some hours away.

“A best man’s job is never done, regrettably,” said Harry with a stiff laugh. “He's whittled down the field to two, but he says that he'd like my opinion on them.”

Harry tried not to sound too glum about it. He usually had Sundays off, but Ron had been begging him for days to go on this little pre-wedding errand of his. Half-heartedly, Harry had finally agreed. That had been before he had spent most of the night (and a good chunk of the morning) bouncing around like a maniac trying to keep up with Hermione. After pretty much getting the hang of the rumba, Harry had set himself against the daunting task of conquering the samba.

The samba won.

Muscles and joints ached that he never knew he possessed. The thought of the soft bed he was going to be forfeiting actually depressed him. Harry sighed at the stolen opportunity to just laze about the house for most of the day. He was sure Ginny would find something to occupy her time and just leave him alone.

“I don't know why he just doesn't take you,” he added sullenly.

A peal of laughter poured out of Hermione at the suggestion.

“Oh yes, because the good Widow Pye would gladly live in a house that I picked out for her.”

Harry pulled a face. The scene that Ron's future bride would make if that were to happen made him actually shudder.

“She'd chop him off at the knees!”

“I was actually thinking a bit higher,” said Hermione archly. “But seriously, Harry, a boys' day out with Ron doesn't sound so bad, does it?” She gave him a good-natured check to the side. “After all, Ron was the thing you'd miss the most once, was he not?”

“Sorely miss.”

Hermione frowned. “Excuse me?”

“You're talking about the Second Task, right? ‘And while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken the thing you'll sorely miss'.”

Harry could still recite the egg's curious clue by memory.

“It wasn't the thing I'd miss the most; it was what I would sorely miss. Everyone always gets that part wrong. There is a difference, you know.”

Hermione looked dumbfounded to hear it.

“Oh.”

He took Hermione's arm and hooked it through his. He readjusted the robes he had hanging over his shoulder.

“Ron and I had just made up, remember? At the time I would have missed him badly if things had gone back to us not speaking again. But if it had been what I would miss the most I would think they would have taken you instead.”

A slight arching of the eyebrow told Harry just how much Hermione believed that one. Harry laughed. Ok, maybe he had been laying it on a bit thick there.

“Alright, maybe not Harry at 14...”

She gave him one of her know-all smirks.

“...but I like to think that I've matured enough to know just how much you mean to me now, Hermione,” he said, pausing a moment to look down into her face. “How much you always have meant to me. I hope you know that I will never take you for granted again.”

Hermione smiled. “You never took me for granted, Harry. Anything I ever did for you, I did it willingly,” she told him.

He had nothing to add to that so they resumed their stroll.

“So what do you have planned for today?”

“Ooh, a nice late lie-in,” said Hermione teasingly. He groaned making her laugh at his pain. “After which I plan to go out to Newcastle. Amparo Leon has invited me to Tea.”

Harry became alert. His mind touched quickly on the golden business card that was tucked securely in the pocket of his robes, before focusing solely on her. He was actually surprised that Hermione had brought up Amparo to him. Considering how jumpy and nervous Hermione had acted when the two of them had been introduced, Harry would have figured that the solicitor was the last thing Hermione would have wanted to discuss. He hadn't forgotten the bits and pieces he had heard exchanged between the two women at the tavern, but he had decided not to bring any of it to Hermione's attention just yet. He actually wanted to have his own little sit down with Zabini's wife before he did so. Still, he was suspicious as to just why Hermione would mention her now.

“She's nice,” he began, parsing his words cautiously. “Amparo, that is. I like her.”

“Oh good, so do I,” replied Hermione hastily. “I can see us becoming good friends. So um, what did you two talk about?” she asked giving Harry a side-long glance as her shoulders tensed.

And there it was; she was trying to work him over. She was probing to find out just what he did or did not know. The deceiving lightness to the question hadn't fooled him a bit. Then again he was starting to learn to not take much of what Hermione said at face value. His gut instinct told him that she had gotten herself mixed up into something all those years she spent in the States, and for some reason or another she didn't want to share any of it with him. She had no problem involving a stranger like Amparo Leon, though. If he had to make a guess, Harry figured that she probably wanted to know what, if anything, the woman might have said about her to him. Harry decided to allay her fears right away. After all, Amparo Leon hadn't told him a thing. Yet.

“Not much. She just has a scholarly interest in one of my cases. Nothing too spectacular.”

Hermione let out a pleased, “Oh.”

Her rigid shoulders relaxed.

“Well she's going to be handling some of my legal affairs for the time being.”

She was throwing him a bone to throw him off the scent. Harry recognized the tactic for what it was.

“Nothing too serious I hope?”

“Oh no, no,” she said shaking her head, “just a few loose ends I neglected to shore up. Nothing to worry about. So you don't have to worry. About it, that is. I can take care of it myself, understand?” She gave him a meaningful look. He caught the not so subtle hint.

Shove off Harry!

“I won't.”

Not that he was going to listen to it.

“If you tell me not to worry, then I won't.”

She timidly smiled. “Good.”

After that the conversation tapered down into a distended silence. When Harry glanced over he saw a troubled, despondent look marring her tired face. There was something still weighing on her mind and yet she seemed determined to stay quiet. When he could take no more of her blue mood, Harry spoke up.

“Sickle for your thoughts.”

Her head jerked towards him. It was almost as if she had forgotten where she was.

“I'm afraid you'd get back change, they aren't worth very much.” Her eyes veered straight ahead of her again as she faintly grimaced. “Today was...would have been Boadicea's birthday.”

Harry was startled.

“Did we know that? How did we know that?” he asked her. “I don't remember ever knowing that.”

“You wouldn't. I only knew it because she told me once,” Hermione said simply. “She told me a lot of things. I told her a lot of things.”

She turned to face him.

“We...got each other.”

Hermione launched herself up out of her seat and ran for the portrait door. Before the three boys could utter a word or do anything, she was already out the exit running hell-for-leather down the hall. Both Harry and Ron jumped up and made a move to go after her, but thinking better of his place, Harry grudgingly hung back to allow his best mate to chase Hermione down instead. She was his girlfriend after all.

“Who slapped her two tits together?”

Harry's head snapped around to find Malfoy lying on the sofa once again with his book propped up against his legs like before. With his free arm, he turned the page while sparing Harry not a glance. It was impossible to ignore the disgust that the dark haired wizard leveled at him as Harry came marching back across the room, though. Harry had just about reached his breaking point with the slimy git and it was at times like these he wished he could simply climb over the armrest of the couch just so he could pummel the bastard's face into a meaty, squishy pulp. But he couldn't. Malfoy was a part of the team; an Order Member, like the rest of them. To pick a fight with the little prick would be considered juvenile. Unsporting. Then again...

“Malfoy, you are one foul, soulless cockroach!”

The blond lowered his book just an inch so he could toss an insolent look Harry's way. He then went back to pretending to read.

“Why? Because I have no problem speaking hard, ugly truths while the rest of you would prefer to cling to your precious, pretty lies?” his blasé voice drawled. He turned another page.

Harry goggled at the bastard, stunned.

“WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT IS MURDER!” he yelled.

Swiftly his eyes traveled to the top of the empty staircase. He was aware that he was letting his disgust and anger get the best of him, but his animosity towards the Slytherin was beginning to make him sloppy. What if DuManoir had woken up already? What if DuManoir were to hear him and Malfoy arguing?

What if DuManoir had heard everything already?

Harry planted his hands on the side arm of the couch and tiredly dropped his head. After taking a moment to collect himself, he looked back up again.

“What you are talking about is murder,” he tonelessly repeated.

“The nutbar is a Horcrux.”

“She’s an innocent!”

“Who just so happens to be a Horcrux,” Malfoy replied icily without a hint of contrition.

He finally closed the book and rested it atop his lap. Although he didn't budge from his relaxed pose, his gray eyes glittered with an almost frenetic hostility.

“She–”

He drew a sharp breath as he shook his head.

“It knew just who the Dark Lord was when it got tied up with him. The Muggle-born knew what he was capable of. The Muggle-born knew his crimes. The Muggle-born chose to become his plaything. And he chose to turn the wench into a vessel of evil.”

A cruel smile twisted his pallid face.

“As our fearless leader once said, it’s our job to destroy Horcruxes; or have you forgotten?”

Harry laughed mirthlessly.

“Our job? OUR JOB?! Oh, and I suppose you’re going to be the one to do it, then?” came the barbed query.

Malfoy looked momentarily shaken by the jibe. He quickly regained his composure, though.

“I’m injured,” he said while motioning his slinged arm towards Harry and smirking.

Harry could only marvel at Malfoy's audacity. He was such a slithering little diva. He also happened to be a big fat phony!

“Odd isn’t it that everyone else seems to have recovered just fine since the convent raid?” Harry asked rhetorically. “Everyone except you, that is.”

Malfoy stretched himself lazily like a sleek cat and placed his uninjured arm behind his head.

“What can I say, Potty; saving a life takes a lot out of a man.”

Fury blazed white hot inside of Harry’s chest. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate breathing and whatnot, Harry just hated the idea that he somehow owed anything to Malfoy, even if it was his life. Of course that only meant that the braggart took immense pleasure holding his little act of bravery over Harry's head every chance he got. If that wasn't bad enough, the bastard tried to use the so-called “selfless” deed to curry favor with Hermione. And Hermione fell for it! She honestly thought that there was a chance that Malfoy could change and become a decent human being some day. Harry knew better of course. It was only a matter of time before Draco Malfoy showed his true face.

“You’re no man,” said Harry so violently that the muscles around his mouth twitched. The threatening tone to his voice was chilling. “Coward’s too good a name for you even. You’re nothing but a heartless, no-good Slytherin! All you care about is your own sorry arse.”

Malfoy swung his feet to the ground and sat up. He glared at Harry malevolently.

“SOMEONE'S GOT TO!” he yelled. “You might like playing 'Potter the Martyr', but I had a life once. I had a family...”

“Pack of dogs, more like.”

“...and friends...”

“Bought and paid for, I’m sure.”

Malfoy hurled his book to the floor. He pointed back towards the stairs.

“That crazy BITCH up there has got to die or nothing will ever be as it once was. The Dark Lord will have us all before long if you don't finish it. I think the choice is pretty obvious.”

“Merlin, where’s your compassion?!” Harry demanded, finally tiring of the row. “She’s just a girl!”

“I DON'T CARE!” Malfoy childishly bratted. “I’m for whatever it takes to free me from the company I’ve been keeping these past few months! I’ve grown tired of you bleeding hearts, vagabonds, and mongrels who aren’t even worthy of wiping out my arse!”

Harry’s vision tunneled and he could practically hear the blood bubbling in his ears. Within a flash he had Malfoy hauled out of his seat. He held him up by the collar of his shirt and looked menacingly into the pale eyes of his nemesis. For what it was worth, the git didn't flinch.

“I swear, Malfoy,” he growled, “if ever I hear you say another unkind word about Hermione again, so help me I’ll–”

“I WASN'T TALKING ABOUT HER!” the jerk snapped cantankerously.

The statement shook Harry out of his vengeful fog. Of course he had assumed that Malfoy had been taking a cheap swipe at the Muggle-born while she wasn't around to hear it.

“You...y-you weren’t?” he questioningly stammered.

Malfoy wrenched away from him.

“No! I wasn't talking about her!” he snarled again. He jutted his chin out obstinately. “I was talking about you!” he obnoxiously informed Harry.

“Oh.”

Harry stepped back, almost as if searching for his footing.

“Well I’ve got news for you,” he said once getting over the initial frankness of Malfoy’s response, “I’m not killing DuManoir. And as I recall, you suffer from a bit of performance anxiety.”

With Hermione not there to referee it was officially open season.

“No, you can't quite get your wand up, so to speak,” Harry continued. “Since you don’t have what it takes to deliver a Killing Curse I guess you’ll just have to suffer through somehow, Ferret.”

Malfoy began to tremble. His free hand flexed as though imagining his wand in it. He wanted to hex Harry so badly that he looked like he would implode if he didn’t get a chance to do it soon. Harry wasn’t scared though, he continued to goad the blond with an almost sinful glee. Hermione often said that the two of them brought out the absolute worse in each other and she was right. No shock there really!

“I HATE YOU!” yelled Malfoy, eyes smoldering with contempt and rage. There was little doubt that he meant it wholeheartedly.

Harry mockingly smiled. “Good. I hate you too. I say that makes us about even.”

With that said he turned his back on the idiot and headed towards the door. He figured that Ron should have found Hermione already and he was beginning to grow concerned that they hadn't come back yet. He needed to find them and make sure that Hermione was alright. The look on her face as she went out the door troubled him greatly.

As he prepared to open the portrait, he scooped up his broom that had been propped right next to it against the wall and tucked it under his arm. In case they had gone outside it would be easier to spot Hermione and Ron from high up he figured. However before he could leave the room, Malfoy served up one last parting shot.

“DuManoir is an abomination, Potter. I know it. You know it. Granger there knows it. Hell, if that freak show upstairs had even half a gobstone left in that empty head, the weirdie would know it too! You’d be doing that wack-job and the world a favor if you’d just waste the bitch. But you don’t care about that, do you? No, you don’t care about anything that tarnishes your own precious self-image; that makes you feel anything less than the hero. You are the great Harry Potter after all; protector of all things fluffy. Just answer me this oh brave and fearless leader; are you really going to sacrifice countless lives just to save the one?”

Harry looked back at Malfoy incredulously. Not because he couldn’t believe that the Slytherin could be so cold-blooded, that was a given, but because he was astounded to find a kernel of truth to what the blond wizard was saying. Still, Harry would not bow to Malfoy’s twisted logic.

“You might be able to live without a conscience Malfoy, but I have one,” he soberly said before leaving the room.

He was just reaching the first floor when he came upon Ron on the marble staircase. The redhead Gryffindor was shivering, wet, and alone. A trail of melted snow lay behind him and patches of his hair had matted together with small chunks of ice. The only color left in his face appeared to be the freckles that dotted his pale cheeks and his blueish lips. Harry made a note to cast a Heating Charm on himself before he went outside.

“Ron, where is Hermione?” he asked, searching the empty space behind the wizard as if the brunette would somehow materialize in it.

“I th-th-think sh-she w-was head-d-ding to-to Hag-g-grid's,” came Ron’s chattering response as he brushed snow off of his shoulders. He had foolishly gone outside with nothing warmer than the light jumper he had been wearing all day. A small puddle had begun to form beneath him.

“YOU LEFT HER OUT THERE?!” yelled Harry. “Hagrid's is right next to the bloody forest, Ron. Anything could get at her out there!”

“I know b-but...”

“It's dark out! And it's cold. Hermione's upset; she shouldn’t be alone right now!”

“I know b-but...”

“WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING, RON?!”

Ron waited for Harry to cool down and to get his own clacking teeth under control.

“L-Listen, Har-r-ry, when I got out there I h-had no idea what t-to say to her. Not that it would have hel-helped any if I did. She's a basket case! She told me to l-leave her the hell alone.”

Ron looked so pitiful that Harry feared that the occasionally insensitive boy would begin to tear up himself.

“Harry, you g-g-go. She’ll t-talk to you,” he finally said looking optimistically at his best mate.

Though he had no idea what he could possibly say to her either, Harry agreed without a moment's hesitation. There was just one thing he needed taken care of first.

“Fine. I need you to do me a favor though,” he told Ron.

“Sure, Harry. Anything!”

“I need you to go back upstairs and look in on DuManoir.”

Ron's eager face fell. “Do I have to?” he petulantly whinged. It wasn't that he was scared of the spooky French bird...old lady...whatever, it was just the prospect of possibly receiving a black eye for his troubles was not on the redhead's top ten list of things to do.

“Ron, get over it,” said Harry with little sympathy. “She's virtually helpless. You’re not scared of a girl, are you?”

“Depends on who the girl is,” said Ron half-jokingly. “Besides, why do you need me to check on her? I thought Hermione drugged her up good.”

Harry thought back to the few moments before they had all stepped inside the Pensieve. For some reason he couldn't shake a single image from his head, that of turbid, purple eyes staring down at him. Had that been what he had seen?

“I could be wrong, but I think our guest might be playing us all for fools. I don’t think she really took that draught Hermione gave her. I know I should have said something before, but when we were talking earlier I could have sworn I saw her up on the top landing listening in.” Harry paused, desperately concentrating on that moment again. No matter how hard he reached for the exact memory he couldn't be sure if he had imagined the whole thing or not. “At least I think I saw her.”

Ron was bowled over by the disclosure.

“WHAT?!”

“And while we were inside the memory I couldn’t shake off the feeling that we were being watched,” continued Harry. “Like there was someone else in there besides us.”

“You think she went into the Pensieve after we did?” Ron questioned. “Do you think she saw V-V-V...You-Know-Who's me-memory too?”

Harry frowned. He felt fairly certain now that the memories they had all witnessed had not belonged to Tom Riddle. His mind kept going back to the fact that DuManoir had been in that first stall waiting for Riddle before he even got there. Harry neglected to mention all of this to Ron, though.

“I don’t know,” he answered him. “But if she saw it I'm sure it didn't bring back any good memories...pun intended.”

Ron's blue eyes rounded as he slowly shook his head in wonder. “She'd go mental.”

He then winced from his own poor choice of words.

“I mean, if she wasn’t...already...mental...that is.”

A wry smile softened Harry's face. “I’m starting to think that’s debatable. Go check on her,” he urged his friend. “Make sure she’s all tucked in nice and tight, will you?”

“Alright, alright,” said Ron reluctantly, shoulders sagging. “I’ll do it. But if she gives me a shiner and you laugh, you're a dead man, Potter.”

Harry snickered at the humorous threat. “I'll kick my own arse if it makes you feel better.”

“The black eye would be worth it just to see you try.”

Both of them grinned.

Harry gave Ron a brotherly clap to the shoulder as he clipped past him down the stairs; broom still held securely in place.

“Take care of my girl for me,” Ron called after Harry just as he reached the bottom step.

Harry looked over his shoulder and gave his best mate a heartening smile.

As if he even had to ask.

“I’ll do my best,” he said before heading for the nearest exit.

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

As Ron predicted, Harry found Hermione standing outside of Hagrid's cabin, bathed in the tinted light and warmth of one of her bluebell flames. It hovered in a glass jar near her head. Harry also saw that she wasn't alone. Her ghostly looking companion for the evening was Puddin', a thestral whose odd name came from the intense fondness for the goopy concoction the ominous looking creature had developed while under the gamekeeper's loving care. Harry had long grown use to Hagrid's rather unconventional naming practices.

Harry had easily recognized Puddin' by her gimpy left wing. Grawp had accidentally thrown the horse into a tree during a temper tantrum one day and Hagrid had been taking care of her on and off ever since. He had actually been gone from the school grounds since that morning; off collecting a rare ingredient needed for a salve that would help the thestral heal faster, maybe even help Malfoy out too. Though Puddin' had been on the mend since the accident, she did have a tendency to list ever so slightly to the right. Before taking off with Charlie as his backup, the half-giant had asked Harry to check up on the thestral if he got a chance; the horse never missed a day to stop in for a treat. Hagrid had only left Hermione and Ron out because it was assumed that Harry was the only one of the three who could see the deathly looking animals.

For Harry it came as no shock to find Hermione feeding Puddin' out of one of Hagrid's large bowls; one hand holding it up, while the other stroked at the horse's black mane. In times of extreme emotional distress Hermione usually reverted to what she did best; looking after something or someone she deemed needed looking after. Harry really couldn't judge. He was a brooder, Ron was a yeller, and Hermione sought control wherever she could find it. This impossible situation they were now finding themselves in with DuManoir probably was close to sending her over the edge.

Puddin' was the first to sense Harry's presence. Her dragonish face lifted out of the bowl and her white, sightless seeming eyes lingered on him as a reptilian tongue peeked out to get at the bit of tapioca left in the crevices of her mouth. Hermione looked over her shoulder to see what had caught the thestral's attention, but the look on her face told Harry that she hadn't been all that surprised to find him standing there in the bitter cold. Both of them gazed at the other for a moment before Hermione finally broke the silence.

“I guess I got my wish, I can finally see them now,” she said with false cheer. A mordant smile spoiled her sweet face. “Only had to kill someone to do it too,” she added.

Even Puddin' didn't care for the remark. She made a puffing, snuffling sound out of the two nostrils at the end of her snout and shied away from the girl. Hermione's hand fell from the thestral and dropped lifelessly to her side. When she turned to face Harry, the blank expression she wore nearly punched him in the gut.

“Hermione...”

“You can save your breath, Harry. I’ve heard it ad nauseum,” she said wearily as she lowered the now empty bowl. “‘Hermione you didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Hermione it was an accident. It was either Carrows or you, Hermione’. I got it. Still doesn’t change the fact that I killed that woman.” She let out a dispirited sigh. “I'm a murderer now.”

The thestral twisted its head from Hermione to Harry, then back to her before turning itself around and trotting back to its home inside the dark woods. Hermione watched it go with a pensive expression before heading towards Hagrid's opened door and going inside the hut, the bluebell flame bobbing up and down behind her. When she came back out a minute later her arms were wrapped tightly around her middle. She took a moment to close Hagrid's door and turned to find a stoically straight faced Harry standing right before her.

“Is that what you'll think of me too? Is that all you’ll see me as?” he asked calmly. “If I manage to beat Riddle somehow, will I be just another murderer to you afterwards?”

The question caused an instant sea change in Hermione. She went from mopey and self-pitying to being incensed at the very idea.

“HOW CAN YOU SAY THAT?! OF COURSE I WOULD NEVER SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT ABOUT YOU! I DIDN'T MEAN IT LIKE THAT!” she exclaimed as she grabbed at his arm.

“I know you didn’t mean it that way, Hermione. You’ve just developed this troubling double standard lately. How do you think Remus would have felt if Carrows' spell had hit Tonks? How do you think I...Ron and I would have felt if it had got you?! I'm sorry, I just can't care that Alecto Carrows is dead, especially when it means that you lived. Don't tell me no good came out of what you did because that's a big fat stonking lie! You’re so hard on yourself these days. What's with that?”

With tears brimming in her eyes Hermione let him go and turned away to look at the lightly powdered ground. The earlier snowfall had already ceased leaving only an already diminishing blanket of white across the browning grass.

“I’m...I'm just tired, Harry. That's all. It just feels like no matter what we do it’s never enough,” she said, despairingly, as she began to walk away from the cabin. Harry matched her step for step. “We went through all of that just to save Boadicea’s life and now we have to...to...”

Hermione stopped in her tracks and looked at him plaintively. “What are going to do, Harry?”

He sighed, not really wanting to answer the question. “Dunno. What helpful advice did your planner dole out for today?” he asked, chuckling darkly. “Maybe it could be of some help.”

Hermione gravely shook her head. “'Dementors often follow a sudden chill',” she said morosely. Harry could only roll his eyes.

“Well isn't that just encouraging!” he grumbled.

“What are you going to do, Harry?” she tried once again. “Really...what are you going to do with her?”

Grim faced, he despondently asked, “What is there to do?”

The question hung ominously in the air between them.

As they resumed their walk down the sloping lawn Harry noticed that Hermione didn't lift her eyes from her feet, not once. He didn't pay much attention to where they were going because of his intense focus on her. It was truly a case of the blind leading the blind because neither teenager realized that instead of heading directly to the castle, they had taken a turn down to the lake instead.

“You know, you kind of scared me and Ron back there. Taking off like that, I mean,” said Harry when he could no longer take her long-faced silence.

Hermione looked up at him. “I didn't mean to.”

He curiously asked, “What was all of that about?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

“I don’t know; a little over identifying? Projection, perhaps?”

“I don’t understand,” said Harry, forehead creased with worry. As far as he could tell she was babbling.

“You and me both,” she said with a dry snicker. When Harry continued to look at her warily she said, “Never mind me, Harry. I'm just reciting a load of psychobabble. It means nothing.”

They finally came to a halt near the bank of the lake. Although the imposing body of water hadn't frozen over yet, the fact that the squid didn't seem to be up to his usual frolicking lent to Harry's suspicion that it was as cold as a crooked crone's teat in there! It gave him the shivers just thinking about it.

As he gazed across the dark water he began to feel despair rising up in him, threatening to drown him from within. He had long lived with the fact that life wasn't fair, his own pitiful existence up until this point being exhibit A for that argument. But the idea that it was somehow his responsibility now to end the life of a young girl just to even the score was repellent to him. Just how many sacrifices would it take for any of this to make sense, Harry wondered. He had already lost his mum and dad, Sirius, Dumbledore; he was even prepared to sacrifice his own life if it came to it. But now he was being called on to take the life of an innocent; of a person who was as much a victim in all of this as he was.

To Harry, killing DuManoir made him no better than Riddle and that was a line he just couldn't cross. He couldn't think of the Horcrux as simply an object that needed to be obliterated. It–she was a living, breathing person. While Harry often thought of Riddle and his minions as monsters deserving of death, DuManoir was different. According to Malfoy DuManoir had chosen her fate, but Harry had to disagree. He had seen the memory too. All she had been guilty of was placing her love and trust in the wrong person, of someone who didn't even know the meaning of those words. Was that really worthy of a death sentence? If he or anyone else were to kill her how would that make them any better than Tom Riddle who doled out death without remorse? How could he possibly live with himself if their continued existence counted on hers being extinguished?

Once again Harry had to wonder why all of this had to fall on him. There was no comfort in the idea that this was somehow his destiny. It was either scream or cry. He didn't know which yet, but he feared that once he got started he would never stop.

He turned to Hermione.

“Look, I can't kill her,” he said, voice wavering. “I don't care if this is my fate, or my mission, or my...my goddamned purpose in life! I can't...I won't...”

He paused, rooting around for the proper words. His knuckles turned white as his hand gripped tightly around the handle of his broom.

“I DIDN'T SIGN UP FOR THIS!” he finally yelled as his temper flared. His breathing pumped out forced and ragged. It came out like puffs of smoke from his nostrils.

Hermione silently blinked back tears, but didn't shy away from him. In fact she opened her arms out like a mother would do a child offering whatever strength she had in face of his momentary lapse of weakness.

“Oh Harry,” she soothingly murmured as her arms tenderly went around him. “Of course you didn’t.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Harry felt himself go limp in her arms. He felt like a ratty old Quidditch robe, careworn and moth eaten. He hadn't meant to take out his anger on her, never her. It did feel good though to know that there was someone who was always there to tell him what he needed to hear, not just what he wanted to hear.

Getting himself together again, he abashedly pulled away from her embrace and looked back out at the fathomless abyss.

“I didn't sign up for any of this,” he mumbled bleakly.

“I'm sorry,” she said, face lined with concern as she stroked his arm.

Harry bowed his head before glancing at her. “It's not like it's your fault.”

“I'm still sorry,” said Hermione. She then smiled reassuringly. “You know, I'm sure there is a way to reverse what was done to Boadicea. It might not even have to come to...to...”

Her mouth twisted on the words, as though refusing to speak them aloud. With an airy toss of her bushy hair she seemed to shake off the thought. She became more and more animated as she continued to speak.

“A counter is what we need. I'll...I'll just do some research and...”

“Hermione, you already do enough research.”

“I'll do more!” she exclaimed feverishly working herself up.

“And when do you suppose you'll sleep?” he asked jadedly.

Scoffingly, she laughed. “Sleep? Who needs sleep? It's so overrated. Besides what's important is finding a way around our current obstacle. I'm sure there is one. We just haven't found the right book yet. I'm sure I can find a way to―”

Harry held up a hand and looked at her squarely. “Just how long have you known it was possible for a person to be a Horcrux?”

The question instantly stilled Hermione's aimless rambling. Her wide brown eyes didn’t even blink. Without meaning to, Harry let out a dreary chuckle. His inkling had finally been settled.

“That long, then?”

The remark loosened her tongue.

“I didn't know anything for sure until we all went in, I swear. I had wondered if it was likely before that, though,” she admitted. “You mentioned once that Nagini could be a Horcrux.”

“Dumbledore thought it was a possibility.”

“It made me think that it was feasible to turn something that lived and breathed into a Horcrux. I thought that maybe...I just never thought he would do that to her,” she explained in haste, trying to appease him.

It was what she still refused to say that bothered Harry.

“But I guess why trouble yourself with just an old Pensieve when you can desecrate Ravenclaw's heir herself,” she continued on resentfully. “That Voldemort; ever the overachiever.”

“So do you think that's why she didn't age?” he asked.

“It could explain it. What good is a Horcrux if it can just rust or break, age and decay too easily. The magic involved probably makes the target more durable, long-lasting. Who knows, that little bit of Voldemort in her is what probably drove her mad as well, made her try to kill her mum.”

“Perhaps,” said Harry reservedly.

Hermione paid no heed to the somewhat hesitant and noncommittal answer. She mournfully looked out at the water as she spoke.

“That poor girl thought he returned her love. It would break her heart if she ever found out just how and why he used her.”

“Hopefully she'll never know,” he said as he also turned towards the lake. “But I guess now that we know he’s made a human Horcrux before, I think it’s pretty safe to assume he might have done it twice,” said Harry in a scarily detached and accepting tone. The sound of it made Hermione turn to him straightaway. Even if Harry hadn't seen the terror on her face, he wouldn't have been able to miss it in her voice.

“You are not a Horcrux!” The certitude in which she said it was wanting. It was pretty obvious she had long reached the same conclusion that he had. Harry only wondered just how long she had been struggling with it.

“We don’t know that,” he said, looking at her sadly.

The resignation in his voice provoked her into fury. The ball of fire near her head flamed out in a blue puff of smoke and seemed to shatter its jar prison from the inside out. The glass fragments fell to the ground as though they were made of nothing more than icicles. Hermione didn't even bat an eyelash at the display.

“YOU ARE NOT A HORCRUX! Why would Voldemort even make you into a Horcrux? He went to your parents’ home specifically to kill you. It would make no sense for him to make you into a Horcrux. And if he had, why has he continued to try to kill you? It's illogical!”

“What of any of this is logical, Hermione?!” he asked. “Maybe Riddle goofed. He’s not all seeing and knowing, is he? If he was he wouldn’t have gotten himself blown up the first time. When he marked me as his equal maybe he put just enough of himself in here,” Harry tapped at his scar, “to make it happen. He had already killed my...my mum so he had his sacrifice. What if I somehow became the seventh Horcrux?”

“We’re looking for something of Gryffindor’s. As powerful as you are, Harry, you are not related to him. I know; I did your family tree myself. Besides, Godrick Gryffindor never sired children. It's well documented. You are not the Gryffindor heir and you are not the Gryffindor Horcrux,” she stubbornly fumed, arms folded before her.

“But I am Gryffindor's, through and through. From the very moment I stepped into that castle I chose that path. Or maybe that path was always chosen for me, who’s to say?”

“Now you sound like Trelawney. Stop it at once! There is no reason to think Voldemort made you into a Horcrux. For one, unlike Boadicea, you have gotten older.”

He had to give her that one, but still he argued his point.

“Our wands are brothers. I can see into Riddle's thoughts and he into mine. I’m a Parselmouth, just like he is! For Merlin's sake, I even look like him apparently! Maybe I have a bit of him in me too, just differently than DuManoir. You have to admit I'm pretty damned durable; I should have died several times over by now but haven't yet.”

Hermione turned her back on him, scoffing dismissively at his sketchy evidence. He came up behind her and gently rested both hands atop her shoulders.

“Hermione, we have to stay ahead of him. You have to stop keeping these secrets! I understand that you think you're protecting me, but we are going to have to start looking at this as though it's a possibility. I might very well be a Horcrux.”

In a tiny, tear strained voice Hermione asked, “And what do we do if you are?”

The splashing of water saved Harry from having to respond.

“What was that?!” he asked, looking over his shoulder. He instantly reached for his wand and stepped away from Hermione, holding out an arm to keep her back. As he peered out into the darkness around them he tried to search out the culprit that produced the sound he had heard. With no light being provided by the waning dark moon overhead it came as no surprise that he was unable to see a thing. Still, his muscles began to thrum under his skin, wary of whatever unseen menace the night shielded. Hermione, either unaware of any possible danger or simply not caring, tried to get him to answer her again.

“What do we do if you are, Harry?!” she repeated, frenziedly tugging at his arm. “Harry answer me; what do we do if you are?!”

Harry shook her off.

“Lumos.” He pointed his wand out as he cautiously edged towards the direction he thought he had heard the noise come from. He didn't see anything at first, but as his arm lowered he noticed the slow moving concentric circles that sluggishly moved across the surface of the lake. Even as they faded away he still held his light on the water.

“Did you hear it? It sounded like someone threw something in,” said Harry, almost as if speaking to himself. “Something heavy.”

Hermione continued to grab at him frantically, trying to keep him from going any further.

“What?! I didn't hear anything. Harry! HARRY!”

“Look, I know what I heard,” he said giving her a put out look before pulling away from her again. He headed off to their right in search of what had made the sound. Not letting his snippy tone deter her, Hermione followed after him, lighted wand drawn as well.

“Harry! Harry! Wait up. It was probably just the squid, Harry! Harry!”

His abrupt stop nearly caused her to ram right into him. Harry didn't budge though, his attention was focused solely on the ground. The light from his wand tip revealed a barely legible trail in the sprinkling of snow that still covered the grass there. When Hermione added her wand light to his there was no question as to what they had found.

“Footprints,” Harry muttered aloud as he squatted down to take a closer look. “I wonder where they came from. Who would be stupid enough to be out here in this cold?” he asked as he looked up at Hermione.

She gave him a pointed look.

“Besides us, I mean.”

“It's probably one of the Order members on patrol,” she said uncaringly as he handed her his broom.

Harry lowered a finger to the grass to inspect the faint impressions.

“They're awfully small,” he said with reservation.

“Perhaps it was Tonks. I think it's her night for guard detail. Doesn't she usually use your cloak? She likes to sneak up on Malfoy that way.”

Harry stood back up. “No,” he said with absolute certainty. “Tonks would have said something to us. Besides have you ever looked at her feet?”

Hermione shook her head. He smirked as he took the Firebolt back.

“Huge.”

A hand sprung up to hide the smile on Hermione's face.

“I'm talking flotation devices.”

A fugitive titter broke out from behind her fingers.

“She wouldn't need skis for the bunny slope, I can tell you that.”

Hermione playfully wagged a finger at him. “I'm going to tell Tonks on you.”

Harry chuckled with devil-may-care ease. “Tell Tonks. I'm sure she could turn me into one of Grawp’s bogeys or something, but I think I've lived through far worse. I'm not scared of–”

“HARRY!”

Their laughter was stoppered as both teenagers whipped around.

“Ok, now I know you heard that!”

Frowning, Hermione put away her vine wood as she squinted into the distance. “It sounded like it was near Hagrid's. It sounded like Ron.”

Her guess was confirmed only a second later. The distant pounding of feet accompanied the shouting as well.

“HARRY! HERMIONE! HARRY!”

“GRANGER!”

“And that's Malfoy,” said Harry uneasily, legs already pumping as he pocketed his wand and charged in the direction of the calling voices. Whatever errand brought Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy out into the freezing cold together did not bode well at all. “Come on!”

Hermione trailed behind him as they began to race up the lawn's incline. Because they were so far away from the castle, and due to the pitch black of the night, Harry nearly collided directly into Ron and Malfoy. Upon seeing Harry, Ron practically lunged for his friend. Harry, unsure of what exactly was going on, held the redhead back by his shoulders as he looked him up and down. He was thoroughly thrashed! A quick glance at Malfoy showed that he was pretty much in the same condition.

“HARRY! HERMIONE! HAVE YOU SEEN HER?! DID THE TWO OF YOU SEE HER?!”

“Ron, what's going on?” asked Hermione, winded, as she came jogging up next to Harry. “What happened to you two? Why do you look like you've been run over by a pack of blood starved acromantulas?”

Ron went slug-mouthed at the description. “DID YOU HAVE TO PUT IT LIKE THAT?!”

“Ron, what happened?” Harry soothingly asked, pulling his mate's focus back to him.

“That crazy bitch is what happened!” answered a snarling Malfoy.

“DuManoir...I went to go check on her like you told me,” said Ron cutting in. His breathing was heavy and labored but he tried his best to go on. “When I got back to the tower I tripped over something by the door and fell.”

“That would be me,” Malfoy grumbled sourly.

“Then she flung me into the opposite wall,” finished Ron.

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing. He stared at the two young wizards standing before him, staggered by what Ron was trying to tell him. Then he got angry.

“ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME THAT SOME FRAIL, FRAGILE GIRL DISPATCHED THE BOTH OF YOU?!”

“FRAIL? FRAGILE?! THAT FIVE FOOT DOXY IN A DRESS IS AS ABOUT AS HARMLESS AS A RECURRING CASE OF DICK ROT!”

“She had this,” said Ron holding up a stubby and gnarled hornbeam wand.

Although he had heard Hermione's hitched breath, Harry thought nothing of it.

“She used it to stun him,” continued Ron as he motioned to the blond, “then turned it on me. As she ran out the door she dropped it.”

“NO!”

At the strangled cry Harry, Ron, and Malfoy all looked over to find Hermione staring at the wand in Ron's hand as though it were some specter come to haunt her. She dazedly backed away from them as her head twisted back and forth.

“No, no, no, no, no! It can't be. It just can't be!”

Harry tentatively stepped towards her. “Hermione?”

Holding a shaky finger out she whimpered, “That's Alecto Carrows' wand.”

The expression on the boys' faces said it all. Dumbstruck.

“WHAT?!” the three of them shouted simultaneously.

“Are you sure?” asked Ron, waving the wand about hysterically.

“If ever you have the pleasure of looking down the tip of a wand that is about to kill you, trust me, you will remember it for the rest of your days, Ron!” she said indignantly.

“But how the hell could the wacko have gotten her hands on Carrows' wand?!” Malfoy interjected. “The Prophet just reported a sighting of the hag and that halfwit brother of hers in St. Moritz.”

Brown, blue, and green eyes guiltily darted from one to the other. No one spoke a word for a moment. There were only four people in the world who knew what had actually happened in that convent basement in Boussac after Tonks ran out with DuManoir that not too long ago morn. One of them was Merlin knew where by now. The other three had agreed to never divulge the information to another living soul.

“Well...well,” Hermione began uneasily, “she had it pointed at me when I...”

Harry gave a small, imperceptible shake of the head. Hermione caught it, glanced at Malfoy, then swallowed back the lump in her dry throat.

“...and then it fell,” she said. “I saw it hit the ground and...and roll. And then I...and then...”

Hermione’s eyes grew large as it hit her all at once. Her hand crept up to her mouth as it rounded in dread.

“I never saw where it went after that.”

Harry felt his throat constrict at the tale. Ron fearfully looked back and forth between his two friends. Malfoy began to lob out curse words as he kicked and stomped at the ground.

“You and Tonks were so preoccupied that it doesn't surprise me,” Harry finally said as the shock began to wear off.

Ron stared at the wand he was holding as though it were something vile and filthy. His hand actually shook. “You mean she's had it all of this time?!”

Looking more pleased with his self than was warranted, Malfoy smiled triumphantly. He got right in Harry's face as he spouted, “See Potter, I was right all along! The Dark Lord's Horcrux had just been biding its time.”

“We've got to find her,” said Hermione, closing Malfoy off and bringing Harry's attention to her.

“That nutter's halfway to its Maker by now!”

Harry opened his mouth to yell at the creep, but ended up closing it. Now was not the time to get into it with him. Instead he said, “There's no way she can get past the front gates without being spotted.”

“What if she went into the Forbidden Forest?” asked Hermione worriedly.

“Now there's a thought. Maybe a werewolf will pounce on the cracked cauldron and take care of the job for us.”

Harry shoved the git aside in response. He walked right up to Ron and said, “Take my broom. Do a flyover and see if you spot anything suspicious.”

Quickly obeying the order, Ron grabbed for the Firebolt, straddled it, and kicked off into the air. Harry watched him speed away before quickly turning to the brunette at his side.

“Hermione...”

“I'm already on it!” she said pulling her wand from out her jumper. She pointed it towards Hogwarts and a large, silvery otter burst forth and went streaking gracefully towards the lights of the castle.

“What do I do?” asked Malfoy gravely.

The three of them had already begun heading back towards Hogwarts to meet with whatever Order members Hermione's Messenger Spell had alerted. They were going to need every pair of eyes and hands available to do a full blown search of the castle and the grounds. But for some reason Malfoy’s offer of assistance had grated on Harry like nothing else. He was already on edge and the last thing Harry needed was the Slytherin pretending to care about something other than his own pale arse. Plus his heating charm had worn off; he was cranky.

Wrinkling his nose at him, Harry snottily said, “Stand there and look pretty.”

Malfoy hung back. He wrathfully fumed at Harry's back as he balled the fist connected to his one functioning arm, prepared to go down swinging.

“YOU KNOW WHAT, POTTER?! YOU AND YOUR SANCTIMONIOUS ARSE CAN GO JUMP IN THE LAKE FOR ALL I CARE!”

The insult stopped Harry cold.

Hermione, who had also paused at Malfoy’s childish retort, turned to look at Harry, eyes bulging as she saw the very same comprehension that was on her face spread across his. Harry didn’t bother with words; just turned and ran like lightning down towards the lake. Funnily, Hermione expressed his exact feelings as she took off after him.

“SHITE!”

Not knowing what the hell was going on, but not wanting to be left out either, Malfoy gave chase, quickly outpacing Hermione and catching up with Harry in no time. He asked them both repeatedly what was going on but got no response.

Over and over Harry silently berated himself. He knew he had heard something hit the water, but he never imagined that it was a person, especially not DuManoir. Then again how could he; she was supposed to be in her own little world, completely unaware of the universe spinning around her. But Harry knew that wasn’t true. Although it had come too late, he had reached the conclusion that Hermione’s assertions had been correct all along; that DuManoir did indeed understand everything they had been hashing out together in the South Tower the last few weeks. And now Harry had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly what he was going to find once they reached the lake.

A Bubble-Head Charm, that’s what he’d need. He wasn’t too confident about performing a self-transfiguration, but perhaps Hermione could help him out with that one, Harry told himself. Too bad there was no gillyweed handy, though he supposed he could summon some from the castle. Whatever he decided on Harry knew one thing for sure, he had to get in that water and fish DuManoir out as fast as he could. He couldn’t bring himself to think about how cold it was or just how long the girl would have been under. The only thing that drove him, that registered in his head, was anger. He was tired of innocent people dying around him. He wouldn’t stand for it anymore if he could help it.

As he neared the waters edge, Harry began kicking off his trainers and yanking off his cable knit jumper. Before he could get it fully over his head he heard Hermione screaming behind him. Finally freeing himself from the heavy jumper, he looked towards the lake and saw a sight that made him drop to his knees as though all the blood in his veins had suddenly hardened and turned to lead. The sound of yelling and shouting as help finally came from out the castle only left Harry feeling numb.

He watched as the giant squid unhurriedly drifted close enough to the lake's grassy bank to deposit something shriveled and dripping from its tentacles before using them to push itself away. The misshapen object it left looked decayed, as if it had rotted from the inside out. Everything about it was gray, even the long hair that fanned out across the ground around it. All that was recognizable to Harry were the vacant purple eyes that stared unblinkingly into the darkened havens above them all.

Tom Riddle’s fourth Horcrux was no more.

“I've been thinking about Boadicea a lot recently,” said Hermione, turning away from Harry.

“I wish she had never heard me and Malfoy tearing into each other that night,” he said. “I’ve always felt partly responsible for what happened to her.”

“Don’t do that to yourself, Harry. You read the note she left behind. The acceptance that Voldemort never really loved her, that he had only been using her had killed her already. She just finished the job. In the end she did a very brave thing, sacrificing herself like that.”

Harry solemnly nodded in agreement. His forehead then wrinkled as he thought about something she had mentioned before.

“What did you mean when you said that you 'got' DuManoir?” he asked curiously. It was such an odd statement when he thought about it. What could Hermione have possibly had in common with the poor, ill-fated girl?

Hermione stared at him for a moment before she finally answered.

“Do you know what hubris means?”

“Ah, yes. That would be the word with Malfoy's sulking picture above it, right?”

She laughed and Harry's stomach fluttered.

“In classical mythology there is no greater sin than hubris. To think so highly of one's self, to go so far as to put yourself on par with the very gods themselves almost always equaled tragedy. Just about every great hero suffered from it and paid the price; Jason, Theseus...Cadmus.”

Harry's eyes bugged out. “C-Cadmus?”

“Uh huh. Thinking yourself better than someone else was practically a crime to the ancient Greeks.”

Ignoring Harry's suddenly fidgety state, she continued.

“I used to pity Boadicea. I felt very sorry for her. I mean yes, the choices that she made were her own. But did that fact make her any less of a victim? She paid for those choices and in the end became a prisoner of the consequences. It took death to finally free her. I pitied her. And yet I learned nothing from her,” she said with a weary sigh.

Harry frowned. “What could you have possibly learned from some girl who was nearly driven mad?”

Hermione gave him a disapproving look.

“A few of the decisions I've made throughout the years have been,” her eyes veered from his, “questionable. They've been haunting me lately. A lot. I mean, I thought I was doing the right things for the right reasons at the time but now...”

Her voice trailed off without finishing her thought. Harry stopped walking and she did as well. He stuffed his robes under his arm and forced her to look at him.

“If you continue to second guess yourself you'll never have peace. Hermione, all anyone can do is hope for the best and if you've found that you've made a mistake, fix it.” He couldn't help but think of his own tangled predicament.

Hermione looked like she agreed.

“You're right. I know you're right,” she said, reaching for his hand and holding it tightly. She gave it a squeeze as they began to walk again. “When did you get so smart?”

She looked far more at ease now than before. He liked to think that he had helped with that.

Harry shrugged. “A little of you must have rubbed off on me.”

“Hmm, there's a dirty joke in there somewhere. I'm far too tired to do a thing about it, though,” said Hermione making him laugh. “So are you going to let me see it?” she asked changing the subject.

Harry's lips rakishly curled.

“And here you said you were too tired.”

She smacked his arm.

“You know, if I didn't know better, I would think you were flirting with me, Mr. Potter!”

Trying to keep a straight face he said, “Stranger things have happened.”

Hermione rolled her eyes.

“I was talking about your brand new mobile.” At his amazed expression she added with a frisky grin, “Well either that's what's been in your trousers all night or you have been beyond ecstatic to see me.”

“It's no big deal,” said Harry, red faced, as he let go her hand to reach into his trouser pocket. He pulled out the little black gadget and handed it to her. It had been a spur of the moment decision when he purchased it down on Oxford Street the day before. He hadn't even learned his number yet.

“Of course it is. It's about time that you left the dark ages and joined the rest of us in the 21^st century.” She took the mobile from him. “So why did you get it?”

“To keep track...erm...touch with you,” said Harry, curious as to what she was doing. She was fiddling with the gizmo's punch pad. “I figured it would make it easier for us to reach each other. In case of emergency of course,” he lamely added. “What are you doing?”

She gave him a winning smile. “Giving you my number so that it will be easier for us to reach each other.” She winked at him. “In case of emergency, of course. There.”

She handed him back the device.

“I am officially your very first contact. I’m just a few finger punches away now, just don’t abuse it.”

Harry took it and shoved it back into his pocket.

“So you mean I can’t ring you twenty times a day?” he asked charmingly.

“No, ten will have to suffice I'm afraid,” she joshed. “So I guess this is it.”

They had come to a halt just outside the front of the mostly darkened cottage. Usually the sight of his home filled within Harry a sense of warmth and completeness that he never knew he missed until he was inside its walls again. Whenever he was there he had a feeling of truly belonging to something. But now it was just a visual reminder that he was going to have to let Hermione go for another day. She would walk inside, climb the stairs to the bedroom, turn out the lights, and shut him out as always.

Harry sighed wistfully. “Home sweet home.”

He turned to her.

“So, did you leave the door unlocked?”

“No, no, I have my key.”

Harry rubbed at the back of his neck and gave her an inquisitive look. “Um...where?”

She advanced forward, stooping down to lift the welcome mat that lay in front of the door. When she stood back up and turned, Harry saw the door key in her hand.

“I didn't feel like carrying a handbag and I always keep a spare here in case of emergency,” she told him. “See?” She held it up. Turning her back on him again, she stepped up to the door and put the key in the lock. Jestingly she asked, “Where did you think I had it, up my dress?”

Not missing the unintentional humor, Harry laughed so hard that his stomach began to protest.

“No, I definitely did not think you had a key stashed in there.”

She gave him an iffy look over her shoulder. The joke hadn't been that funny to her, it seemed.

“Ok,” she said shrugging her shoulders. “So I'm going to go inside now.” She faced him fully. “I would invite you in but...”

He stepped closer to her smiling lazily. “But?”

She leaned against the door and folded her arms comfortably.

“I have a thick slice of Black Forest cake sitting in my fridge and I don't want to share,” she saucily said. “Also I think you have another hour or two to beat the sun home. If your wife sees it before she sees you I think you're going to be in big trouble, mister.”

Ginny was the furthest thing from his mind and it showed on his face.

“Eh, I'm toast either way. Still remember a good Bat Bogey counter?”

Disgust etched itself on her face. “She hasn't grown out of those yet? Well, at least you have the excuse that you were with me and not out trysting with some tart somewhere. That should help smooth things over at Potter's Palace, eh?” she jested causing him to scowl at her.

Harry wasn't so sure about that. He was going to have to talk to his wife about the fight she had picked with Hermione. Of course he still didn't know what to do about all of the affair talk, but he figured he would know what to say when the time came.

“I don't have a secret lover, remember?”

Naughtily, Hermione grinned.

“Oh, but I'm sure that's only due to a lack of advertising. There must be dozens...nay, hundreds of women who would be willing to take on the task. Mobs of them would pack the streets to queue up. Witches everywhere would scream out 'pick me Harry Potter, pick me',” she said in a scatterbrained, fangirl simper as she exaggeratedly fluttered her eyelashes. It was eerie how well she did that. “It would be like Sixth Year minus all the love potion shenanigans; Harry Hysteria all over again.”

With a rueful smile he said, “That was only because I was 'The Chosen One', whatever the hell that meant. It's been seven years. All of that went away after I became just another stodgy old Ministry stiff.”

She looked at him cynically. “Harry please, you're gorgeous.”

Hearing the compliment, Harry perked up. He felt like he was on top of the world...until she went and pushed him clean off of it.

“I mean, did you miss all of those shameless hussies practically drooling all over themselves at the club? I feared for your life. They looked like they just wanted to devour and swallow you whole. Harry, you could be the droppings sweeper at Eeylops Owl Emporium and women would still flock to the store on a daily basis just to steal a peek at you.”

Harry didn't know what to make of the comment. Any normal bloke would have been glad to hear that the woman he loved found him appealing. He was by no means vain, but it would have been nice to know that Hermione was just as physically attracted to him as he was to her. But that was just it, he didn't know.

“And you?”

Hermione gave him a quizzical look.

“What about me?”

Harry gritted his teeth. She was actually going to make him spell it out, wasn't she?

“You wouldn't...um, flock?”

“Now why would I do a silly thing like that?” she asked.

Despondently, Harry sighed. “I must look like a troll to you then.”

He tried to say it as though he were kidding, but it came out sounding too embittered to be a joke.

“A troll? What an odd thing to say. Of course I don’t think you look like a troll. Why would I think you look like a troll?”

Deciding to just cut to the chase he said, “Because I have no idea what you think I look like; you’ve never said.”

Either Hermione was playing dim, or she was pulling a Ron.

“WHAT?! What do you mean? You’re Harry! What was I supposed to have said?” she asked, flustered. Her eyes went flitting back and forth as though she were trying not to look at him straight on and her relaxed posture became stiff as she stood up ramrod straight. “I mean, do you really need an ego boost that badly? Have you become that shallow?” she asked with a jittery chuckle crossing and uncrossing her arms. “I’m sure dozens of women...”

“DAMMIT! THAT'S NOT WHAT I ASKED YOU! THIS ISN’T ABOUT WHAT OTHER WOMEN THINK, OR SAY, OR WOULD DO! I DON’T CARE ABUT THEM; I ASKED ABOUT YOU, HERMIONE!” barked Harry finally losing his cool.

He had asked her a simple question. A very simple question, if he said so himself. All he wanted to know was what Hermione thought when she looked at him. Did she like what she saw? Was he good-looking? His nose, was it dead center enough in her estimation?! He really wanted to know because as far as he could tell...he couldn't. Whenever Hermione mentioned that he was fanciable or handsome or not that hard to look at, she always framed it in a way that left her own position on the subject in question. It was almost as if she didn't want to give her opinion. What was she so scared of? Why couldn't she just be straight with him? Several times in the past few weeks he had felt some spark of chemistry between them, they had practically set the dance floor afire that night in his opinion, but maybe it was all just one-sided. Maybe when Hermione looked at him all she saw was the pathetic little wretch she had befriended as a child. Maybe that's all she could see him as. Maybe, just maybe, the truth was better left unsaid.

“You know what, never mind,” he said piercingly, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking off into the distance. All the drinking he had been doing that night had finally caught up with him leaving him prickly and sullen. The roller coaster evening had chugged to a stop on a sour note and he was ready to just leave before anything was said he might regret the next day.

“Harry, I don’t understand. What’s this all about?”

Too late!

He angrily pounced on her.

“You know, I get that there are things you just don’t want to tell me,” he began, infuriated at her steadfast stonewalling, “but I am really growing tired of all of the head games Hermione!”

The sudden change caught her by surprise. She stared at him, taken aback as Harry began to blow his stack. It was obvious that he had been saving up for this moment and he let her have it. The stress of having to juggle so many veiled agendas had finally worn him down, and as was usually the case in these things, the most minuscule of offenses was what ended up setting him off.

As he began to rant he backed her into the doorframe of the house. He was like some caged beast whose cell door had been foolishly left open. It had probably been building all night, he had been patient with her and he had tried to understand her need for space, but her constant refusal to just speak openly had finally struck the wrong nerve at the very wrong time.

“You have your secrets and I'm trying to be mindful of them even though I think it’s stupid and selfish of you to keep them. You know that there is nothing you can tell me that would ever make me feel differently about you. But I figure hey, maybe she really does have her reasons to keep everything bottled up so tight. Or at least she thinks she does. But when you can’t even answer a dumb question straight it becomes frustratingly clear that you’ve only been paying our friendship lip service all this time, Hermione! I mean....FUCK! DO YOU JUST ENJOY TOYING WITH ME? DOES IT GIVE YOU SOME SICK THRILL? WHY CAN'T YOU JUST ANSWER A STUPID QUESTION?! WHY IS THAT SO DAMNED HARD?!”

Feeling drained suddenly, Harry made up his mind to just leave then before he made an even bigger arse of himself, if that were possible. He gave her a regretful last look before readying to Disapparate away. However before he could, Hermione latched on to him to keep him from going.

“Wait! What is it that you want from me, Harry?” She pulled him back into the doorway with her. “What is it you would you like me to say to you? That I find you attractive?” she asked. “That I think you’re good-looking? That you are quite possibly the most breath-taking man I’ve ever seen?”

The words stunned Harry into silence.

“My God, have you never looked in a mirror?! Come on, the hair, the eyes, the package...”

Hermione's mouth popped open and her blush rivaled his. Her face screwed up and her eyelids clamped down tightly.

“I mean, not the package. I'm sure that it's quite nice too but...ARG!” she hollered in frustration as she stomped both of her feet. “Harry, you’re beautiful!” she finally blurted out as she opened her eyes to look at him again. “But I always thought you beautiful. Always! I thought that 11 year old boy with his outdated frames and his shabby clothes and his heartbreakingly thin shoulders, was beautiful. After all the world had done to him he was still kind and caring and loyal and brave and good, oh so honest to God good. And yeah he could be a prat, and reckless, and a bit of a hothead at times, but he was the best person I had ever known.”

Tears started to fill her eyes.

“He still is!”

Harry, too moved to even make a response, raised a hand to brush away an errant tear that had spilled down her cheek. The action made Hermione's face jerk away from his touch. She narrowed her eyes at him.

“BUT WAIT, I HAVEN’T ANSWERED THE QUESTION YET, HAVE I?!” she shrilled as she batted his hand away from her.

She was trembling and she looked like she was disintegrating before his eyes. The only thing he could think to do was grab and hold tight to keep all of her intact.

“You wanted to know if I thought you were hot, right? Yes Harry, you are hot!” she said in a voice oozing sarcasm. “Harry Potter is sooo hot! I most definitely would not kick him out of bed; is that what you wanted to hear?” she bitingly asked. “Are you happy now, Harry?! Hmm, are you?! ARE YOU?!”

Her vehemence would have been quite scorching too if she hadn't begun to cry.

Although she pushed him away initially, Harry held fast to her as she wailed onto his shoulder venting everything onto his dress shirt. He caressed the hair at the back of her head and gently rocked her to-and-fro. His lips grazed her temple as he murmured nonsensical words of comfort to ease her distress. Hermione had finally opened up a bit of her heart to him and he was humbled by the act. What could he say in the face of such honesty? What could he say that could ever compare?

“Oh God, and now I'm crying,” she tearfully sobbed, sniffing loudly as she tried to reign in her emotions. “WHY AM I CRYING?! I must look so stupid!”

Harry, not being the type to carry handkerchiefs on him, offered her his robe to dry her tears. She accepted it and used the collar to dab at her eyes.

“I'm sorry, Harry; I'm just a mess. I don't know why I just went all dotty like that. You didn't deserve it. I hope you don't think less of me.”

She miserably sniffed again.

“Quick, tell me something to take my mind off of how foolish I feel,” she said ashamedly, handing him back the sodden robes. Her face was splotchy, her eyes were glazed and caked with mascara in the corners, her hair looked snarled and in bad need of a comb, and her nose was red and leaking.

She had never been more lovely.

Caught off-guard by the request, his brain short circuited making him say the first thing that came to mind.

“My god; I'm in love with you, Hermione!”

At the earnest, yet bungled confession, Hermione lurched back from him. Her mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Then opened and closed again. She watched his relieved and hopeful expression morph into one of horror as if viewing it all from far, far away somewhere. Panic slowly crept across Harry's rapidly paling face. It was the last thing she saw too. As her eyes rolled to the back of her head and her world descended into nothingness, Harry caught her slumping body before it could tumble to the ground.

She had fainted dead away.

"So if you really love me, say yes
But if you don’t dear, confess
And please don’t tell me
Perhaps...perhaps...perhaps”

A/N: Next up is Ron's POV. I know...I know. You hate me. LOL! Things to look forward to: a Burrow breakfast blow-out, the “sidekick” shows why he is a member of the Trio, and Ptolemy Cadmus takes out his next couple(and yes, it is a couple you know).

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Tiny the bouncer, short Mediterranean looking bloke, Doreen Dollanganger, Primavera, Esperanza, and Puddin’ the thestral are canon.

2) Bongos is based on a club in Miami that I used to frequent called Mangoes. I know nothing of the London club scene so please don’t fault me if my interpretation is too far off.

3) A hanbok is a traditional formal Korean dress. It looks kind of like a kimono/gown/dress robe.

4) “I'm Henery the Eight, I am” is an old British music hall song. You might remember it from the movie Ghost.

5) “You know how he likes it when they walk” is a shout-out to Ron's similar line in the GoF movie.

6) I'm pretty sure that “flying her freak flag” is a Sex and the City reference.

7) Torvill and Dean are an Olympic winning British ice dancing team.

8) “Put your hand on my waist”/“Put my what on your what now” is shout-out to the McGonagall/Ron exchange in the GoF movie. Guess what I was watching when I was sketching out most of this chapter. LOL! It's from the scene when McGonagall tells her Gryffindors about the Ball and she makes Ron dance with her.

9) Everything about the rumba is accurate with a few of my usual embellishments for extra flavor.

10) “And while you're searching, ponder this: we've taken the thing you'll sorely miss” is of course from chapter 25 of GoF.

11) If you’ll remember from OotP Hermione once foolishly wished to see a thestral. Why yes I am mean. LOL!

12) All of the songs for the Bongos half of the chapter were selected from my music library. Lyrics used as followed: “I Like it Like That” by Tito Puente, “Ella Tiene Fuego” by Celia Cruz ft. El General, “Hey Mama” by The Black Eyed Peas, “Por Ese Hombre” by Tito Nieves, Brenda K. Starr, and Victor Manuelle, “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps” by Doris Day, and “Quien Sera (Sway)” by Arielle Dombasle. Because I'm a dork I actually wrote the club section using a soundtrack. Salsa section: “I Like it Like That”, “Ella Tiene Fuego”, “Nina” by Cheo Feliciano and the Joe Cuba Sextet(more of a mambo song but it works), “Hey Mama”(more of a samba song but it works), “La Negra Mariachi Medley” by Eddie Palmieri, “Cuba, que lindos son tus Paisajes” by Willie Chirino ft. Celia Cruz, “Fiesta palos Rumberos” by Albita, “Mi Bongo” by Orquesta Zodiac, and “Por Ese Hombre”. Rumba section(extra hawt w/ linkys to all): “Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps”*, “(Yours)Quiereme Mucho” by Linda Ronstadt, “Orfeo Negro” by Trios Los Panchos, “Quien Sera(Sway)”*, and “Vuelvo a Sur” by Gotan Project”. FF.net'ers, you'll have to go to my site or portkey if you want to hear them. Sorry.

13) The Screaming Banshee, the Witch’s Hammer, and the Temperatus Spell are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

25. Chapter 20

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 22,678

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: adamolupin.

WARNING: This chapter is from Ron's POV so it's very Weasley family-centric. If you have no interest in that, please do not read it. It's really that simple. While I can already read the “I waited a year for this”, reviews, y'all can never say that I didn't give fair warning.

Oh, and a couple of people kinda die in this one. That's all I'm saying. *mum*

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.

Sunday, 6/12/05

Weasley Wedding Woes

A pair of long put-upon lovers, a fast approaching wedding date, and a woman of questionable repute – the plot to Sydney Spellman’s latest bestseller? No, writes Daphne Greengrass in the first of her series of in-depth articles starting today and running until the end of June. In actuality it is the pixie storm brewing in the background of the most highly anticipated nuptials of the season. Two weeks ago we at the Prophet were happy to report on the engagement of England’s beloved son, Ronald Weasley; decorated War veteran and star Keeper for the Wimborne Wasps, to his socialite sweetheart, Lavender Brown-Pye. However what should have been a time for celebration, and joyous reflection for the young couple, has been spoiled by an unexpected (h)ex thrown into the mix; one Miss Hermione Granger. As has been well documented in this very paper, the enterprising Miss Granger is a former flame of Ron Weasley and in the past had often come between him and his ever faithful fiancée, even back in their schooldays. Once highly regarded as one of the most brilliant witches to ever exit out of Hogwarts' doors, Miss Granger also built herself up quite the reputation for dating some of the best names in pure-blooded circles.

Nearly six years ago Miss Granger disappeared from the continent under mysterious circumstances leaving Weasley, her then devoted paramour, high and dry with a broken heart and egg on his face. Like a bad knut, she turned up again only a few weeks ago, reportedly disrupting the calm of his Commencement Ceremony (though the recollections of most of our sources have been spotty at best).

Now ask yourselves this, dear reader, what brings the meddling Muggle-born back home after all these years merely a month before the Weasley/Brown-Pye union?

“…for more on Weasley Wedding Watch ’05 please turn to page 4.”

Penelope Weasley lowered the article she was reading and looked across the newspaper laden table at her brother-in-law.

“Should I keep going?” she asked fretfully, taking note of his sickly colored pallor. Ron was positively green.

“Does it get any worse?” he whimpered lamely, unsure if he even wanted to know the answer.

“Well there is a lovely picture of the two of you on page five. Ooh! And there’s a caption,” she said as she bowed her head to read the tiny print underneath the moving photograph. “Weasley tries to sneak in a kiss outside the Cauldron.” Penelope realized only too late her mistake. “Oh dear,” she squeaked.

Ron let out a loud and tortured groan as he banged his head on the hard wood surface in front of him.

“I’M A DEAD MAN!”

Fleur Weasley quickly waddled around the table, her large pregnant belly protruding out before her, and came to a stop awkwardly behind him. She looked like she was prepared to drop the wee babe any day now. She laid a comforting hand on Ron’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

“Cher, eet eez not so bad. Oui, Penny?” She gave the woman an imploring look over his head. There was enough drama that morning at the Burrow to contend with. The last thing they needed was to add a depressed bridegroom to the list.

“Of course not,” concurred Penelope, catching on. “I’m sure that when Lavender sees this-”

Ron’s whole body shuddered.

“If Lavender sees this,” she hastily amended as she came to kneel at his side, “she’ll understand.”

Ron raised his head and saw the reassuring smiles on the two older women’s faces. Fleur nodded her head to agree with her sister-in-law. They sounded so certain that he almost believed them.

“Besides I’m sure zat Lavender eez rational enough to see zrough all zese. Lavender wouldn’t jump to ze silly conclusions, non?”

Both Penelope and Fleur looked at him expectantly.

“I’M DOOMED!” he despairingly moaned.

Both women ignored the declaration and petted and cooed at him as though he were one of their own little hatchlings. Though the attention was appreciated, Ron’s impending disaster took precedent over being coddled and fussed over like some uprooted mandrake sapling.

“Give me that,” he said as he snatched the paper out of Penelope’s hand. He wildly scanned his eyes from page to page as he practically tore the newsprint to shreds. “Look at that!” he exclaimed as he threw down the Prophet on the table and pointed an accusing finger at the very picture Penelope had just been looking at. “That’s Harry’s shoulder! That’s Harry’s shoulder right there. Those bastards cut him out!”

The two women peered down at the photo in question, but in truth neither could make out much else in the grainy photograph other than Ron laying a slapdash kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

“Harry was standing right there with us,” argued Ron as he began to lather at the mouth. “He was right there! But of course when Lavender sees this she’s going to think that me and Hermione... that I... that we....”

Ron couldn’t even find the words. His stomach rolled over at the thought of what his beautiful fiancée would do to him the next time he saw her.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to eat another bite,” he said forlornly as he looked at the unfinished breakfast that he had already pushed away from him.

Fleur reached down to pick up the nearly filled plate of kippers and eggs. Ron grabbed it from her hands before she could even take a half-step away from the table.

“I wasn’t finished with that!” he indignantly snapped.

The blonde merely gave him a displeased frown as she haughtily tossed her flaxen locks from her shoulder and returned to the morning chores she had been distracted from. The quarter veela had a flair for making even the most mundane tasks look glamorous. Meanwhile, Penelope returned to her seat and reached for the copy of the Dublin Comet to read.

Ron didn’t mean to be so short with his sisters-in-law, in fact he was grateful for all the trouble they had gone to, trying to make him feel better about his current predicament. But in truth all he could think of was the row that was awaiting him as soon as his Lav got a gander at the front page of the Sunday Daily Prophet. On it he could be seen draped all over Hermione. The photograph looked like it had caught Ron in mid-shimmy. In actuality the ungainly redhead had only lost his balance and had merely fallen against his best friend for support. Embarrassingly, the suggestive looking photo played over and over again on a loop. What was conveniently left out of it was the black and white image of a rhythmically challenged Harry actually dancing right behind Hermione. None of them had a clue that they had been followed all night long by some sneaky slimeball from the press. Ron certainly wouldn’t have tried to drink a bottle of firewhiskey all by himself if he had.

And he wouldn’t have been so careless as to give his fiancée any reason to doubt his devotion to her either. Ron knew that there was nothing going on between him and Hermione, but Lavender wouldn’t see it that way. She was already so insecure about the place Hermione held in his heart; a situation that he had regretfully fostered throughout the years. Sure Lavender had recently begun to try and accept the fact that his ex-girlfriend would always be a significant person in his life, but Ron was no dummy. With all of the daily rags in town passing judgment on whether or not Lavender would be able to get him to the altar on time, the uneasy truce that she had called between Hermione and herself was destined to splinter into jagged pieces soon leaving him caught in the middle. And to think, up until now, he had been so careful about letting silly misunderstandings such as this happen.

Damn the Ogden's!

Knowing his high-strung Lavender, this ‘Wedding Watch’ shite would probably push her right over the edge. It was a good thing then that she had decided to floo out all the way to Paris to buy her fancy underthings for their honeymoon. As knee-deep in knickers as she probably was, she probably wouldn't have found time yet to glance at a newspaper, much less read one. The fact that she wasn't here, mercilessly bashing his head against a wall, attested to this. But it was still early yet, he reminded himself. Any number of people could have already tracked her down to give her the sordid details. Truly, was there any bloke in all of England who was more miserable than he was right now?!

“GODDAMNIT, GINNY! I TOLD YOU EXACTLY WHERE I WAS LAST NIGHT. STOP PUTTING WORDS INTO MY MOUTH!”

Mrs. Potter’s enraged answering shriek was heard for only a second before silence cut it off. All was forgotten as the three Weasleys in the kitchen turned to each other helplessly, too startled to even make a peep between them. Instead, the sound of pounding feet on the staircase drew their attention as the stout little matriarch of the family bounded into the room, hand clutched to her heaving bosom.

“Well...what are you lot lollygagging about for? Don’t you have something to be about?” she groused, winded, as she stuffed a pair of flesh colored extendable ears into an apron pocket.

At Molly Weasley's stern words, and even fiercer expression, Ron began to shovel eggs into his mouth faster than he could swallow, while Penny dropped what she was doing and scurried to the sink to help Fleur with the rest of the dishes. Meanwhile, Molly took a seat next to the hearth and busied herself with a basket full of children's socks that needed darning. To keep herself engaged, she actually did it by hand. Not one word was mentioned about the battle that was apparently still being waged above their heads.

When Ron asked Harry to go house hunting with him they made plans to meet up early at the Burrow first, share a quick nibble with the family, and be off on their merry way; hopefully making it back in time for lunch. However all of that was shot to crumbs as soon as Ron showed up at his parents' door.

Apparently Harry had never made it home from the nightclub. When Lavender floo'ed into the Potter residence to fetch Ginny for their early morning shopping trip, she and little Dobby found the woman fast asleep, curled up in the winged back chair she had spent the whole night in as she awaited Harry's return home. Finding no evidence of her husband stopping by to so much as change his pants, Ginny promptly canceled all plans and placed an emergency floo call to the Burrow in a state of panic. As soon as Ron entered the kitchen, he was besieged on all sides by Weasleys of various ages and genders asking him just where Harry was. Ron had no clue. The last glimpse of Harry he had caught was that of his best mate and Hermione slipping into the back alley behind the club. Before Ron could tell Ginny just that, Harry innocently Apparated into the room, completely unaware of the firestorm he had literally popped in on.

Calmly Harry explained to his wife, and everyone else listening in, that he had been at Godric's Hollow for most of the early morning. After he had taken Hermione home, she had some sort of attack or spell...or something. Ron wasn't exactly sure which; Harry was being pretty vague on the specifics. But from what Ron could make out from the story, Harry had put Hermione to bed and stayed with her through most of the morning to make sure she was alright. Perfectly understandable thought Ron. Sadly Ginny did not seem to share this opinion. Judging the situation astutely, Ron's mother sent the children outside to play and offered Harry the use of her husband's office upstairs. It wasn't much of a study, just a tiny cubbyhole where Arthur went to tinker with his Muggle toys and bobbins when the garage got too crowded with them, but it did have its own floo access that Molly assured Harry would give him and Ginny some “privacy”. The Silencing Charm Harry belatedly threw up apparently helped with that.

“Sorry, Perce, I just don't think Adair is that bad.”

“All I'm saying is that if Minister Scrimgeour continues to listen to all of these outside influences, the Ministry will be under management of the trolls before long.”

Percy's sniffy words were followed by him stamping the dust from his feet as he and Bill entered the kitchen. Charlie followed after them. When the fireworks from earlier had started, Bill and Charlie had quickly beat a retreat from the overcrowded Burrow by declaring that they were going to go weed the garden of gnomes. All they did really was see who could chuck the little buggers the farthest, but it still made for a good excuse. Although he had no interest in getting his hands dirty, Percy chose to follow after them rather than be exposed to what he called, “women's idle gossip”. Ron would have gone too if he hadn't been so starved. Then he had seen the paper. The kippers just didn't sit right after that.

“Outside influence?!” Charlie cried, aghast, continuing the conversation they had been having outside. “What the blue blazes are you talking about, Percy?! Adair was raised over there in Hackney. He and Uncle Bilius were mates at Hogwarts.”

“That's hardly what I would call an outsider,” said Bill before pausing to give his wife a kiss on the cheek and flicking drops of standing water from the sink at both Fleur and Penelope. The two women mirthfully snapped their dish towels at his bum before he was able to run for cover towards the table and throw himself into a chair.

“Besides, I thought his speech last night was rather uplifting,” added Charlie as he grabbed the seat next to Ron, turned it around, and straddled it.

Percy rolled his eyes contemptuously as he seated himself next to his oldest brother at the opposite end of the table.

“Anyone can give a pretty speech. The fact remains that the Ministry has been rife with controversy ever since Tarquin Adair came in as Deputy.”

Ron leaned over to Charlie and loudly whispered in his ears, “He means since Old Man Scrimgeour passed him over for the job.”

Charlie nearly coughed up a lung to keep himself from laughing.

“You can joke all you like, little brother, but we have a serial killer on the loose, there is growing dissension amidst the Wizengamot ranks, and now this,” said Percy as he glanced down at the cover of the Quibbler that lay at his elbow. “Eventually you'll all come to realize what I've been saying for quite some time now. The country is falling to rack and ruin, and if this keeps up, don't be surprised to find goblins moving in next door to you shortly.”

“Ronnie, stop teasing your brother,” his mother chided him from off to the side.

Although Percy missed it, Ron had been mocking him; puffing his chest up in Percy's self-important style, while wordlessly working his mouth open and close. Bill and Charlie snickered at their youngest brother's act, but Molly wasn't too enamored of it. She even took up for the ponce.

“I for one happen to think Percy might be on to something.”

Percy sniffed superiorly and thumbed open the paper.

“Your father seems to think so too, although he's more inclined to lay the blame at Scrimgeour's feet. The man is a blood-sucking bugbear of a control freak. And if he continues with all of these programs and new legislature of his, I fear he'll alienate half of magical Great Britain before long,” she added as she reached into her basket for another ratty old sock to mend. “Why do you think Arthur had to go into the office on a Sunday? I expect every Department Head received a Ministry summons first thing this morning.”

Penelope turned around and leaned against the sink basin. A fearful look marred the brunette's sweet-tempered face.

“But Mother Molly, surely you don't think these rumors of a Marriage Law are true?”

“Sounds like nothing more than a nutty piece of fanciful fiction to me,” piped Bill. “Like what you'd read in one of those trashy romance novels of Ginny's she used to hide between the mattresses and didn't think any of us knew about.”

Everyone but Percy boisterously hooted, however the subject they were discussing was no laughing matter.

Ron's father had been awakened at the very crack of dawn to come into work and brainstorm on ways to suppress whatever rising tide of alarm would surely be aroused by the rumor of Scrimgeour's proposed Marriage Law. It was being said that it was his final solution to thin down the growing numbers of Squib children being found in so many pureblood families as of late. The old families were all so intermarried that it was apparently diluting the bloodlines; hardly any of the so called “pure” wizards and witches in the UK could go down their family tree and not find a Bones or a Poe, a Weasley or a Stonefeather. Abercrombies, Blacks, Blennerhassetts, De Wolfes, Lufkins, Muldoons, Notts, Pembrokes, Standishes, Wallingfords, Yaxleys, and so on, abounded.

Reportedly Scrimgeour's solution to the problem was to ban purebloods from marrying and producing offspring with those of their own ilk. Get new blood in, so to speak. Strange, unheard of before words such as “gene therapy,” “biotechnology,” and “genetic engineering” were being whispered behind closed doors at the Ministry. Newly of aged young men and women were being aggressively recruited for the MMBA's University program to study in fields that would be beneficial to Scrimgeour's pet project. There was even talk that the Ministry would soon begin offering young purebloods special incentives if they married halfbloods who boasted less inbred lineages. Marriage to a Muggle-born would net them even greater rewards and prizes. However all of this speculation masked a deeper, darker concern amongst some. If the young unmarrieds it governed didn't comply willingly to the proposal, the Ministry would resort to choosing their mates for them eventually; maybe even going so far as to dissolve preexisting matches that hadn't produced children yet and reassigning the partners to other spouses.

Ron had to wonder if this was behind his mother's dogged insistence a few months earlier that he finally settle down and marry Lavender while he still had a chance. At the time he had thought it was just his mum being dramatic. But now...

“Well there was a time I wouldn't have given much thought to something I had read in the Quibbler,” said Molly in answer to her daughter-in-law's question. “But I must admit that dear little Luna seems to be well informed these days.”

“She sure called it right on the Stadium failure,” said Bill.

Fleur nodded her head in agreement. “Eet eez lucky zat 'ermione eez all een ze one piece.”

“Instead of pieces,” cracked Charlie darkly. “Wonder who Luna is getting all of that information from, though,” he pondered aloud.

“Has to be someone pretty high up, don't you think?” offered Bill.

Noticing how quiet Percy had gone during the conversation, Ron grudgingly decided to be considerate and include his brother in the family discussion.

“Sounds like a rat to me, eh Perce?”

His brother raised the newspaper as if to block out even the sight of Ron.

“I wouldn't know what you're talking about,” he answered in a fussily, obnoxious manner.

Well the hell with you, thought Ron irately. It wasn't his fault that Scrimgeour had sent out owls for all of the members of his inner circle. It certainly wasn't his fault that Percy hadn't gotten one.

Deciding to ignore his brother's slight instead of rowing with him, Ron's thoughts began to wander as the family's lively chatter washed over him. The morning was almost gone and Harry still hadn't emerged from upstairs yet. If they didn't get a move on they might miss lunch! Ginny must be giving Harry what for, he chuckled to himself. Then he remembered that he had his own little feisty witch to deal with. Sooner or later Lavender was going to hear about the Prophet article. Ron decided that he needed something to distract her when she came to rip his head from his neck. He needed to butter her up somehow.

Instantly his mind hit on an inspired idea. Lavender had casually (for her) mentioned something in passing to him, and Ron set about to see if he could do anything about it.

“Say, mum,” he called to her as he ambled over to where his mother was sitting, “I've been meaning to ask you something.” Although it was far too tiny to hold him, Ron took the small stool next to Molly.

“Yes dear, what is it?”

“I was thinking,” said Ron, feigning nonchalance, “isn't it about time you entered Lavender into the wards? We're practically married already so it would make sense, don't you think?”

“Of course, dear,” said Molly inattentively as she concentrated very hard on the toe of the tartan sock she had been working on. She extended her arm back to pull the thread all the way through, then reexamined the stitch to make sure it was right. “Your father and I will take care of it after the wedding.”

“But mum...” whinged Ron. Obviously she had missed his point.

Or not.

“Ronald, I said after the wedding and not a second before. Once Lavender is officially a Weasley I'll make sure the Burrow's wards recognize her.”

“But she's as good as a Weasley now, mum! Besides, that didn't make a difference when you put Hermione in.”

“What's that then?”

Both Molly and Ron looked over to see Harry standing at the end of the stairs.

“What were you saying about Hermione?” he asked inquisitively, looking from his best friend to his mother-in-law for the answer.

Molly quickly got up, her face drawn in concern, and shuffled over to meet Harry at the bottom step.

“Oh Harry dear, we didn't hear you come down,” she fondly murmured as she took a hand in hers and led him over to the hearth. “Penelope, sweetheart, please go check on the little ones. Fleur, dear, would you mind taking the children's things up to their rooms?” she asked as she motioned towards the basket by Ron's feet.

Both women rushed to comply with the requests. Penelope popped out of the room instantly, while Fleur headed up the stairs with the mending floating behind her. Molly's full attention remained focused entirely on Harry.

“Is your call over then? Is... Is everything....”

She paused carefully as if trying to find the right word.

“... alright?”

Harry blankly stared at her before realizing that she was fishing for information, trying as lightly as she could to find out what he and Ginny had been arguing about. Harry tried to set her mind at rest.

“Oh! Oh yes, yes. Quite alright. Ginny was just... worried.”

As dense as he was rumored to be, even Ron knew that Harry's response was lacking. Unsurprisingly, Molly chose to accept the pat answer rather than disturb the treacle tart cart. The way Ron saw it, his mother would rather just ignore the signs that something was seriously wrong in the Potter household than be confronted with the actual proof of it. Her denial was almost as strong as her desire for more Weasley babies.

“So what's this you were saying about Hermione then?”

“I had just been pointing out the fact that Hermione can bypass the Burrow's wards. If she could still Apparate, she would be able to slip right into the house with no trouble.”

The news seemed to take Harry by surprise.

“I didn't know that,” he grumbled. “She never mentioned it before to me.”

Ron snorted. “Like that's something new.” Ignoring Harry's scowling face he said, “Hermione's probably forgotten about it. The only reason I know is because Dad let it slip to me once; in front of Lavender, no less.” Ron left out the part where his Lav had cried bitterly for about three hours afterwards.

“Yes, it's quite true. Hermione was Ginny's Maid of Honour at the time and Arthur and I decided it just made practical sense to put her in. Made it so much easier for her to just drop in whenever she needed to take care of some piece of business or other with either Ginny or myself; especially late at night. I guess after everything happened it all just slipped my mind and I never got around to changing things.”

“See, Hermione's not a Weasley,” Ron stubbornly pointed out, even as he realized that it was a losing cause to push the issue with his mother any further. The Weasley children had undoubtedly inherited their famously bullheaded streak from her.

Molly grinned boldly at her son's choice of words.

“No, Hermione's not a Weasley,” she said as she devilishly winked at Charlie, “but there's still time.”

Ron threw his hands up in the air in surrender. He knew there was no point in continuing his case since his mother had switched to her new favorite pastime; getting Charlie hitched. Ron did appreciate Harry's silent solidarity, though. His best mate looked just as annoyed as Ron felt at the turn in subject. However Charlie amiably shook his head, as he smiled back at his mother.

“Mum, would you stop trying to marry me off,” he jokingly pleaded as he and Bill chuckled at the woman's cheek. “If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to get rid of me. I'm developing a complex over it.”

“Well you aren't getting any younger, dear,” she remarked as Fleur began to call her name from upstairs.

Molly Weasley Disapparated out of the room amidst the sound of Charlie and Bill's booming laughter. Percy pretended to ignore them all, while Ron exhaled a disheartened sigh and rejoined his brothers at the table. Harry followed, taking up a chair right beside him.

“Mum seems to be on a one-witch mission to find all of my ex-girlfriends good and proper homes. Next thing you know she'll be inviting Luna to dinner and shoving her on George's lap.”

Bill and Charlie shared a quick, loaded glance and smiled before both men leaned forward in their chairs.

“Would you mind?” questioned Bill, looking first at Ron, then at Harry.

“If Luna dated George?” asked Ron, face screwed up in incomprehension. “Well it would be a step up from the Ferret but...”

“No, no,” Bill quickly cut him off. “What I mean is...if say there was a bloke who wanted to take out Hermione, would he have to ask either of you fine lads for permission first?”

Harry stiffened rigidly in his seat, while Ron chuckled dryly at his brother's probing query.

“No,” he said, “but I think Fleur might have something to say to you about it.”

Once again, Bill and Charlie shared a furtive, wily look before turning their attentions back to the two younger men. Percy noisily ruffled the pages of his newspaper, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He was paying close attention to the conversation as well.

“I wasn't asking for me,” said Bill blithely. The statement hung in the air for only a second before Ron caught its meaning.

“You want to ask Hermione out?!” Harry anxiously asked Charlie, taking the words right out of his best friend's mouth. Actually, if he was being honest, it sounded more like an accusation than a question in Ron's opinion.

Instead of answering it directly, Charlie gave his brother-in-law a coy smile. “She's grown up.”

“But you already have a girlfriend!” Harry blurted. Quite loudly, in fact.

“Who? Bernadette? We're just mates now,” said Charlie shrugging the veiled charge off. “Besides she's also moving back to Calais next year, while I'm a little more interested in finding something closer to home. I'm looking for fun, not long distance.”

“HERMIONE DOESN'T LIKE TO HAVE FUN!”

Ron wincingly looked at his dark haired pal, before turning his attention to his brother.

“What I think what Harry here means is that Hermione isn't really your type, Charlie,” he said tactfully.

“Yeah...yes, th-that's what I meant,” Harry inscrutably replied, carefully avoiding everyone's eyes.

Charlie simply shrugged his shoulders and leaned back in his seat.

“I don't know; she seems a bit of alright to me. She's cute, still sharp as a Diffindo from what I can tell, and I've known her for years. Plus, as an added bonus,” he said smiling broadly, “she could teach me a few good moves.”

Bill smirked playfully at his brother. His scarred face brightened as he wolfishly whistled. “You dog!”

“I'm talking about dancing, you plonker,” Charlie laughingly answered him as he stood to his feet. “Plus it wouldn't hurt to get mum off me back about it,” he confided humorously.

He walked to Bill's side and hauled his big brother out of his seat.

“I feel like flying. Want to come with, old man?”

“Sounds good,” said Bill smiling agreeably as he rowdily clapped Charlie across the back. “My broom is out in the shed. Let's go.”

The two of them headed out the Burrow's kitchen door, arm in arm, after bidding Ron and Harry a merry goodbye. Ron looked after his two older brothers with a smile on his face. Even with all of their silly nonsense about Hermione, he still regarded them with almost fan-like adoration. In fact Ron had reached an age where he could admire all of his siblings to varying degrees without being plagued by the violent insecurities of his childhood. He even appreciated Percy a time or two. When he wasn't being a raging twat, that is.

On cue, Percy set the Quibbler on the table, smoothed the front page, and neatly folded it before tossing it on top of the other Sunday papers.

“Charlie is a smart one,” he told the two men still seated before him. “For all her faults, Hermione would make a good choice in mate. Even with all of the controversy always buzzing about her, her name still holds a good deal of weight in certain sectors of the community. A War hero and the cleverest witch of her age; a wizard could sire some fine children by a woman like that. Too bad you ran her off, little brother.”

Harry and Ron turned to look at each other, both caught off-guard by Percy's outspokenness. Ron then scowled, his lips stretching thinly across his face, as he glared at his brother.

“Thanks, Perce,” he said irritably, regretting that he and Harry hadn't made a run for it when Bill and Charlie first left.

“You should have at least gone ahead and married Luna when you had the chance,” Percy continued as he removed his wire rimmed specs and gave the lenses a polish against his dark robes. “Rather stupid of you, I should say. Sure she's no fancy piece like Lavender, but she is quite bright. Then again, she was in Ravenclaw. You didn't appreciate her enough,” he extolled.

“I DID APPRECIATE HER!” The hostile tone in Ron's voice made Percy halt his actions, and regard his brother with a somewhat dispassionate squint. Harry reached out a hand to his friend's shoulder, as if to calm him, but Ron shook it off. “I appreciated Luna well enough not to let her get stuck with a dumb bastard like me, apparently,” he went on with fervor. “And where is all of this sudden high praise for Luna coming from?” he asked. “You never liked Luna. You barely cared enough to even remember her name before. In fact you were the one who told me not to marry her. What was it you said? Oh yes, 'Lovegood isn't very sane, Ron.’ What do you know of Luna?”

Percy held up a hand, as if in submission, and nodded his head.

“You're right, you're right. I misjudged her back then. I realize now that any wizard would be happy to have her,” he apologized. “I've even heard word that your former fiancée just might be on the shortlist to receive the Pendleton Publishing Prize for that last article of hers. Quite a prestigious honor, I must say. Why I was just telling her the other day–”

“You've been talking with Luna?” Harry asked, interrupting him. A look of keen interest shone in his eyes as he watched Percy closely. “Why?”

“Oh, no reason,” was the response he gave his brother-in-law as he smiled stiffly at him. His eyes bounced from Harry to Ron and stayed there. “I just happened to run into her at work,” he explained.

Harry frowned thoughtfully. “Funny, I'd heard that the watchwizard had been authorized to toss her out of the Ministry on sight now. How did she ever get passed Munch?” he prodded as he leaned forward, catching Percy's eye again. Percy stared back at him mutely, for what felt like barely a second to Ron, before rubbing agitatedly at his eyes and shoving his glasses back up the ridge of his pointy nose. He glowered at the two young men.

“I DON'T KNOW! WHAT'S WITH ALL OF THE QUESTIONS?!” he grouchily snapped.

Tiring of Percy's see-sawing mood, Ron decided to just cut to the chase and find out why his brother had suddenly developed such a queer interest in his personal life.

“Percy, what's with all of this about Luna and Hermione?”

“Nothing,” said Percy. “I just wish you would have thought through your decision to marry more thoroughly. At the least you should have given better consideration to your choice of bride.”

Stunned at Percy's response, Ron looked to Harry, wide-eyed, and asked, “Is he putting down Lav?”

“Don't get me wrong; I like Lavender, for all her lack of depth,” said Percy coolly, “but there really is no there there, is there?” He smirked as if admiring his own nonexistent wit.

Ron felt the heat of his wrath creep up his neck and linger behind his ears. Any second he would blow. Harry looked nervously between the two brothers, fearful that either Percy would foolishly keep talking or that Ron would make him shut him up by forcibly removing Percy's spine through the prat's tight arse...or something equally as messy. Unluckily, the former proved to be true so he really had no hope for the latter.

“I'm talking about the bigger picture here. You are a Weasley, Ron. That means something now. People have begun to look towards us as an example; that includes our spouses. Bill and I both married former Head Girls; Ginny married The Boy Who Lived. And even though Fred didn't use the best judgment, there is still a chance that Charlie and George will. I hate to sound so cavalier,” he said with a rather self-important snicker, “but these are the things you think about if you hope to have children someday.”

Ron's eyes narrowed as he spoke through clenched teeth. “I've already got a kid.”

Percy glibly waved him off.

“I mean one of your own,” he dismissively tutted.

“I'VE ALREADY GOT ONE OF MY OWN!” yelled Ron, jumping to his feet, fists raised as if ready to deliver a swift bash to Percy's bloated head.

He had sat back and tried to remain calm as Percy insulted his Lav, but he would be hanged if he would ever allow a cruel word said against his daughter.

“You don't know what the bloody fuck you're talking about, you prat! Violet is mines!” he insisted, voice rising. “And she's real smart too! My Pumpkin's got a lot going on up here,” he said, jabbing his pointer finger to his temple. “She can count all the way to twenty...fifty if you give her a few hints...”

Harry's loyal smile seemed to bolster his confidence.

“And she doesn't even eat the plimpy paste in class anymore,” Ron proudly finished.

Harry looked surprise to hear it. “Really?”

“Well,” began Ron, realizing that he was getting carried away a bit, “she doesn't eat it much anymore.”

Harry's smile grew even larger. Percy, however, let out a labored sigh and shook his head.

“That's...nice. But you're missing my point. Violet is adopted,” he said plainly. “Violet is Lavender's child. Violet is–”

“A Weasley.”

When all three men looked over to the stairs, Ron felt his heart sing at the sight they found there. Molly Weasley's fearsome expression was a thing of beauty, especially since her daggered eyes were pointed squarely at Percy's suddenly pale face. Percy actually swallowed nervously as he watched his strong-willed little mother stamp down the steps.

“Violet is every bit of a Weasley,” she said fiercely as she strode boldly across the floor and stopped just beside the git. “She's as much a member of this family as you are,” she told her son. “And I never want to hear you saying different again, Percy Ignatius. Am I understood?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Thanks, mum.”

“Of course,” she said as she threw a kind look to Ron. “Now explain yourself, young man. What's this all been about?” she questioned Percy, a stern expression on her face.

“It's just that I've been concerned about Ron,” he answered her.

Both Harry and Ron rolled their eyes. They remembered well how big a git Percy could be when he was concerned. Percy didn't seem to heed their reactions, though.

“Once you marry Lavender you can't just take back the Rites, you know,” he counseled, looking at his brother evenly.

“I don't want to take back the Rites! Besides, you got married under the Rites,” Ron obstinately argued.

Percy gave him a sanctimonious look. “Yes, but I was never as flighty as you are. I knew it was Penelope for me for years. But your marrying Lavender is quite different. Next month you could up and decide that you'd rather marry the charwoman who cleans my house. Your track record speaks for itself, little brother. I know you never take any advice I give you seriously–”

“Because I don't.”

“But I would hate to see you make a bad decision that you can't get out of, Ron. The consequences could be dire.”

An uneasy look came over Harry's face. “What...what do you mean?”

Percy held Ron's brassed off gaze a second longer, before sighing and turning to answer the other man.

“An appeal to dissolve a Cycle marriage had been brought to the Wizengamot about a month ago. What's more, it had been approved.”

“WHAT?!” blustered Harry, dumbfounded, as his wild hair almost appeared to stand quite literally off his head.

“Who?!” questioned Molly in shock. She seemed to be as taken aback at Percy's divulgence as her son-in-law.

“Lorkin and Calpurnia Finch,” Percy told her.

“They just let him divorce her?”

“Actually she divorced him,” said Percy, answering Harry's question. “She petitioned the court citing the Burnemacher case.”

Harry thickly gulped. “He sent a troll after her?”

“What?!” asked Percy as he gaped at Harry with unrestrained vexation. “No! Finch entered the Rites in bad faith. He had been dosing Calpurnia with Amortentia for years. That's how he got her to marry him. Just think,” he said, looking between the table's three spellbound occupants, “she never even knew until she caught him at it one night.”

Molly sighed sorrowfully, her hand agitatedly rubbing at her throat at the tale. “She must have been devastated. Just imagine; to find out one day that your whole life with the person you thought you loved was a lie.”

“Could someone really be that dim to be tricked that way for years?” Harry wondered aloud.

“You'd be surprised,” said Percy ominously. “It happens more than you know, Harry.”

As those words digested with Ron, he shook his head in marvel at all Percy was telling them. Percy was usually so tightlipped, especially when it came to anything dealing with Ministry affairs, that Ron was simply amazed that he had gone out of his way to share so much with them at all. In fact, Ron wanted to keep his brother talking; see what else he would spill.

“Wow. I didn't know it was possible to get a divorce under the Rites,” he said.

“There have to be extenuating circumstances,” said Harry absently.

That caught Ron's attention. Harry sure did seem to know a lot about the Rites. Ron wondered how. Sure he could have revised on the subject years ago before he got married, but Ron knew that just wasn't Harry's way. He was the type to charge blindly through a door and ask questions later. Then again Ron couldn't talk; he was usually the dumb arse running through that very same door right behind him.

“Extenuating circumstances... right,” Percy echoed, studying Harry closely for a second, before shaking his head. “As I was saying, the formal announcement was supposed to happen tomorrow. It was pretty much a done deal.”

“Ok, what does some cracked cauldron, and his batty wife, have to do with me?” asked Ron.

“Nothing. I was just trying to point out to you how bad these things can end. You see, once Finch got word of the final decision, he raped Calpurnia, got her with child, and invoked Erasmus' Due to cinch the deal.”

“No!” Molly's voice trembled with dismay.

Percy gravely nodded his head. “He was determined to trap her.”

Ron and Harry looked at each other, a look of inquiry on both their faces.

“Erasmus' Due?” asked Harry.

“Never heard of it,” said Ron.

“And why would you?!” Molly declared shrilly. “It's not something polite wizards and witches talk about. And even when they do it's only mentioned in hushed whispers and muted undertones.”

Ron was intrigued. “Well, what is it?”

Molly studied Harry and Ron's eager faces and felt her heart dip painfully at the sight of them. Although she knew she was looking at two grown-up, able-bodied wizards, she still had a hard time accepting them as such. They were still such babies, to her way of thinking; complete innocents to the ugliness the world could produce at times. Her first instinct was always to shelter them from it. However Arthur was always reminding her that she needed to start treating the boys like the capable young men that they were; men who had been old enough to fell a dark wizard and tell the tale after, so she decided to give in.

“How can I explain this to you children,” she began uneasily, as she gingerly slipped into the chair next to Percy. “I guess the simplest way would be to start from the beginning. Even when there's no end yet, there's always a beginning,” she mused, somewhat to herself. Seeing the anticipative looks all three boys were now shooting her, Molly straightened in her seat and continued. “Well there was a young wizard once named Erasmus...”

...who belonged to a clan of Metamophmagi that lived by the Abhainn Dhubh near Stirling in Scotland. Sometime around the 4^th century a plague swept the area. Some say it was Dragon Pox. Others have said it was Crones disease. Whatever it was, it devastated the clan. All of the childbearing women were lost to the mysterious sickness that passed through just as swiftly as it came. Erasmus' tribe was forced to leave the Black River in search of a new settlement, especially one that could provide the dwindling number with witches to get children by. They eventually came to live in Carlisle. They tried to appeal to the neighboring magical tribe nearest them, but were turned back time and again.

At this point in the story, Ron interrupted.

“Why wouldn't any of the others help them, mum?” he asked, clearly confused as to why the old-timey wizards would be such utter and complete tossers at a time like that.

“Well, back then, your clan was your life,” she told Harry, Percy, and Ron. “You were born into it, you died in it, and most importantly you provided children for it. Rarely was a witch allowed to marry and take the gifts of the clan to another tribe. Wizards guarded their powers, unique to each clan, jealously back then. Because of this attitude, Erasmus' people nearly died out.”

Then one day, according to legend, while hunting wild buccas in a dark, forbidden part of the woods, Erasmus found himself trapped inside of a fairy ring. He would have died there too if not for the pretty little witch, a Spirǽre, who had been stuck there for days.

Molly paused, fixed each of them with a penetrating look, and gave a prude-like sniff.

“Well, I'm sure I don't have to tell you boys just what those filthy minded little beasts made those two children do.”

Once freed from the enchanted circle, the poor girl fled home, refusing to tell what had happened. Not even the threats of her father could get it out of her. Erasmus, however, did not hold his tongue. Days later he claimed the witch and the child she was already carrying as his by right. It would go against his kith and kin to allow another man to bed her, thus bringing bad luck to his clan, especially since she carried his first seed. When a council of warlocks from all over was called to decide the matter, they all voted in Erasmus' favor. Within weeks, young Spirǽres girls and women were being abducted from their homes and families; at least one a day.

Percy nodded his head. “There's even a famous painting depicting it; The Rape of the Spirǽre Women. If I'm remembering right, I think it used to hang right outside of Old Binns' classroom. A very vulgar piece, if you ask me,” he arrogantly decreed.

“Aye, it was there back when I was just a First Year,” Molly confirmed.

Ron was bowled over to hear it. Ron, Seamus, and Dean had often spent more than a minute ogling the picture (and it's scantily clad women) before trudging into History of Magic for their daily nap, never knowing the true story behind it.

“But it didn't just stop there,” Molly continued, interrupting her son's thoughts. “Soon girls from all manner of tribes were being taken at will; Imbuers, Enthrallers, Precogs, Redementir. Erasmus' people was saved, but at a cost. After awhile it got to the point where there was no longer any point to be divided into separate clans, which I guess was fortunate since that's about the time the Muggles decided they wanted to hunt us for sport and burn us on pyres.”

“Yes, the barbaric practice is what actually led the magical peoples of the British Isles to band together instead of isolating themselves from each other. After awhile, Erasmus' Due became an antiquated remnant of a bygone era. A wizard could marry anyone that they wanted, even a Muggle, if they were so inclined,” said Percy knowledgeably.

“Well...that's a good thing, right?” Ron asked haltingly.

“Sure. 'Course no one likes to discuss the fact that such open-mindedness was the direct result of years of pillage and rape.”

“Percival!”

Percy only shook his head jadedly. “Well, mother, it's true. The sad fact is, though rare, there are those that will still invoke Erasmus' Due to this day. Usually it's just a witch who lucked out and discovered the archaic ruling and will use it to trap the wizard who got her with child. But there are times some sick bastard will stoop to anything to win the object of his obsession. If the wizard is powerful enough, and his wandless skill beyond compare, a whispered Raptio in the ear will do the trick every time.”

Molly looked near swoon to hear Percy discuss such horrible things so casually. Harry looked incensed.

“That's horrible! Doesn't the Ministry do anything about it?” he asked.

“Ha! Who do you think sanctioned it in the first place?!” jeered Percy.

Molly wore a shameful frown on her face. “T'is true, boys, I'm afraid. That council of warlocks, the one's who gave Erasmus the go-ahead in the first place, was the very first gathering of the Wizengamot, though they wouldn't be called that officially for a few more centuries.”

The news and enormity of what she said actually stunned both Harry and Ron into open mouthed disbelief. Both of their jaws nearly banged against the table.

When he had finally recovered from the shock, Ron mulishly said, “Alright, alright. This is all very fascinating and depressing, but what in the name of Merlin does it have to do with me and Lav?”

Seeing Ron's quarrelsome expression, Percy finally relented to Ron's badgering and decided to explain himself fully.

“Ron, you're my brother and I love you,” he began. He actually smiled good-naturedly at the slug-mouthed expression Ron made at such an admission. “No, no, I do. I know I have funny ways of showing it at times, but it's true. I'm just worried about you. Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to scare you out of getting married. I just told you all that about Lorkin Finch as a cautionary tale. Sometimes these things just go wrong, Ron. People do desperate things to hold onto the ones they love. And others go to even more extreme measures just to free themselves. You see, Calpurnia Finch tried to commit suicide yesterday morning.”

Three astounded faces gaped at him. Percy merely nodded his head.

“She brewed the Belladonna's Blight herself. She must have misjudged the amount of monkshood because she's now just a vegetable in a private room on Mungo's third floor. The Ministry has been in a scramble to keep it all quiet. Between this and the proposed Marriage Law leak, everything is in a dither. I'm sure time will be running out on that upstart Adair pretty soon,” said Percy with a cunning half-smile. Realizing that his family was still watching him with rapt attention, Percy's face adopted a more neutral expression as he continued to speak. “There still is time for you though, Ron. Are you sure that Lavender is the witch for you? Because if you go ahead with the Olde Rites, you'll have a devil of a time getting out of it,” he cautioned thoughtfully.

As if against his own will, Ron actually felt moved by Percy's genuine seeming brotherly concern. The last time Percy had taken such an active interest in his affairs he had sent Ron a note congratulating him on making Prefect back at the start of Fifth Year. Ron had easily read between the lines of the letter and saw through the Ministry kiss-up's advice not to get tarred with the same “crazy” brush that Harry was being painted with at the time. As far as Ron had been concerned then, Percy could shove it. Percy had only been interested in how Ron's continued allegiance to Harry reflected on his own sorry arse, not in his youngest brother's safety or best interests as the calculating note professed. But now that very same prat who was so unwilling to allow family ties to blind him in his pursuit of Ministry promotions and accolades back then, was reaching out to his kid brother once more. And more shockingly than that, Ron honestly believed that Percy was actually being sincere about it for once...in his own Percy-ish way. Ron never knew the git had it in him.

Still, Ron felt the need to make sure there was no doubt where his intentions lay.

“I love Lavender!” Ron proclaimed wholeheartedly. “In fact I'm arse back....”

He caught himself just in time.

Sending an apologetic look to his mother, he quickly said instead, “I mean, I'm crazy about her. I know I made tons of mistakes with Luna and Hermione, and believe me I regret them. Well, some of them. But I swear I'd never regret marrying Lav. Not today, not tomorrow; not fifty years from now!”

That earned him an ear to ear grin from his mother. Even Harry smiled at his friend's heartfelt declaration in his own, sad way.

“Lavender is it for me,” he went on, feeling the sheer certainty of the words. “I mean that. Even if she does kill me once she eventually reads today's Prophet,” he risibly muttered.

That last bit actually made everyone in the sunny kitchen laugh merrily. Molly then stood up, still beaming, and told the three men that she had chores to take care of and couldn't dally away the day with them any longer. She affectionately patted both her sons on the cheek, gave Harry a dotingly warm, loving smile, and soon disappeared up the stairs to continue the morning cleaning that had gotten away from her. Realizing the late hour, Harry and Ron both pushed their chairs from the table and stood up as well. Percy followed suit.

“I think I had you pegged all wrong there, Ron,” he said, an affable look of esteem on his face. “I was just doing what any big brother should do. Bill gave me a similar talk, years ago, you know. I hope there are no hard feelings.”

He offered his brother his hand. After only the briefest of pauses, Ron took it and gave it a firm, up and down pump. The two brothers smiled at each other, and Ron even chummily clapped Percy across the shoulder, almost dislocating it. Percy suffered the brotherly abuse as best he could.

“Did you give Fred the same speech?” Ron asked him.

Percy's smile fell. “Um... er, yes. I don't think he cared for it, though.”

Harry's brow knitted. “Oh?”

Percy coughed uncomfortably.

“No. He turned me into a black-tufted marmoset.”

“Oh,” said Ron and Harry in unison. So that's what that thing was that had been running around Fred's bachelor party that night.

“Yes...well,” Percy mumbled, trying to regain his poise, “I best be off. I have a meeting to get to. Tell Penelope I'll see her and the children at home later.” He reached down and picked up the copy of the Quibbler he had been reading earlier. He tucked it under his arm before looking at Ron one final time. “Oh, and one final thing; tell Lavender that I hope she appreciates just what she's getting,” he said, then Disapparated out of the room.

The Burrow's kitchen was quiet for only a second before Ron turned to his best friend and cocked an eyebrow upward.

“Uh...that was a compliment, right? With Bighead Boy Perce you just never can tell.”

Harry grinned widely. “You know, I actually think that it was.”

Both of them chuckled gaily.

“Say, did you know that Percy knew a bit of Occlumency?” questioned Harry as he and Ron began to head towards the door. Ron's broom lay propped against the wall next to the exit. The plan had been to get in a bit of flying today as well, as look at the two properties Ron had scouted out beforehand.

Ron shook his head. “I figured that's what you were up to with all of that creepy staring.”

“That obvious?” Harry said with a guilty, crooked grin.

“Only to someone who knows you, Potter,” said Ron jokingly.

“Well, I wasn't really trying to be discreet. I only wanted him to shut up before a squad of mediwizards had to come out and fish his knob from down his throat. For a minute there you looked like you were ready to kill him!”

“I was,” said Ron bluntly as he reached for his Nimbus. “Come to find out the wanker was actually trying to be nice. Who knew?!”

Harry pulled his shrunken Firebolt from out of his trouser pocket.

“Any roads, I didn't really get anything out of him before he pushed me out. Although...”

Harry shook his head as if self-conscious of speaking further.

“What?” urged Ron as they came to a stop.

“It's just... After that speech he just gave you, you don't think your brother would step out on Penny, do you?” Harry asked him.

“Percy? A cheater?” Ron considered it for a moment before saying, “He's not nearly that interesting.”

Harry looked like he might agree.

“Perhaps. But I did catch a glimpse of him meeting some cloaked woman out in the rain somewhere. I didn't see her face, I could barely catch her voice, but I did hear it when she called him, 'Deep Wand'.”

Ron pulled a face and exaggeratedly squeezed his eyes shut. “Ugh! I think someone is being more than generous there,” he gagged, causing Harry to whoop with laughter as they both walked out of the door.

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

The first stop they made was in the tiny parish of Axmouth, a short fifteen minute flight from the Burrow. The house Ron had first considered buying was a decent sized cottage that was nestled on a hill overlooking the town. The neighbors were friendly, the village was quiet and peaceful, and the town boasted at least two other magical families that Ron knew of. The one drawback was that there was only one local pub, and in Ron's opinion, their bangers and mash left much to be desired. Really, it was only a small quibble. The Axmouth cottage was simply a fallback plan in case he couldn't get the place he really wanted.

Ron's heart was pretty much set already on a prime piece of real estate that he had found out on Jersey, one of the Channel Islands. The six bedroom house and the modest stretch of land it sat on was called Redfern; named after the mythical plant that grew wild, everywhere. The old witch who had owned Redfern had recently died leaving the place up for grabs. According to the son, a near relic himself by the name of Quintus Qwickley, it was an early Georgian that was well over 200 years old. All of that meant nothing to Ron; he had simply fallen in love with the estate from the first moment he had touched down on the lot. He was meant to live there, he believed. The town was even named Trinity. Ron took that as a sign.

He was pleased to find that Harry seemed as taken with the place as he was. Harry asked plenty of questions while Ron excitedly gave him the grand tour. As they walked the grounds, the two friends discussed everything from whether or not to build Violet a swimming pool, to the best spells and methods of enlarging the closets to suit Lavender's particular needs. However the one thing they didn't speak of was Harry's blatant reluctance to depart Trinity. He practically dragged his feet. If Ron had to make a guess, Harry was doing everything in his power to stall the inevitable verbal brawl they both knew he and Ginny would have over his failure to come home the night before.

Then again, thought Ron, when you got right down to it, hadn't Harry been dragging his feet for years? He had practically been stuck in place, only giving off the impression of movement, of liveliness, for quite some time now, Ron was slowly beginning to realize. It had been that way ever since the Potters had come home from their honeymoon nearly six years ago. The revelation of this nearly hobbled Ron and made him so very, very sad; for his sister as well as his best friend. But not having the words to articulate it properly, Ron decided it was for the best that he just keep out of it as usual.

“And I was thinking that here is where I'd put the stands for the Quidditch pitch.”

The two wizards were standing in the field behind the house surveying the backyard. Harry was crouched low to the ground, shirt sleeves rolled all the way to his elbows, as he examined the rich soil in his hand closely. Both of their brooms were lying in the grass right next to him. Ron was squinting off into the sun as he soaked in the lot's lush foliage and surroundings.

Harry looked up at him with a cheery expression on his face. “Quidditch pitch?”

“A smallish one,” Ron told him. “You've got to have a Quidditch pitch if you plan on having a Quidditch team.”

“And I suppose Lavender will be stocking this team for you,” Harry jested as he stood up and dusted the dirt from his hands. “How many, Ron?”

“Six boys of course; we've already got our girl,” Ron replied with an engaging smile.

Harry smirked. “Convenient. So tell me, how keen is Lavender on filling this order?”

“Very. Although she did say that I may have to carry the last two. We're still in negotiations over it,” Ron quipped. The two shared a jolly laugh over it.

“It really is a nice place, Ron,” said Harry with a nod of approval. “Is it affordable?” he offhandedly asked.

Ron couldn't help the wry smile Harry's innocent query produced. There was once a time when a question like that would have incited such intense feelings of resentment and indignant rage in him that he would have been a pain in the arse to deal with for weeks. Ron may have grown up poor, but he was proud. He never cared for being thought of as just a hanger-on; some loser who was The Chosen One's cross to bear, even if it was foolish to think that Harry would ever judge him that way. But Ron had matured enough over time not to take offense at every perceived slight against him.

“I don't need your money, Harry,” he genially answered. “I do alright on my own.”

“Yes, but you're also footing the bill for a rather lavish and expensive wedding,” countered Harry as he bent down and gathered up the brooms. He handed Ron his. “Having had one myself, I know how crazy it all can get. All I'm saying is if you need any help…”

“Thanks, mate,” Ron said appreciatively, slinging his broom onto his shoulder. “But I really do have it covered. The Wasps are very generous with the salary. Besides, the house isn't that big. It's no Potter's Palace...”

Ron laughingly skipped out of the way of the swing Harry took at him with his Firebolt.

“... or a Goliath like I hear that showoff-y prat Zabini built out there in Wales somewhere,” he continued. The two of them had begun to walk back towards the front of the house. “The roof needs some work, the carpeting in the master bedroom is a bit manky, and I think there's a glumbumble infestation in the basement. It's pretty damned depressing down there. Almost strung myself from a ceiling beam the first time I did a walk-through,” he carelessly confided as though his botched suicide attempt was merely a trifle. At the sight of Harry's horrified face, Ron rushed to put his mind at ease. “Oh don't worry; the dead owner's son cut me down in time,” he assured his friend with a flippant wave of his hand. “Trust me; the house is more trouble than it looks. I'd be getting it for a steal really. But somehow it's... it's….”

“Home,” said Harry perceptively, not missing the glowing look of fulfillment that Ron was unaware he wore.

“Yeah, home,” concurred Ron thoughtfully as he looked at his best friend. His head then turned towards the house again as he smiled. “This is home.”

Harry nodded his head in agreement. “You're real lucky there, mate,” he said in a voice just barely edged with envy. “Good on you! But why so far? You'd be all the way out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Lav wanted something far enough to discourage her mum and sisters from just popping over any time they felt like it,” he explained. “But don't worry; you know you'll always be welcomed at casa del Weasley,” he said beaming brightly. “I even already picked out a room just for you and Hermione.”

Harry nearly stumbled over his own feet at the words. He stopped and quickly turned to gape at the redhead with a mortified expression on his face. It almost took more than a second for Ron to realize just how his friend had taken the harmless remark.

“Oh! Oh no, I mean...not you and Hermione...” Ron helplessly spluttered. “Not at the same time...you and her...” he tried again to correct himself, almost turning redder than his hair. Giving up, he finally settled on, “Oh, you know what I mean!”

The lines of Harry's face instantly smoothed into an unreadable mask. “Right... right....”

“So,” began Ron ineptly, cautiously trying to transition the conversation, “speaking of Hermione....”

Harry gave him a guarded look. “We're we speaking of Hermione?”

Ron almost laughed. When wasn't Harry going on and on about Hermione, especially since she had come back? he wondered. He kept that to himself, though. Since Ron's intentions were to have a serious conversation with Harry that concerned their mutual best friend, he decided to forgo any wisecrack that might have distracted him from getting around to what he wanted to table.

“I hope she's feeling better,” Ron started after an awkward pause. “What do you suppose was the matter with her?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders and kept his head lowered to the ground, hiding his face from view. He kicked at the dirt. “Not sure.”

“Maybe it was something she ate,” Ron suggested. “The girl does eat like a half-giantess these days.” He smiled broadly. “Makes me rather proud to see it. I hope it wasn't the quail. I had three!”

“No, no,” said Harry, shaking his head, “she didn't make it to the Ball in time for the food, remember?”

Ron scratched at his head as if trying to puzzle it all out. “Oh, right. Well maybe she had too much to drink,” he proposed.

“Didn't touch a drop all night; not even a glass of elderflower wine. I know; I was watching her.”

“Well, I guess that was a blessing in disguise, eh?” cracked Ron with a mirthful glint in his eyes. “Merlin help you, if you'd had to deal with a sauced Hermione Granger.”

Harry's vague, dim smile told Ron that his dark haired friend hadn't caught his meaning. “I've seen Hermione drunk plenty of times,” he attested.

“True,” allowed Ron, “but you never had the pleasure of seeing her when she'd wake up from one of those drunken little faints of hers for a few minutes,” he told him. Ron smiled fondly to himself at the remembering. “She's aggressive, that one.”

Harry's eyes practically fell out of their sockets. “Ag-ag....”

He swallowed thickly as if the words had turned to dust in his throat.

“Aggre... aggre....” he wheezingly tried again, making some progress. Ron decided to just take pity on him and help him along.

“Yeah, real aggressive. She wasn't just bossy about her books, mate,” Ron said with a sly wink, grinning toothily at him.

The redhead would never know how close he had come to losing every tooth in that cheeky grin of his, as Harry crankily stalked away from him.

“Hey, Harry! Wait up! Harry!” Ron called as he scrambled to catch up with his friend. He had forgotten how touchy Harry could get at even the slightest indication that he and Hermione had done a hell of a lot more than play Exploding Snap back when they were dating. Then again, Ron was still in fixed denial that he had ever caught Ginny reading out of The Joys of Spellbinding Lovemaking once. “Harry, it was just a joke!”

“Look, Hermione was just fine until we got to the Hollow,” snapped Harry defensively as he swung around, jabbing his broom handle out at Ron in anger.

Ron nearly impaled himself onto it before he was able to come to a screeching halt.

“We were talking!” Harry crabbily continued. Then just as quickly as his temper had been unleashed, the anger seemed to seep right out of him all at once. “We were laughing,” he unhappily mumbled as he dropped his broom loosely to his side. “And then I... and then I said something. And then she passed out,” he bitterly added.

Ron tilted his head and studied him for a second. “Bored her to death?”

The gentle ribbing actually melted away a little of Harry's frost. An errant smile crossed his face. “Maybe.”

Ron smiled back.

“After that I carried her into the house, put her in bed, and sat up with her...waiting. You know, in case she woke back up or something.”

“Good call,” Ron replied. “Did she?”

“No,” Harry glumly sulked. “After a few hours I just Apparated over to the Ministry, caught a quick kip in the Capsule Room, and hit the showers after. Luckily, I still had some old training togs in my locker.”

Ron didn't miss the fact that Harry had intentionally avoided going home that morning. He paid him a sidelong glance. “Yeah... lucky,” he carefully commented.

“Right,” said Harry warily as he purposely avoided Ron's sharp gaze. “I'm going to ring her again,” he quickly said as he dug into his pocket and pulled out the small, black object he had stashed there. It would mark about the seventh time that afternoon that Harry had used his brand new “mobile” to check in on Hermione. He had been calling her non-stop, but she had yet to answer. With each unsuccessful attempt he made to reach her, Harry seemed to get crankier and crankier.

“Still not picking up?” asked Ron sympathetically, watching his friend's grimly lined face as he petulantly jammed the thingy back into his trouser pocket.

Harry's shoulders seemed to sink and turn inward. “I think she's avoiding me. Again,” he dejectedly grumped.

Ron balked at the very idea.

“Avoiding you? Hermione?! Don't be daft!” Ron chided. Obviously the whole argument with Ginny, Hermione's mystery ailment, and the sun had all gone to Harry's head. He was out of sorts or something. How else to explain him saying something so foolish? There was nothing more ridiculous than the concept that Hermione Jane Granger would be deliberately avoiding Harry. Hermione was positively devoted to him! Always had been since they all were kids.

Ron decided to try distracting his friend from his groundless insecurities. Ron knew it would be what Hermione would do if she had been in his place.

“Listen, let's say we hop on our brooms, fly over to the Hollow, shake her awake, and get Hermione to drive us over to that old inn over in Nottingham,” Ron tried to entice him, dangling the idea out to his friend as though it were a carrot. “You know the one. I wager their bubble is still as good as I remember it.”

“She's probably not even there. She had some super secret meeting or something today,” Harry grumbled.

“Oh?”

Harry's face hardened. “She's seeing a solicitor; Blaise Zabini's wife. She was supposed to floo to his house to meet with the woman.”

Ron's eyebrows shot up into his hairline. Ron didn't know what surprised him most; the fact that pretty boy Zabini had stopped whoring long enough to marry someone or that Hermione was suddenly keeping company with pure-blooded hags.

“Zabini got married?!” When Harry nodded his head, he went, “Well what'd Hermione need to see a solicitor for?” This was the first Ron was hearing of this.

“She won't say,” Harry sullenly muttered. “But I don't think it's anything good.”

Ron took a moment to chew on this new bit of information. He wondered how it fit with what he had recently witnessed.

“Do you suppose it has anything to do with all of those bizarre calls she gets on that fellytone of hers?”

Harry looked surprised at the question. “You know about those?”

Ron feverishly nodded his head. “And every time she gets one she makes that face. Yeah, that one!” Ron said at the sight of Harry's narrowing eyes. “She got so many once that she looked like she was going to throw it against the wall. Instead, she just turned it off.”

“She never answers it when I'm around,” Harry admitted.

“I heard her talking into it one time,” disclosed the redhead.

Harry's head snapped up at the statement, and his darkening green eyes bored into Ron. The potency of Harry's gaze almost froze Ron's tongue. But since Scary Intense Harry was a sight easier to puzzle out than Brooding Blue Harry, he did his best to keep talking.

“Yeah, she was talking to someone named...” began Ron. His forehead puckered in thought. “What was that damned name again...” he said, doing his best to search through his spotty memory. When it finally it hit him, his eyes lit up with success. “Collier! That's it; Collier.”

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Ron cut him off.

“Before you ask, I didn't hear a thing else. She hung up as soon as she realized I was there. Had the nerve to call me a nosey parker. Me!” he cried, affronted at the cruelty he had been forced to suffer. Ron shook his head ponderingly. “I tell you, Harry, that witch...er, miss,” he hastily corrected, “she's got secrets.”

“Ok, what about this one?”

Ron and Hermione were standing in the mammoth doll wing of Dimwiddie's perusing the shelves. He had asked her to come on the shopping trip to help him pick out a gift for his niece's birthday in a few days. His mum was throwing a huge family bash at the Burrow for the occasion and Ron wanted to get little Rosie something special. You only turned 3 once! Plus he had heard the twins bragging about some huge surprise they were planning and he wanted to find something to top them. He had hoped Hermione would be able to give him a hand on that. He'd had no idea what an interesting outing it would turn into, though.

“A Messy Tessy doll?” Hermione took the package out of his hands and gave it a good once over. The little animated doll baby in the box stared back at her with a woeful, tense expression on its face; eyes crossed, knees locked together rigidly as she bounced from side to side performing what looked like a clumsy jig. It held on to its cloth nappy to keep it from falling to its pudgy plastic feet.

“'Messy Tessy',” Hermione repeated as she turned the box over and read from the packaging, “'the lifelong #1 best friend that #2's'.”

Both she and Ron looked at each other, puzzled.

“That #2's?” she wondered aloud as she turned the box back around again.

The doll's face had changed to a relieved, serene expression. Its nappy also looked considerably fuller now.

Hermione's nose wrinkled with disgust. “Oh, no no no! This will never do!” she declared prissily. “Fleur would hex me to Hades and back again if I allowed you to walk out of the store with this monstrosity,” she told him. “I'm afraid I will have to exercise my power of veto yet again.”

She placed the doll back on its shelf, and without even a backwards glance, tugged Ron forward as they entered into another area of the huge magical toys store.

“I give up, Hermione,” whinged Ron, overwhelmed. “I don't know what to get Rosie. I'm pants at this!” he exclaimed with defeat. They had been at it for hours. They had seen everything from dwarf-crafted tea sets, to a stuffed baby unicorn that shied away from Hermione every time she tried to touch it. Dinwiddie's Dolls, Doodads, & Doodles claimed to have anything a kid could ever wish for between its four walls, but Ron was beginning to believe that the boastful claim was just the hard sell. They would never find the perfect gift for Rosie he feared.

“Ron, you should know what a little girl would like. You've bought presents for your daughter before,” Hermione said encouragingly as she looked from one set of shelves to the other. Although Ron had tried to subtly steer her in another direction, she had obstinately pulled them into the “Little Learners” section.

“Sure,” replied Ron with a cynical smirk, “but the last one I got Pumpkin nearly scratched my fiancée's eyes out,” he joked. “I'm a bit wand-shy now.”

Although Hermione arranged her face into a contrite expression, she couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes.

“Sorry about that. Crookshanks is nothing if not loyal.”

“What did you get Rosie?” asked Ron as he let go of her arm to pick up a Madame Marinska's Beginner's Crystal Ball. He self-consciously put it back at the sound of her snobbish “tsk”. “Do you think I could put my name on it?” he begged.

Hermione shook her head superiorly. “In answer to the last question, no. Harry beat you to it.”

Ron pouted.

“And in answer to the first question, that would be a book,” she said, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder.

“A BOOK?!” gasped Ron, his freckled face stretched with revulsion. “Ugh! Does Harry know? No way would I want to put my name on that!”

Hermione fumed at the snub. “Fine, be that way!” she snitted as she stomped towards the end of the aisle. She only stopped when something on one of the lower shelves caught her eye. “Ooh! Here's something nice.”

She bent down and struggled with a large, dust covered case. Ron jogged up and assisted her with the cumbersome load. While he strained to hold it, Hermione reached into her handbag, pulled out a hankie, and wiped the front of the trunk-like box free of grime.

“The Li'l Witch Potion Kit; isn't it lovely, Ron?” she asked, eyes sparkling at the find. “Look, it comes with a miniature cauldron, a safety knife for young and inexperienced hands, billywig parts, dried bat droppings...Oh! It even has a darling little mortar and pestle,” she cooed in delight. “It's adorable!” When she looked up, she was startled to find Ron gawking at her as though she had somehow morphed into the Bandon Banshee or something. “What?”

“If I gave that to Rosie, Fred and George would be her favorites for sure! Percy would probably even beat me out!”

Hermione cut her eyes at him disapprovingly. “Is this some sort of popularity contest, Ron?”

His eyes widened as he nodded his head up and down furiously. “YES!”

She balled up the hankie and threw it at him.

“Well, when I was 6,” began Hermione as she lovingly ran her fingers across the box, “or was I 7?” she ponderingly questioned. A tender smile pulled the corners of her mouth. “My dad bought me a junior chemistry set. Oh, I adored the thing!” she chirpily sang. “I used to love fiddling with my measuring cups and...and watching my beakers and test tubes all gurgle and fizz,” she bubbled with excitement.

Ron arched his eyebrow and smirked at her. “And that's where you went wrong; right there,” he said as he shook his head and shoved the potion playset back where it had come from. “No wonder you never learned how to cook,” he said, straightening. He held out the crumpled hankie he had scooped up from the floor to her. “Normal little girls were out making mud pies, while you were plotting to poison people.”

Hermione snatched the soiled, lacy thing from him with a huff.

“You know, I think the moment I should have realized that it would just never work out between you and me was that first morning at the Hollow when you burned the eggs. I mean, who burns a boiled egg?!”

“THAT COULD HAVE HAPPENED TO ANYONE!” Hermione protested.

Ron let out a mocking little snort. “It exploded, Hermione. I didn't even know an egg could do that.”

“I bet it happens plenty of times!” she argued in her defense. “It was an honest mistake!”

Ron's amused grin said otherwise. Hermione ignored it and snootily raised her nose to the air.

“Well, I didn't think you were with me for my culinary skills any how,” she demurred imperiously as they began to exit the educational wing.

Enjoying the rise he was getting out of his friend, Ron boldly continued to tease her. “No. I was in it for your great... big....”

He exaggeratedly held his hands out in front of him as though he were holding two rounded, overly ripened gourds, and smiled suggestively.

“Books.”

Hermione didn't take the bait.

“Clever,” she drolled humorlessly. “That ranks right up there with, 'hey, Lav, let me see Ur-anus.’”

Ron pulled her arm through his and gave it a loving squeeze. He grinned with devil-may-care charm. “I was quite the lovable scamp.”

Hermione bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Funny, that's not the word I would have used.”

Ron chortled loudly. They had nearly come out into the middle of the store when Ron began to speak.

“I–SHITE!” he shouted as he jumped back and fell to the floor, yanking Hermione down with him. She shrieked like a mandrake at the mistreatment, but Ron barely acknowledged it. He was too busy peeking around the shelf. When he judged that all was clear, he tittered awkwardly as he stood up and helped his friend to her feet.

When she had steadied herself, she forcefully reclaimed her arm and glared at Ron, clutching the bruised limb to her protectively. Her fury laden eyes practically snapped at him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled as he hurriedly tried to brush the dust and grit from off her ruffled, denim skirt helpfully. He continued to try to appease her, even after she stingingly smacked his hand away a couple of times. “I really am sorry, Hermione! It's just that I thought I saw that clown Bozo.”

She jutted her chin out at him. “YOU KNOW, RON, IF YOU WERE SO BLOODY WELL CONCERNED ABOUT YOUR GOOD REPUTATION BEING SULLIED BY THE LIKES OF ME,” she seethed, “WHY DID YOU ASK ME TO HELP YOU SELECT A BIRTHDAY PRESENT FOR YOUR NEICE IN THE FIRST PLACE?!”

“Because I value your opinion,” he said as though it were the most logical thing. “I just don't want to be seen with you.”

Miffed, Hermione drew in a sharp breath as she took a step back.

“Oh, I'm not ashamed of you or anything like that,” he brainlessly assured her.

Her lips stretched into a thin, straight line. “Thank you. I feel so relieved now.”

“I just... look; I don't want to do anything that might upset Lavender, ok?” Ron explained, trying to justify his odd actions. “Hermione, those vultures at the Prophet are just spoiling to get some sleazy shot of the two of us together to plaster all over their next cover. I just don't want to give anyone the wrong idea about you and me,” he stated simply. “I'm looking out for Lavender. She's sensitive, you know.”

Placing a hand on her hip, Hermione clucked her tongue and scoffed. “She's a drama queen, is what she is! Been that way since Hogwarts,” she nastily retorted.

Ron bristled at the put-down. For such a kind, goodhearted person, Hermione could be a right bitch when it came to Lavender. His ex-girlfriend appeared to have no interest in actually holding up her end of their truce. If Ron were to listen to some people, there was a pretty good reason for that.

“Well, I love her and I'm marrying her! And no one can stop me!” Ron blusteringly countered, causing the woman to roll her eyes.

“Ron, I have no plans to stop your wedding,” she deadpanned.

“I didn't say you did.” When Hermione wouldn't stop giving him the evil eye, he blurted, “Well, I didn't! It was the Prophet! And the Seer. And I think Penny might have said something,” he furtively mumbled, traitorously tattling on his poor sister-in-law. “She told Fleur, who told Bill, who told me that it was a possibility. It isn't, is it?” he added nervously, face lined with anxiety.

Her stony silence was answer enough.

“Just covering all of my bases,” he replied.

“Ron, I assure you that I have no desire to ever want to be a Mrs. Weasley,” she said dismissively as they began to walk towards the front of the store, side by side. He knew that she meant no malice by the statement.

“That's too bad,” he bantered teasingly. His blue eyes twinkled with laughter. “Mum will now have to scrap that Yuletide Hogwarts wedding she had still been secretly planning all these years.”

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks.

“That's it!” she energetically cried out to the room. Her face turned rosy with excitement as she pumped her fist in victory. A little, toddling witchlet stopped to stare before her mother dragged her away from the babbling crazy lady. Ron wondered for a moment if Hermione'd had a stroke.

“Oh, Ron!” She bounded into his arms before he could stop her. He held her out from him quickly. “You can be positively brilliant when you're not trying!”

She was smiling gaily at him.

“Thanks,” he replied dimly before realizing exactly what she had said. “Wait...”

She let him go and began slowly backing away. “Ron, I've got to go speak with Mr. Dimwiddie real quick. Go get us a table in the café and I'll meet you there in a jiff.”

Whatever bowtruckle had managed to climb into her bonnet, had electrified her to the point that even her blonde colored hair seemed to hum with energy. Ron was flabbergasted at her barmy behavior.

“But...”

Her happy face fell for a moment as she bossily growled. “Just go already, Ron!”

Rather than get into it with her, he obeyed. Besides, it's not like he had to be convinced to go where there was food. He watched her run off on her secret mission, then took the lift up to the second level of the toy store where Old Dimwiddie had cannily installed a small eatery. It sold ice cream and candy to the countless scores of children that poured into the store daily, and provided more adult fare for the poor haggard parents who accompanied them there.

Since the day was getting on and the store would be closing soon, the café was virtually empty. Ron still chose to sit at a small, secluded table near the back that was practically hidden from view. That's where Hermione found him nearly ten minutes later, finishing off a basket of chips.

“I thought I'd never find you!” she dramatically sighed as she gracefully floated into the seat across from him. Her cheeks were still flushed with zeal.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he queried, then took a swig from his bottle of butterbeer.

She enthusiastically nodded her head as she sat her handbag at her feet. “Mr. Dinwiddie is in the back seeing if he can find it now. It's perfect; wait until you see it!”

“Well, I bought you a butterbeer and an éclair. Chocolate, of course,” he told her as he pushed a plate and bottle forward. She was so grateful that she didn't even comment on the fact that it looked like someone had already taken a pinch from the pastry.

“Sounds good, although I could do for a cheese blintz too.” Motherly, she reached over and wiped at the speck of chocolate at the corner of Ron's mouth. He half-heartedly fought her off. “Ooh! I wonder if they have any breaded camembert,” she said as she turned to look towards the counter.

“If you wait another hour I'm sure they could find a nice, plump gnu for you to pick your teeth with,” he kidded, making her turn back to him. The joke earned him a nasty look.

“So how goes wedding preparations?” she asked after deciding to forgive him for the gibe. “Not getting cold feet, are you?” She broke off a small piece of the éclair and popped the morsel in her mouth.

Ron put down his bottle and held his wand arm straight out. It never wavered. “Steady as a Petrificus Totallus.”

“Harry says you're planning on writing your own vows.”

Ron smiled proudly. “I am! I wrote a poem, actually,” he boasted.

Hermione dropped the bite of pastry that she had been about to eat back to the plate. “Oh Ron, no,” she said discouragingly, pursing her lips as though she had gotten a taste of a vomit flavored Bertie Bott bean.

“What's wrong with that?” Ron asked, perplexed at her unobliging attitude. He had gotten a similar reaction out of Harry when he had told him about his, “Ode to Lavender”. “It's pretty damned romantic if I may say so myself!”

“How do I say this politely?” began Hermione as she clasped her hands together on the table before her. “Your poetry is god awful.” She reached over and stole his last chip.

“Wha–?!”

“Mmm. Yes,” she confirmed with confidence. “Ghastly, nightmarish; stinks like day old, rotten fish. You don't write poems, so much as you write literary abortions,” she asserted, stressing the point with a point of the potato. “Ahem, 'Hermione...Hermione...nothing rhymes with Hermione. You're prettier than a boggart, and your nose is oh so shiny.’” She practically inhaled the chip and licked her fingers after.

Ron remembered well his, “Ode to Hermione”. “You said you liked that one!”

“I can't even begin to imagine that you found something to rhyme with Lavender.”

“Ack! Everyone's a critic!” he complained, throwing his hands in the air. “I'll have you know that Lavender loves my poetry!” He sat up straight in his seat. “In fact, she loves everything about me. I don't deserve her!” Ron declared.

“Finally we can agree on something,” she said with an impertinent little toss of her head. “Sorry, Ron, I just don't think Lavender Brown-Pye is good enough for you,” she nastily decreed.

He gave her a reproving frown. “Oi! Don't be such a bitchy little snob!” he chastised. “Lavender's perfect! I've never loved another girl the way I love my Lav!”

The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“Oh, I'm sorry. Was that insensitive?” he worriedly asked, looking at her contritely.

Hermione just barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. “I'll live.”

“Listen, Hermione, trust me when I say that I'm the one not good enough for Lavender,” Ron passionately avowed. “I'm a right lucky bugger that she decided to pick me. He then smiled goofily to himself. “She always picked me.”

“Yes, well...” Hermione pouted cutely, feigning irritation, “I know I'm chopped liver now, but I did pick you once too, didn't I?”

Although it had been a joke, Ron expressed one of those rare moments of sober clarity again.

“Hermione, luv, I think we both know that you never really picked me.”

The kindly spoken response seemed to unnerve her all at once. She sat up, ramrod straight, and tried to refute the statement. Ron cut off the weak denials before they could even leave her lips.

“No, no, it's true. You tried, you're bloody stubborn that way,” he admiringly smirked. “But it never was me. I'm ok with it now. I've had a lot of hangovers to think about it,” he jestingly said.

Hermione feebly smiled as best she could.

“You see, even though I know you loved me in your own way...”

“It wasn't the right way,” she shakily whispered, bowing her head.

“Yeah, and I made the mistake of denying that simple fact,” he insightfully pointed out. “It's just that at the time you were the best thing I ever got, so if I could believe that you wanted me, that had to make me the best too. Right?”

The honesty of what Ron was telling her almost broke her heart.

“You were...are!” Hermione cried.

“I wasn't Harry the Brave, or Hermione the Brain. I was just Ron,” he said indifferently. Strangely, the years spent in Harry and Hermione's shadows hadn't embittered him at all. He wouldn't have changed a thing if given a chance, though it did help that he had come to build his own, solid identity outside of being just Harry's sidekick or Hermione's boyfriend with time.

“Ron Weasley, you were always the best!” Hermione swore vehemently. “Who helped rescue me from a troll? Who took on the White Queen to save the Philosopher's Stone? Who fought with uncommon valor during the Battle of Hogsmeade?” She counted each courageous act off on her fingers. “Hell, Ron, you were the one that found Slytherin's-bloody-Locket!”

Ron could only laugh. Hermione was being too generous, really. He hadn't found Slytherin's Locket technically; it was more like he was the one who retrieved it. After exhaustively searching for the lost artifact for months, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and that ponce Malfoy were staggered to find that it had been at Hogwarts, right under their noses, all along.

Then they found out just where it was.

It was Dobby who informed them that Kreacher had admitted to sneaking the Locket out of Grimmauld Place back when Harry first ordered him to Hogwarts. Not wanting the half-breed scum, Potter brat to claim any more of the riches of the his beloved Blacks, he hid the Locket in the last place he thought anyone would ever go looking for it; in his bum. He had taken the phrase, “taking it up the arse,” to a new and repellent level it would seem. Of course the ancient, craggy little elf had made this confession only after Dobby, in an effort to help his good Young Master Harry, plied him with serving after serving of butterbeer over the course of one whole weekend. In later years, Ron and Harry would always laugh over the small quirk of fate that led to a piece of You-Know-Who's hideous, bigoted soul being smuggled up the rectum of a house-elf for well over a year.

With the new information in hand, their small troop located Kreacher at once, fast asleep on a filthy pallet he slept on in one of the kitchens. He was laid out, flat on his face, while his snout-like nose propped him up and kept him from smothering himself to death. In his right arm he loosely cuddled an empty butterbeer bottle. He actually reeked of the sickeningly sweet drink whose scent practically seeped out of his pores. The topper was his stained loin cloth, flipped up, giving them all a rather distressing view of their intended target. They were relieved to find that he was knocked out cold at least.

As the other house-elves gathered round, offering treats and sandwiches, the four teens debated on what course of action to take to claim the Locket. Their spells produced no results, and Hermione shot down right away the idea of a potion being able to... relieve Kreacher of his hidden treasure. The circulatory system of a house-elf just didn't absorb potables the same way that humans did, she swottily explained. Tiring of the unasked for lesson, Malfoy arrogantly suggested that they just make one of the house-elves dig it out for them. Harry and Ron, for once, actually agreed with him, but Hermione wasn't having it. She snottily scolded the boys for even considering the idea of “forcing” the helpful creatures into doing something that they, themselves, would not do. Not realizing that Hermione hadn't meant the statement literally, Ron figured that meant the unhappy task fell to one of them. When no one stepped forward, Ron did what any self-respecting sidekick and provider of comic-relief would do if put in the same situation; he stuck his hand up that old house-elf's arse!

Ron tittered self-deprecatingly at the memory of the experience.

“Eh, what was so special about that? I only buggered a house-elf,” he modestly jested. “After the whole thing with the Cup, I was just scared that you'd go off your nut again and be the one to do it. I don't regret it, although poor Dobby never looked at good Young Master Harry's Wheezy quite the same after that little stunt, I tell you.”

“Point is,” continued Hermione, ignoring his bit of tasteless humor, “when it came down to crunch time, you always came through. Harry and I would have been lost a thousand times over if not for you, Ron.”

From the ardent look in her eyes, he knew she meant every word.

“Pshaw!” he humbly objected. “It's me and Harry who lucked out all on account of some dumb troll.”

Hermione smiled warmly at the reply. She uncorked her butterbeer and raised it in the air. “To trolls, then!”

Ron held the last drabbles of his drink up. The smile on his face matched hers.

“To trolls!” he said as their bottles came together in a rich, resounding *clink*.

As Ron lowered his arm and set his drink back down, he sat back in his seat and sighed contently. “I'm so glad that I'm over you.”

Hermione primly sniffed. “Goodness, my ego is taking quite the beating today.”

Ron laughed at the pert face she made. “What I mean is, I'm glad that you and I have reached a place where there's no longer any drama between us.”

“No angst?” she offered with a grin. Obviously she understood him perfectly.

“No petty insecurities,” he added. He began to distractedly pull at the label of his now empty bottle. His concentration was focused on the silly task as he continued to speak. “It's a nice place. Somehow I always knew we would get here. I had hoped, at least. Even if we weren't together, I never wanted to stop being your friend, Hermione. I never would have, you know.”

At the sound of her rickety laugh, Ron looked up.

“What? What did I say that's so funny?” He was surprised to actually find tears welling in her eyes, even as she wore a strained, wobbly smile. He had thought they were actually having a nice chat since they had already purged themselves of the past and other old business. He hadn't been aware of saying anything that would make her cry.

“Nothing. I'm actually laughing at something that Lavender told me, oh, years ago,” she answered him. She plucked a paper serviette out of the dispenser on the table and used it to dab at her eyes. “Until just now I never fully realized it, but you've really come into your own, Ron. Just like she predicted. Lavender was right.”

She grimaced at the thought.

“God, I never thought I'd ever hear myself use those two words in a sentence; 'Lavender' and 'right.’ I would laugh if I didn't want to cry right... right... n–now,” she said, voice choking on the last word. It was as if the damn inside her burst with that simple aside. Hermione's sweet face just seemed to wilt all of a sudden as she began to weep openly.

“Um... Hermione?” Ron was disturbed, to say the least.

“I'm sorry, Ron, I sold you short,” she warbled as she plucked out more serviettes from the container, one after another. She used them to dry her wet, splotchy face. “Do you think you could ever forgive me?”

“Forgive?” asked Ron, abashed. “What's there to forgive? Most people underestimate me,” he weakly joked. “It's all just part of my charm,” he said, hoping to lift her suddenly darkened spirits. What troubled Ron the most was that he couldn't pinpoint just what he had said to make her so po-faced. Whenever he used to make her cry in the past, he always knew exactly what shite remark of his had done it. However this time, he was at a loss.

Hermione shook her head despondently. “That's not true, and you know it. You were my best friend, Ron,” she sniffed, lowering her head. “No matter what else lay between us, you were my best friend. I should have trusted in that,” she firmly stated, almost as if to herself. “I should have trusted in you....”

Her lips trembled as she wrung her hands.

“... and Harry,” she sobbed. She began to reach for more serviettes. At the rate she was going, they would be buried under an avalanche of crumpled paper soon. “But now it's too late. It's much... much too late,” she despaired.

Ron felt a chill of ice dig into his heart. He had heard Hermione speak in this tone before. “Hermione....”

“Sometimes I wonder if I've ever been right about anything,” her waterlogged voice continued rambling. “If I even got this whole gravity thing mixed-up and I'm really sitting upside down when I'm supposed to be down side up!”

Ron quickly looked around to see if any of the café's other patrons had become aware of the scene she was making. She was beginning to sound loonier than Luna. And that was saying something! Luckily, the private little corner he had picked earlier had proved a smart choice. No one seemed to pay them any mind. Ron chose the opportunity to budge his chair over so that he could comfort his friend.

“Hermione, really, sweetheart, you have to remember that you are smarter than me, so I pretty much don't understand a third of what you say most of the time,” he said, forcing a smile.

“That's just it, Ron!” she trilled. “I'M SO GODDAMNED STUPID! I'VE BUGGERED EVERYTHING!” Her hands leaped to the winking, yellow pendant sitting against her chest and began to twist and tug at incessantly; almost as if trying to choke herself with the thin chain the huge stone hung from. “Oh, Ron! I've made such terrible, terrible decisions. I thought I knew better than everyone else. I thought I was doing what was right. But it wasn't right. It wasn't! And now...and now I don't know what else to do!” she wailed. “I don't even think there is anything I can do!”

“Shh..stop that.” He managed to remove one of the hands from its mindless action, and placed it between his two large mitts. “That's simply not true. If there's something wrong, we'll fix it. Me, you, and Harry; we can put it to right. Out of all of us, you used to believe that the most. Well, you can't stop now,” he implored. Changing tracks, in a wheedling tone he said, “Tell Ron what the matter is, hmm? Let Ron sort it out for you. You'd feel better if you just got it off your chest.” Ron had almost believed he had gotten through to her.

“Ron, I... I....”

He nodded his head encouragingly. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly and bit down on her lip before trying again.

“Ron....” she strangled out, “... for years I... I....”

Her nerve snapped.

“No! No, no, no, no, no! I can't! I CAN'T!” she blubbered in a shuddering whisper, lowering her eyes to the table shamefully. “You're too close to it, Ron! You're too close!”

By this point Ron was beyond perplexed. “Well, then let's go speak with Harry.”

“NO!” she shrieked, pulling stares from the table closest to them. Ron tossed them a sham of a smile before lowering his head closer to hers. He could only hope that this all didn't make the papers somehow. Hermione, however, didn't seem mindful of the attention.

“Not Harry,” she whimpered. “Especially not Harry! He can't know. He can't ever know! It will ruin everything! I'll ruin everything!”

“Know what, Hermione?”

“It lies! It lies!” she moaned as she mindlessly began to beat herself about the head. Her whole body trembled, as if she was in pain, and she began to hyperventilate. She was quite frankly falling apart on him. “It tried to fool me; to confuse me. It wanted me to tell you. It's trying to make me tell again, but I won't do that to him! I won't!”

“Hermione, who is 'him'? Hermione–”

“No, no, no....”

“Hermione, who is 'him'?” Ron prodded again, almost in a pleading tone.

“NO!”

“Hermione, tell me,” begged Ron. “Whatever it is, I'll still love you. Harry... Harry will still love you,” he said with full certainty. “There's nothing you can say that can make that untrue. But you've got to let us help you for once. Let Harry and I be the ones to take care of you. Tell me, Hermione. The man you were speaking of; did he do something to you? Did he hurt you? Are you scared of him?” Ron asked her.

Hermione pulled back from him and stared at the redhead as if appalled that he would even think such a thing. “I could never be scared of him,” she said in an almost wondering tone as her big brown eyes blinked back her tears. “I love him, Ron.”

“You... wait, what?” Ron's brow furrowed. “What did you just say?” he asked, trying to understand her garbled words.

Hermione's lips parted to speak again.

“Miss Granger,” a male voice sing-songed from behind them, “have I good news for you!”

Ron swung around in his seat, positively livid at the sight of Dimwiddie; himself, smiling down at the two of them.

“MERLIN'S BEARD, MAN! DON'T YOU SEE WE'RE HAVING A PRIVATE CONVERSATION HERE?!” boomed Ron, enraged at the interruption. He jumped out of his seat as if ready to decapitate the poor, hapless man. Everyone in the small café had suddenly begun to watch them.

Dimwiddie's elfin-like smile quickly fell. “Oh! Oh, I'm... I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley,” the poor fellow hastily apologized. “It's just that Miss Granger asked me to find her as soon as I located the dollhouse she wanted,” he explained, hoping to appease the hulking redhead. You could practically hear Dimwiddie's knobby knees knocking together under his robes.

Before Ron could do him in, Hermione dragged her hands across her face and stood up from her seat. As if by some glamour or trick of the light, her face was dry and the expression on it was a pleasant look of gratitude. Her red, glazed eyes were the only clue that she had been about to drown the lot of them.

“No need for apology, Mr. Dimwiddie,” she told the store owner before narrowing her eyes at the other man. “Ron, don't be rude!”

With eyes bulging, he stared at her helplessly. “But... but... you were telling me...”

“Never mind what I was telling you; look!”

He turned to see what she was pointing at, and for the first time, noticed the four smiling house-elves that were hanging behind Dimwiddie. All of them wore matching tea cozies and were struggling with an enormous pink gift box they carried between them. Yards and yards of white and baby blue colored ribbon curled downward from the top of it. At Dimwiddie's signal, his little helpers set the box down on the ground.

Hermione approached the box, which was almost as tall as she was, and wrestled with the top. It took Ron, Dimwiddie, and Hermione's combined effort to remove the lid. As Ron bent his head to take a peek inside, she said in a bubbly voice, “It's Hogwarts Castle. Isn't it lovely?!”

Before Ron could say anything one way or the other, she was instructing the store owner when and where to deliver Rosemary's gift. After she informed him that they would meet him downstairs in a bit, Dimwiddie and his attendants departed their presence.

As soon as they were gone, Ron turned to Hermione to continue their conversation. She, however, was gathering up her handbag and gobbling down the last bite of éclair on her plate. Then, talking nineteen to the dozen, she grabbed his arm and began to maneuver him over to the lift. Every time Ron tried to get a word in she merely talked over his interjections. She seemed determined to act as though her strange outburst from earlier had never happened. But Ron knew he hadn't imagined it all. Her scratchy voice and overly bright eyes told him that something was deeply wrong, but Ron felt almost paralyzed with foreboding as to what it could be.

“I think Rosemary Weasley is just going to adore her gift, don't you? It's practically one-of-a-kind. Mr. Dimwiddie only made a thousand of those Hogwarts dollhouses to commemorate the school's millennium a few years ago. Most of them went into private collections. He had this one, the last one, in his window the day my parents first brought me to Diagon Alley to buy my supplies. Did you see it back then? Well, Ron, I definitely think you'll be in the running for favorite uncle after this! Of course it took a lot of convincing to get Mr. Dimwiddie to part with such a gem, but the exclusive licensing deal you're going to agree to should more than cover it. Oh, don't worry; I'll go over the paperwork myself. Well don't dawdle, Ron! You have a contract to sign.”

Three days later, Ron was finally able to share the strange tale with the one person he knew would be just as disturbed by the whole troubling occurrence as he was. Ron had wanted to run and tell Harry about it that very day, the very second he Disapparated from the Hollow after dropping Hermione off home, in fact. But with post Cup publicity obligations still to fulfill and endless errands and fittings to attend to in preparation for the Ball and his upcoming wedding, there just never seemed to be a good enough time to get Harry alone in a corner for a few minutes. And of course he had been nearly incapable of speech for the majority of the past evening. That's why Ron had decided to just wait it out until he found a spot where he knew that he would have a clear opportunity to spill all to his friend with no fear of any distractions or interruptions. A distant outstretch of land out in the middle of the English Channel seemed as good a place as any. As soon as Ron had seen his opening, he took it.

As Ron spoke, Harry silently listened. At the retelling of Hermione's breakdown, word for word, he looked pained to hear about the anguish their friend displayed, but held his peace. He didn't ask a single question until he was sure that the redhead's story had come to a close.

“And that's everything?”

“Everything, I swear,” replied Ron. They had finally made it back to the front of the estate. They stood there in the shade of a gigantic, well aged silver birch, avoiding the dry heat of the mid-afternoon sun, awaiting the return of the gentleman who was selling the house.

Harry frowned, almost pitifully. “I can't believe she would tell you, but she wouldn't tell me,” he mumbled.

Ron rolled his eyes. He thought they had lost Blue Brooding Harry already.

“Well, she really didn't tell me anything, did she? I could have killed that girly-voiced ponce, Dinwiddie!” fumed Ron, still sore.

Ignoring Ron's ill-tempered grumblings, Harry heatedly asked, “What do you suppose she was going to tell you?”

“Well isn't it obvious?” Ron responded. In Ron's opinion it was the simplest explanation really. “Some bastard broke our Hermione's heart!”

Harry blinked. His eyes then seemed to expand to the size of gobstones. “A... A broken heart?! You think Hermione's in love with some idiot who won't have her?” When Ron dumbly nodded his head, Harry practically exploded. “WHO?!”

Scary Intense Harry had turned back up; that was better. Or was it?

“Hell if I know,” Ron harmlessly replied. “But I can honestly say that I'm glad it's not me. Who needs the pressure?” he quipped. “But there definitely is someone, I think. Hey, it could be that Collier bloke.”

At the sight of Harry's gloriously enraged face, Ron actually gulped. Whether it was in fear for his own hide's safety or for that of the mysterious Collier, he wasn't sure.

“Or not,” squeaked Ron, afraid to say anything further until Harry's temper had died down sufficiently. He didn't want to end up like that old battle-ax of an aunt Harry had sent ballooning over Little Whinging years ago.

It was Harry's maddened pacing that drew Ron away from his wandering thoughts of Marjorie Dursley.

“So you think all of this has only been about some love affair gone wrong?” Harry questioned him.

Ron shrugged his shoulders. “It could be a good possibility. It definitely involves some mystery 'him'. Think about it; something pretty big must have happened to make her just up and leave the States the way she did,” he said, unknowingly voicing the same theory Harry had been playing with for days. Ron had just come to a different conclusion than his friend had. “The last time she pulled one of these disappearing tricks was when things were going badly with me and her. We break up, and then a month later she vanishes right after your wedding. That just can't be a coincidence,” asserted Ron.

Harry grunted sourly. “When you put it that way, it does make some sense.”

“Or,” began Ron lightly, “what if there is a good reason Hermione is trying to put some distance between herself and this Collier person? Maybe we've got it backwards. Maybe it's her who won't have him; he does seem to be the one chasing after her.” Ron was really beginning to take to his subject now. “It happens. I saw this film once. Actually Hermione was watching it; I was just trying to get a leg over,” he casually let slip.

The chuckle in his throat died at the sight of the Potter death glare.

“Sorry, Harry. As I was saying,” he coughed, “it was all about this bird that goes to live in this spooky old house with this nasty git and his bastard kid. Long story short; they fall in love and try to get hitched. But lo and behold, the wanker is already married to some nutter. So the bird takes off running rather than be the nasty git's skirt on the side.”

“Let me see if I understand you correctly,” said Harry as he skeptically squinted at Ron. “You think Hermione's on the lam from her married lover?”

Ron took a second to consider it. “Too far-fetched?”

Harry's mouth pulled into an exaggerated frown. “Actually it's not half as bad as some of the nightmare scenarios I've come up with. How did the movie end?” he inquiringly asked.

Ron turned red with embarrassment at the question as he sheepishly admitted that he had fallen asleep on it.

“Well that's just perfect,” muttered Harry. “There's just one thing wonky about all of this; the solicitor. How does that fit into your little theory? Hermione is probably at Zabini's as we speak.”

“I haven't figured that part out yet,” said Ron. “But whatever it is she is going through is doing a real number on her. You should have seen it; she was a mess. Hysterical. I'd go so far as to say possessed. Harry,” he delivered in a tight voice, almost shrinking away from what he was about to say, “the last time I saw Hermione act that way was the evening she woke up after she had drank from Hufflepuff's Cup.”

Ron watched with satisfaction as Harry absorbed the gravity of what he had been trying to get across.

“We've got to help her, Harry. All she has is us; we're her family. We've got to be there for her!”

“Of course,” breathed Harry, almost as solemn as a grave. “I've already started looking into it.”

That one statement, spoken plainly and with unshakable self-assuredness, actually filled Ron with such an overwhelming sense of relief that he nearly whooped aloud from the calm it brought him. Of course Harry was already on top of things. Ron shouldn't have expected less.

A ticklish thought then made him smile puckishly. “Does she know you're spying on her?” Ron asked in a smart-alecky tone.

Harry gave him the most withering of looks. “If that isn't the stupidest question!”

Ron nearly fell to his knees from laughing so hard. He actually used his broom to prop himself up. “She's going to rip your bollocks off and use them as stress relief balls.”

“I'll cross that bridge when I get there,” said Harry with as much dignity as he could, while straightening his glasses. “All that matters is that our girl is safe and happy.”

“Even if it's with some bloke you have no say on?”

Harry's eyes flew to Ron's and stared at him wordlessly.

“Face facts Harry, one day our little Hermione is going to grow up, move on with her life, and marry a man she loves more than the world itself. And we're going to have to pretend we actually like the sodding berk,” he added with a silly smirk, giving Harry a friendly punch to the shoulder. “But if she's happy, we'll have to be happy for her,” Ron counseled thoughtfully. “Do you think you'll ever be able to accept that and stop playing the overprotective prat brother? She doesn't like it, I can tell. She never did.”

Harry sighed and lowered his green eyes miserably. “I... I don't know, Ron. I guess. If I have to, I guess I will.”

Ron's heart went out to his friend. Here they had been, nattering away about Hermione and all of her dramas, when Harry wasn't in any better shape than her. His life looked to be in disarray as well.

“You know, I want you to be happy too, Harry,” he told him. The look in Harry's eyes when they met Ron's told the redhead all he needed to know. “But you're not, are you?”

Unable to lie any longer to his best mate in the whole world, Harry choked out a strangled, “No.”

And there it was. Weeks... months (years?) of speculation had finally been put to rest for Ron. Suddenly everything his brother had been telling him, warning him about that morning was put into perfect perspective. As Percy had said, sometimes these things do just go wrong.

“Well... just so you know... I'm Ginny's big brother,” said Ron frankly.

Harry looked for all the world like a man who was about to lose his best friend. He took a tentative step forward. “Ron, I–”

The redhead held his hand up as if to halt him from speaking further.

“No, let me finish,” he insisted, gathering his thoughts. “I'm Ginny's big brother....”

Harry shamefully looked away, awaiting a curse or a punch shortly. He even closed his eyes, steeling himself for it.

“... but I'm your brother too,” finished Ron.

Harry turned back to see the hand his friend was holding out to him.

Ron meant what he said with his whole heart. Blood was thicker than water, but hadn't what he, Harry, and Hermione all been through together... suffered through... survived together, been just as deep? How could he ever take sides in Harry and Ginny's troubles? He couldn't. He simply couldn't. He only wished he didn't feel so goddamned useless and unable to help somehow.

Harry's eyes looked very wet as he grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him in to a fierce, yet not uncomfortable “mate hug”. Ron was surprised by the action for only a second before he warmly responded. Though these moments of raw affection between him and Harry weren't so rare, they did tend to ensue only after an incident where one or both of them had almost snuffed it. Thankfully, Ron didn't think anyone would be dying today.

Ron had begun to jokingly ask Harry if he was going to try and snog him too, when he saw a puzzling sight off in the distance, zooming towards them; being borne on the wind almost.

“Harry, do we know someone whose Patronus is a bunny?”

Harry quickly stepped back from Ron and whirled around in the direction the other man had been staring in.

“WHAT?!”

As the Patronus got closer, Harry's face settled into a vexed grimace.

“That's just Malfoy. What does that git want?!”

Ron nearly pulled something from the laugh that boomed out of him.

“A bunny rabbit?! A BUNNY RABBIT?!” he raucously crowed again. “And I'm just learning of this?!”

Harry smiled at his friend fondly before turning his gaze back to watch the approaching Messenger Spell. “It's a harveyplytus, actually.”

Ron's freckled face was flush with good cheer. “Shh... I like my way better,” he said as the silvery creature finally came to a stop before Harry.

Once Ron got a good look at it, he had to concede that without a doubt it was the queerest looking bunny he had ever seen. He had heard of the strange beasts before, but this was his first time seeing something that looked like it. It had talons and fangs, and looked like one of Hagrid's breeding experiments gone terribly wrong. The long ears and tail, however, were rabbit-like, though the voice that sounded from it belonged to a Ferret.

“Potter, there's a situation. We just got a report in at HQ about a small, lame Peruvian that was spotted somewhere over Oswetry about thirty minutes ago. It was flying due west towards the Welsh Marches. We think it may be headed out towards the coast; according to the Sweet brothers, there's a couple that fits the profile that lives close to the River Teifi.”

Ron watched it as the color drained from Harry's face and his broom fell from his hand. All the air escaped the man as if someone had stole up and robbed the breath from him. Ron had tried to ask what the matter was, but Harry held him off, whipped the mobile fellytone out from his pocket again, and furiously jabbed at it with his finger.

As Harry held it to his ear, Malfoy's voice continued to be heard through his Patronus.

“...whole team is already assembled and is heading out to the scene right now. Your presence is requested, oh wise and venerable Sahib. Hanes, the wanker, is tagging along so look alive. Meet us there ASAP! As always, the Patronus will show the way.”

“SHITE!” screamed Harry as he heatedly threw the thingy to the ground, breaking it apart. A crazed, wild-eyed look seemed to distort Harry's features, as a strong wind suddenly rose up from out of nowhere and tore through the tree they stood under. Every single leaf was violently wrenched off. Ron was confused as to what exactly was going on, but he thought it all terribly wicked!

As the Patronus began to retreat, Harry tried to speak. “Ron I...”

The redhead waved him off with a smile. “Go, go. You've got work to do,” he said as he affably brushed leaves out of his red hair.

Everything happened rapidly after that. Harry held out his hand and the fellytone, somehow completely unscratched, leapt back into it as if someone had hit reverse on the scene. The Firebolt rose in the air without its owner even summoning it, and Harry, who had retreated into autopilot, threw his leg over the broom; straddling the handle. In the pump of a heartbeat, he had launched himself in the air like a missile. Ron knew that even his top of the line, newly bought Nimbus wouldn't have been able to clock that kind of speed. Harry was obviously a man on a mission.

“JUST BE CAREFUL, POTTER!” shouted Ron, yelling his throat sore, as he watched the Harry shaped blur whiz out of sight.

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

After returning the house keys to Mr. Qwickley, and haggling over the asking price with the creaky old codger for a good half-hour, Ron decided to Apparate back to the Burrow rather than make the lengthy flight back to Catchpole by himself. Instead of entering directly into the house, he appeared right outside the door so that he could place a quick, private two-way call to Lavender before going inside. Her silence all day had begun to trouble him, but he soon found that his worrying from earlier had been for naught. Lavender seemed blissfully unaware of the Prophet article as she gave him a delightfully exuberant rundown of her trip, and informed him that she would be staying in Paris overnight so she could attend something called a trunk show at a famous Muggle fashion house the next day. After interestedly asking after his excursion with Harry and unreservedly telling Ron just how much she loved him, she signed off. With his fiancée's heart quickening words still ringing in his ears, Ron opened the door and entered the front parlor of the Burrow, practically singing out his arrival...

“I'm hungry enough to eat two adult Horn... tails.

... and was surprised to find the house virtually empty.

“Hey, where'd everybody go?”

“Shh,” went the two carrot topped midgets who were kneeling on the floor in front of the rose patterned couch; both hunched over the parchment and quill laden coffee table before them. After hushing Ron satisfactorily and giving him an aggrieved look, Marc and Leo's rapt attention went back up to the large wooden wireless set that they had been listening to before their uncle's disruptive arrival. It sat on a shelf next to the Burrow's wall clock. As the set's transmission crackled and hissed, the voice of the field reporter from the Wireless News Service carried through the room. In the background, almost drowning out the woman, could be heard the distant blaring of sirens, what sounded like a desperate, grief-stricken sort of a keening, and the mad clamor of voices steadily rising and clashing together in an almost maddening tumult.

“... YES, IT'S QUITE THE SCENE OUT HERE, ARMSTRONG. I'M SEEING REPRESENTATIVES FROM CATASTROPHES, CREATURES, AND... AND... YES, THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT HAS JUST ARRIVED.”

“JANUARY, DO YOU THINK YOU'LL BE ABLE TO INTERVIEW ONE OF THE AURORS?”

“ARMSTRONG, WHILE I DO HAVE A CONTACT INSIDE THE DEPARTMENT, IT DOESN'T LOOK GOOD AT THIS TIME. IT'S BEDLAM OUT HERE! THERE'S NOTHING BUT DISORDER, DISARRAY, AND DEVESTATION EVERY WHERE YOU TURN. THE BLAZE HAS FINALLY BEEN BROUGHT UNDER CONTROL, BUT THERE ARE A NUMBER OF EYEWITNESSES AND EVERYONE STILL SEEMS TO BE IN A PANIC. THE OBLIVIATORS ARE GOING TO HAVE QUITE THE TASK ON THEIR HANDS TODAY.”

“FROM WHAT I UNDERSTAND, JANUARY, THE MUGGLES HAVE A QUAINT OLD FABLE TELLING OF HOW THE LAST DRAGON OF CYMRU WAS SLAIN THERE.”

“IRONIC, ISN'T IT? ARMSTRONG, FROM WHERE I'M STANDING, YOU CAN PRACTICALLY CUT THROUGH THE SMELL OF BRIMSTONE AND CHARRED FLESH; THE TELL-TALE CALLING CARDS OF A DRAGON ATTACK. IT'S THAT THICK! ONCE AGAIN, LISTENERS, IF YOU ARE JUST TUNING IN, THE DARK WIZARD KNOWN AS CADMUS HAS STRUCK ONCE MORE. FROM WHAT I'VE BEEN ABLE TO PIECE TOGETHER SO FAR, THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS. I REPEAT, THERE ARE NO SURVIVORS.”

“Merde!” called an irate voice from the doorway of the kitchen.

Ron, who had still been standing in the doorway, listening to the report with interest, looked over to find his sister-in-law in the door frame that led into the kitchen; wand pointed before her. With a dainty flick of her wrist, the wireless was abruptly silenced.

“No more of zese!” she angrily whisper-shouted, advancing further into the room. Ron had almost feared that he was the unlucky recipient of her wrath until she marched straight up to her two sons and towered over them. She gave the two little boys such a terror-provoking glower that Ron was almost reminded of his own mother for a moment. “Eet does not turn back on until you are both finished wiz your lesson for ze day,” she fumingly told them.

Although they were rightfully terrified, Marc and Leo still chose not to roll over at their mother's building fury.

“But mum!”

“It was just getting good, mum!” whinged Marc. Ron had to agree. Silently, of course; a hacked off Fleur Weasley wasn't pleasant.

“En Français!” she screeched at her boys' childish dissent, even turning a little beaky in Ron's estimation. Every afternoon, for at least an hour a day, she tutored her two oldest children in the language of her birth. Although Marc was exceptionally bright, and Leo was generally a competent pupil, neither boy was a fan of the daily, mandatory sessions they were forced to endure. They preferred the thought of guzzling down bottles of doxycide to being made to conjugate verbs under their mother's veela-eyed supervision. It was only the threat of no dessert or nightly treat that got them to bow to Fleur's unbending will. And even then, there were just some evenings that they went to bed with no biscuits in their bellies. The headstrong little boys took any and every opportunity to avoid their French lessons. When Fleur had stepped out of the room for a minute, they had both skived off the assignment their mother had given them to listen to the wireless. That's how Ron had found them.

Finally noticing him standing there in the room, Fleur turned to find Ron silently observing the almost comical battle of wills. Lowering her wand, her ire quickly dampened at the sight of her brother-in-law and she greeted him with affection.

“Ah, Ronald. Salut ça va, mon ami?”

Ron's face screwed up in incomprehension. “Say wha–?”

Fleur smiled at his bewilderment. “You are well?” she asked as she came around to the couch, sat in the space between the boys, and began to inspect their work. She went through all of their parchments as she continued to speak. Marc and Leo were left to sulk in silent discontent as the two adults talked around them. “Your errand, eet went well?”

“Oh! Oh, yeah. Wee, wee and all that,” said Ron distractedly, earning from Fleur a humored smile. “Say, Fleur, where is everybody?” he asked as he walked from the door and approached his family members. “And when's dinner?” It hadn't escaped Ron's attention that the aroma of food being prepared was regrettably missing from the house.

“Dinner will be late, cher. Bill eez just waking ze leetle ones from zere naps, and your maman....”

Ron felt his heart fill with dread as he watched the blonde ominously raise a hand to her heart, as if pained, and pause to take a halting breath.

“DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TO MUM?!”

“Non, she eez in quite alright,” Fleur said quickly, clearing up the misunderstanding and allaying the panic that had seized him straightaway. “She eez wiz Glinda right now,” she informed him as she dropped the parchments in her hand back to the table.

Relieved, Ron finally let go of the breath he had been holding. “Mum floo'ed to Hogsmeade?”

Although Fleur had opened her mouth to answer, Leo beat her to it.

“Marc said that Auntie Glinda's friend got snuffed!”

Poor Marc could only stare at his kid brother in horror as the younger boy artlessly ratted him out.

“Marcel! Lionel!” Their mother was absolutely scandalized at her children's appallingly bad manners. However, before she could give them both a sound scolding, the 6 year old's freckled face perplexedly frowned.

“What does 'snuffed' mean, Uncle Ron?”

“...”

Mercifully, Fleur saved him the difficulty of having to answer. She gracefully held out a hand to Ron so that he could help heave her considerable bulk, heavy with child, off the sofa. After ordering the boys to continue with their lessons, she held Ron's hand as she walked him a few paces away from their young, eavesdropping audience.

“It's true, I'm afraid. Glinda... our Glinda, she 'as suffered a great loss,” whispered Fleur in a low toned, confidential manner once they stopped near the kitchen's entrance. “She got ze word zat a friend 'as perished.”

Ron was saddened to hear it. “Oh no, poor Glinda,” he said with concern. “Do we know 'em?” he apprehensively queried.

“Non. Eet eez probably only some Muggle,” Fleur dismissed with a haughty shake of her golden head.

“Oh.”

Once that was settled, a more pressing matter weighed in on Ron's mind. He was starved!

“You know Fleur,” began Ron, placing an arm around his sister-in-law's shoulder, “not counting my fiancée, you're the prettiest girl I know,” he said, buttering her up good and thick. The quarter veela lived for compliments.

“Ah, ze Weasley flattery; my greatest weakness,” she said with a shrewd smile. Although she certainly didn't doubt the compliment, she easily recognized a fast one when she heard it. Still, although she cared for all of Bill's brothers to varying degrees, young Ronald had somehow always held a special place in her affections; probably because of that one time he complimented her English so sweetly. As she said, she was a sucker for the Weasley flattery, even back then. “You are 'ungry? You wish me to fix somezzing?” she offered hospitably.

A wide smile took up the whole of Ron's face. “You would be my favorite sister if you did,” he said in answer, making her laugh.

“Well come wiz me, ma petite cochonne,” she said, patting his cheek. “You will 'ave ze traditional vily delicacy taught to me by my own grand-mère. Eet will rival anyzzing you 'ave ever 'ad,” she said, boastfully, as the two of them drifted into the kitchen.

Ron pulled a face at the news.

“Argh! Not the mushy aubergine again?!”

The sound of Fleur fussing in her lively, eclectic mix of English and French masked the gentle click of the wireless signal tuning back in. In her haste to tell Ron about Glinda and her poor nameless friend, Fleur had carelessly left her wand on the couch. It had fallen between the cushions where Marc plucked it from. With Leo playing lookout, Marc waited a good minute, then spoke the spell he had heard his gran use well over a dozen times to turn on the old wooden set. The little boy even executed the simple swish, swish, and flick to perfection; he had the true makings of a future Hogwarts Head Boy.

As the wireless crackled lowly, the two boys gathered just under its shelf and listened in as the news report was beginning to wrap up.

“...TRY ONE MORE TIME TO SPEAK WITH SOMEONE IN CHARGE. WISH ME LUCK. AUROR MALFOY... AUROR MALFOY... I'M JANUARY MCNICHOL WITH THE WIRELESS NEWS SERVICE. IS THERE ANYTHING YOU CAN TELL US ABOUT TODAY'S EVENTS, AUROR MALFOY? CAN YOU CONFIRM THE NUMBER OF CASUALTIES? IS POTTER'S POSSE ANY CLOSER TO APPREHENDING THE ROGUE WIZARD? AUROR MALFOY, A STATEMENT PLEASE!”

“PISS! OFF!”

“YES...WELL...AND THERE YOU HAVE IT, LISTENERS. ONCE AGAIN THIS IS JANUARY MCNICHOL REPORTING FROM THE SMOLDERING, BLACKENED RUINS OF WHAT WAS ONCE THE ZABINI COMPOUND IN NEWCASTLE EMLYN, WALES. ALTHOUGH IT HASN'T BEEN VERIFIED YET, OUR SOURCES TELL US THAT IT IS SAFE TO SAY THAT ANYONE WHO HAD BEEN IN THE HOUSE WHEN IT WENT UP IN FLAMES IS NOW DEAD. THERE IS NO HOPE THAT ANYONE COULD HAVE SURVIVED AT THIS POINT. THERE IS NO TELLING WHEN THIS SENSELESS BLOODSHED WILL END, ARMSTRONG. THERE'S NO TELLING IF IT WILL EVEN END. RIGHT NOW, THERE'S JUST NO TELLING ANYTHING.”

The two boys turned to look at each other in wonder at the unpromising pronouncement.

“MAY MERLIN HELP US ALL...”

A/N: Next up is Draco's POV. Potter's Posse arrives at Blaise & Amparo's too late, Draco pays a visit to the person in Room 39, Janus Thickey ward, and something gets said that sets off Potter/Malfoy Brawl '05. I'm sure you would prefer the next chapter be a H/Hr POV (there's still the little matter of a confession to deal with), but trust me when I say something happens in the next chapter that will make it well worth the wait.

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Sydney Spellman, Lorkin Finch, Calpurnia Finch, Erasmus, the Spirære witch, Old Lady Qwickley, Quintus Qwickley, Caedmon Dimwiddie, Armstrong Heath, and January McNichol are canon.

2) The Rape of the Spirære Women is a homage to The Rape of the Sabine Women.

3) A bucca is a goblin-like creature from out of English folklore.

4) In European legend a fairy ring is a gateway to a magical kingdom, or a place where magical creatures gather to dance.

5) According to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, a glumbumble is a furry insect whose secretions cause melancholy.

6) I know the hiding place I chose for Slytherin's Locket was a bit far-fetched, but once the image of a piece of Voldemort's soul being up a house-elf's arse entered my head, I couldn't let it go. My head is a scary place to be. LOL! Ironically the Locket was the Horcrux the Order traded back to Voldemort in order to get Ron back after he was captured during the Battle of Hogsmeade (chapter 10).

7) The movie Ron was doing a terrible job of describing to Harry was Jane Eyre.

8) French translations…

Merde!= Shit!

En Français.= In French.

Salut ça va, mon ami?= Hello. How are you, my friend?

ma petite cochonne= my little piggy(a term of endearment, but works for Ron's appetite as well. lol.)

9) Cymru is Welsh for Wales. The legend of the final dragon in Wales being slain in Newcastle Emlyn is actually a real tale. When I read about it I thought it would make a perfect place for Cadmus to attack.

10) For the purpose of this story, Penelope was a Head Girl and Fleur was the equivalent at Beauxbatons. I think canon allows me to squeak that one by. And if not...eh. I also had to take some liberties with the wizarding history because I just can not access the Lexicon for some reason.

11) The Pendleton Publishing Prize, theconcept of Erasmus' Due, the Raptio Spell, Belladonna's Blight, Crones disease, Redementirs, Spiræres, Redfern, the toy sore Dimwiddie's Dolls, Doodads, and Doodles, Madame Marinska's Beginner's Crystal Ball, the Li'l Witch Potion Kit, Hogwarts Castle dollhouse, and The Joys of Spellbinding Lovemaking book are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review.

26. Chapter21a

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 15,279

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: None. I was under the gun to get this to y’all. All mistakes are totally mine.

WARNING: There are two. First; there is some strong, past one-sided D/Hr. Y’all know the drill. If you are extremely sensitive to it, this one might make you antsy. But I think it just might be worth it to suffer through it to see what actually happens. Two; because of the size of the file I had to break 21 up in two parts. I’m really unhappy about it because I’m not sure if it reads well as a part A&B. Please let me know what you think. And one last thing, if you remember back to Chapter 05 the scene where Harry walks in on Draco and Hermione in a compromising position, the D/Hr flashback here takes place 15 to 20 minutes before it. Happy reading and Happy New Year. Enjoy!

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.

Sunday, 6/12/05

“Do not make direct eye contact with the patient. Do not sneak contraband into the patient's room. If the patient becomes violent, do not attempt to restrain the patient. No conjuring, summoning, scrying; no magic whatsoever. Do not over stimulate the patient. That includes, but is not limited to hugging, rubbing, and/or touching the patient…”

The blond raised his head from where it had been dazedly tossing back and forth on the counter top. “So I suppose that means fisting is out of the question then?” he arrogantly drolled.

The stern faced, ecru robed witch with the little white badge pinned to it that read, H.H.A. Hatchett, eyed the young man severely. She then returned to reading the parchment she held in her right hand.

“Failure to comply with any of these prescripts–”

“Will get me tossed on my arse. Yes, I know this already, Hatchett. I remember these rules from the last four or five times I came to see him. Are we done here yet?!”

The Head Healer's Assistant stared at the scoundrel opposite her for only a second, before she began droning on again in her atonal voice.

“Do not make direct eye contact with the patient. Do not smuggle contraband in to the patient's room. If the patient becomes violent–”

“ARG!” yelled her truly disgruntled audience in frustration. He had been standing at her desk for the last fifteen minutes and had yet to receive permission to escape her reproving eye. “JUST GIVE ME THE BLOODY QUILL, WOMAN!”

Although her starchy outward countenance gave nothing away, on the inside Silence Hatchett practically squawked with glee. She couldn't stand the churlish, pinch faced beast standing before her and really didn't give a damned if he knew it. Besides having the manners worthy of a wood louse, she was convinced that he also had the indecent morals of a tomcat that was perpetually on the prowl, so she treated him accordingly. Since having the displeasure of making the licentious lothario’s acquaintance, she had lost no less than four promising, yet highly impressionable trainee Assistants to his insatiable appetite.

The first three had been dismissed on the spot after being caught doing unrepeatable things in a toilet stall, an empty patient's room, and a supply closet off the Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Memorial Wing, respectively. The fourth young witch, unquestionably the prettiest and the dimmest, had been an outpatient of the Mnemosyne Clinic for Memory Modification these last four years. After receiving no floo call or owl post the day after what could have only been a truly unforgettable tryst, the silly little chit had tried a complex, and as yet unproven spell to extract the memory herself claiming no other lover would have ever been able to live up to it.

After that, Silence began to employ her own set of strict hiring practices when taking on new (and less comely) trainee Assistants; much to the discontent of many of the male Healers on her ward. Although it had been awhile since the blond rapscallion had been back to darken her desk again, and even though she had it on good authority that the cur had a long-term and undoubtedly sainted girlfriend these last few years, Silence was still wary of him. As she handed him her own albatross feather quill to use, the squint eyed look she gave him let him know that under no certain terms was she going to allow him to pull any of his usual shenanigans this day, especially not with her latest protégé.

“I hope you know, Auror Malfoy, I've got my eyes on you,” said the white haired witch, turning her head as she leaned over to place the visitor's sign-in sheet in its appropriate place.

In reply, Draco grabbed his crotch.

Trainee Costigan's abrasive, immature cackle made Silence quickly look back to see what had inspired the fleeting outburst of mirth, but finding only her apprentice studiously scribbling in her daily assignment log at the desk, and the blond miscreant's cold, blank eyed expression peering back at her, she shrugged it off and hurried over to catch the barking, dog faced patient that had escaped her room when no one was looking, and who was chasing after the Healer's Assistant who usually handed out the patients' post each day.

“I've got my eye on you too, Auror Malfoy,” said Trainee Costigan with a piercing, sugary giggle as Draco began to walk away from the desk; heading for the corridor that would take him to where the long-term care rooms were. The Auror’s prowess out of uniform, not to mention his predilection for young, female Healer’s Assistants, was legendary around the hospital’s venerated halls.

Never breaking stride at the sound of his name, Draco pivoted around and delivered a devastating, white toothed smile to his rather homely looking admirer.

“If only I wasn't already spoken for,” he said with skillful charm, hand to heart, making the empty-headed bint nearly drool all over herself at his gallantry. “And was blind, you cow,” he callously added after he turned the corner into the hallway, disappearing from her view. Great Grindelwald's Ghost, the girl, if that's what passed for females these days, had a face like a slapped arse, thought Draco piteously, sticking his tongue out in revulsion.

As he stalked down the corridor, the way lighted by the crystal bubbles that floated high upon the ceiling like soapsuds, his scarlet robes billowing out about him with each leaden step, Draco could barely keep himself from snarling at anyone and everyone he passed; Healers, patients, and busybody portraits alike.

He was simply in an ugly mood. He had lost valuable time dealing with hatchet-faced Hatchett and her little pet trog, and the current task he had set before him wasn't really doing much to help lighten his disposition. He was supposed to be sitting at his desk right now, actually; it had been his unlucky lot to be scheduled on duty the day after the Ball. But thanks to the Head Healer's Hag, and her apparent hard-on for him, when the next one of Scrimgeour's stooges came looking for him at his cubicle, they would find only Jacoby there, manning the incoming reports like Draco had swayed, more like bullied, the newbie Auror into doing.

Evidently his Loony Love's latest investigative piece had caused such a stir within the Ministry’s inner sanctum, that the hunt was now on in earnest to uncover the name of the inside snitch before he (Draco was pretty damned sure it was a bloke) could leak anything more vital and damaging to the current administration. All morning long he'd had to suffer the company of arse lickers and other assorted sycophants smiling in his face every time he turned around to so much as drain the dragon. Draco couldn't understand why they bothered, though. Even if he knew the identity of Luna's “Deep Wand”, it's not like he would ever tell. It was as simple as that. There were only three people in this world that had ever deservedly earned Draco Malfoy's undying loyalty. Of course the woman he had grown to love more than his own life was one of them; to Hell with guarantees of advancement and incalculable glory!

Hermione was the second. He had meant it when he had pledged to help his friend do battle with the affliction she had lived with since she was just a girl of seventeen. Although his best efforts to keep Potter at a distance had mostly been in vain; the woman seemed pretty much incapable of keeping her damned self away from Bangs Boy, though he supposed it couldn't be helped considering she loved the git, Draco's main concern from the very beginning had always been to find out all he could about the Discordium that she had imbibed.

After hearing her story, something had told him that there was much more to the mysterious excraptio than even Hermione knew of. After all, that branch of potion making wasn't all that well documented. Maybe that shriveled shrew Pomfrey didn't know shite what she was talking about; it was well passed time they put that hoary old sow out to graze! Draco was convinced that there just had to be something they were missing. Discordium sounded very dark, and Draco Malfoy knew of dark things. But he also believed that if he could crack its secret code, he would be able to save his friend from the wretched half-life she had suffered through since falling into its trap. That was what had truly brought him out to Mongo's, and that was what spurred him on to the room he was now trudging towards.

Interestingly enough, it had been Potter who had tipped him to the fact that he might find the answers he was seeking in room 39. It just went to show that the idiot was good for something; obviously Potter, in no shape or form, was the one other person Draco felt he owed any fealty to. Sure Four-eyes was his partner, and maybe...just maybe he didn't hate the ponce as much as he usually let on; that didn't negate the fact that Draco found himself fighting off the compulsion to punch Potty in his self-righteous mug every time he opened his mouth these days. The bastard just thought he knew everything; particularly when it came to Hermione. Draco would have been lying if he denied that the thought of throwing it in Potter's face how wrong he was hadn't crossed his mind. Daily; actually. But since he had practically promised the distressed woman that he would take her secret to the grave, Draco did his best to simply hold his peace. It was so very hard at times, though.

Finally reaching his destination, Draco placed his hand on the door handle. However he took a moment to take a breath, and prepare for what he might find once he turned the knob. He owed his life to the man on the other side of the door, so he had to beat back the passing bolt of shame that shot through him at the recognition that it had been a good long while since he had last come to call. Almost three years, in fact. Though it was selfish of him, it had just begun to become too difficult to continue to look upon what his own fate might have been if not for different choices made way back when.

Still, Draco knew he owed this visit to the man. He owed it to Hermione, as well. If there was something in that room that could help his friend, he damned sure wasn't going to let such silly frippery as guilt hamper him now. So he gathered up all his courage, a virtue not solely owned by ruddy Gryffindors, contrary to popular belief, and opened the door. At the sight of the tiny, shrunken wizard sitting by the room's only window, barely lit by the grainy streaks of sunlight that struggled through the dusty, dingy glass, Draco somehow managed to eke out a fainthearted smile and announced his presence to his awaiting host.

“Hello, Severus.”

Horrified. He was simply horrified as he sat and listened to everything his professor and Head of House was telling him.

After getting passed the school gates, he had Apparated to Spinner's End as Snape had commanded him to do while they were fleeing Potter's heated pursuit. There had been that split second there where Draco had wondered why the two of them were disobeying the Dark Lord's orders and not going to the intended meeting point that had been prearranged, but he ignored the momentary instance of reservation and decided to just sit back and let the whole thing play out. He'd rely on his fellow cohort to get him to the next step; the professor hadn't failed him so far. On the other hand, Draco had been so very scared at the time that he probably would have laid all of his trust in that brute of a Gamekeeper if given the option. Now he had to wonder if out of all of the colossal missteps he had taken this year, if he had just made the biggest one of them all.

The Dark Lord's “inside man” wasted little time getting right to business as he divulged all to the bewildered teenager. It had been decided early on that Snape would have to be the one to deliver the Killing Curse to Dumbledore when the time came. Though the Unbreakable Vow had been a troubling angle, in the long run it did serve its purpose by cementing Snape's place with the Dark Lord's faction; removing any doubts whose side the professor was on. Hah!

After that, saving Draco's life had become paramount. Both men knew that the Slytherin youth would not be able to fulfill the Dark Lord's request. Not because he was a coward, but because, as Dumbledore had said before, Draco was not a killer. As the teenager's few botched attempts had went on to show, his heart just wasn't in it. But if the Headmaster did not die, Draco would. So the choice had been a simple one to make in the end.

As Draco tried to come to grips with all of it; the price that had been paid to save his hide, all that had been sacrificed to salvage his pitiful soul, Snape dropped the biggest bombshell of them all on him. It was now time for Draco to make his own decision, informed the professor; eternal servitude to Lord Voldemort or the chance to be his own man by fighting along side the members of the Order of the Phoenix.

“Look at it, young Draco,” said the cunning traitor, setting eyes as dark as pitch firmly upon the frightened boy. He rolled up the tattered sleeve of his robes and displayed the skull and snake twisting through it on his left forearm; the Mark that declared to all who he belonged to. It still burned black; possibly signaling the Dark Lord's growing impatience with the two laggards.

Draco was to have received his own Mark upon completion of his assigned task. Now he could only cower at the thought of what he would be rewarded with instead.

“See it, boy. Know it for what it really is. Is this what you really want? Is this the grand laurel you've worked so hard to attain? To be marked as chattel? To have no desire that is truly your own? To live this half-life I've been forever condemned to? Chose wisely, son, because you are fast approaching the crossroads and there is little time left. You've always claimed to be a leader, superior; so much above all those surrounding you. Well, here's your chance to finally prove it. Make the choice your own father was too weak-minded to make. Make the choice that I was too blinded by hate and vengeance to see until it was too late. Just know that after tonight, you might never have the chance again.”

As the professor continued to speak, telling him of hidden cups made of gold and magical compasses that could find them, Draco began to weep; inconsolably almost. He cried the way only the very young can when disillusioned and forced to accept for the first time the firm evidence that the world did not in fact revolve around them. Because it had finally begun to hit home with the teen; he was nothing more than a pawn. Despite all of his posturing and his general high opinion of himself, he had always been nothing but someone's pawn. First his father’s whenever the elder Malfoy chose to either trot his son out as some credit to his own accomplishments or banish him when easily displeased with the boy. Then he became the Dark Lord's patsy; an expendable cog in his machine of destruction.

Hell, that old coot Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him now, even from the grave. The professor detailed to him the plan that had been set in place already for him to retrieve something called a “Horcrux”, and use it to buy his way into the Order's good graces before one of them turned him into a blackened, greasy stain on the carpet in retaliation for the blond’s treachery. That is, if he decided to throw his lot in with the side of Light.

In a way, supposed Draco bitterly, he had even been Saint Potter's pawn all this time; existing for the sole purpose of making that tosser look good.

It was that final notion that drove Draco to decisively settle on a side. His. He would fight for the only cause he wholeheartedly believed in, because no one else ever would. He was tired of his destiny always being in the hands of others; he was ready to shake things up and prove once and for all that the name “Draco Malfoy” was not one to be taken lightly. And if that meant treading down a path he had never believed open to him before, well; that is what he would do. Because he would never be anyone's puppet again, he told himself as he dried the last of his tears on his shirt cuffs and wiped brutally at his leaking nose. He would make sure of that; for in the end, he was a Malfoy. And he was better than all of this.

So by time the harbinger rays of dawn stretched lazily across the early morning sky, Draco Malfoy, for perhaps the first time in his wayward existence, chose what was right (without really meaning to).

Draco stepped tentatively away from the door and made his way further into the room.

“Severus, you're looking…”

The trite compliment wouldn't even deign to pass his painfully stretched lips. Self-contempt nearly blackened Draco's vision before he drove it to the side.

“...you're looking,” he finished awkwardly, continuing to speak to the person that had once been Severus Snape.

The gaunt looking wizard at the window didn't acknowledge him. Then again, that was nothing new.

“I brought you something, but shh...don't tell,” said the young man, making his voice into a serviceable imitation of pleasantry, as he reached into his robes and pulled out the small, concealed object he had smuggled in; right under Hatchett's veiny nose. After placing it on a badly scarred wooden writing desk nearby, and restoring it to its natural size, he turned back and smiled feebly as he revealed it to his awaiting company. White, snowy, fan-like blossoms stood well above a cluster of dark green, oval leaves, inside of a cheap looking ceramic flowerpot.

It was a house plant.

Draco momentarily frowned at the sheer absurdity of the gesture, but chose to ignore how foolish he felt as he uneasily fell into idle chatter.

“Bought it off of that Dumbottom clod,” he said, sneering. “He called it a peace plant. He said that Muggles find comfort or something from them.”

As it had in the store when the fat shop clerk had said it, the simplistic sounding platitude made Draco's nose flare disdainfully. A potted Devil's Snare would have made a far better offering in his opinion. Sure it would have eventually throttled Severus in his sleep, but anything was better than some poofy shrub, he thought lamentably. It was too late to do anything about it now, though.

“Then again, I've never pretended to understand how ridiculous Muggles can be at times,” he offhandedly continued, slipping his wand back into his robes. “I thought I'd bring you something, though; brighten up the place a bit.”

Draco gave his surroundings a cursory glance and did his best to curb his involuntary shiver. Nothing much, however, had changed since his last visit. The modest sized cot was still pushed in its corner furthest from the window, and the spartan, homespun throw rug was laid out in the middle of the room where it had always been, though it begged for a good beating. Besides the time ravaged desk, a rather wobbly looking, web covered bookshelf on the right hand wall, and the chair Severus sat on, the room held little else in means of adornment. No photographs. No cards of well wishes. There was nothing of warmth at all. Other than Draco, himself, and his rather puny looking donation, the room felt devoid of any other forms of life. It was just as deadened, dull, and deserted as the tenant that called it home.

“So…uh, yeah,” muttered Draco ineffectually. He began to distractedly fiddle with the leaves of the plant. “I know it's been awhile.”

His eyes strayed to where Severus was sitting, but quickly cut away as if the sight of the man pained him. He let go of the leaf he had been nervously fondling and hurriedly clasped both hands behind his back.

“Sorry about that. It's just that I've been keeping terribly busy,” he said in way of apology, eyes lowered to the floor. “My Loony Love has been keeping me on my toes as of late.” He smiled at the mere thought of her, unable to keep himself from doing so. “You remember Luna, don't you?”

The stillness of the room seemed to swallow the query.

“Of course you do,” Draco answered for his host. He cut his eyes towards the window and quickly went back to studying the floor.

He distractedly began to pace.

“Luna Lovegood isn't the kind of witch one easily forgets,” he said, tone jocose. “Well, it's been three years now. I'm pretty sure it's serious.” He then confidingly added, “I've even bought a ring.”

He paused as if awaiting some form of rebuke or jeer from the seated man. Needless to say Draco would have been more shocked than angered if one had come.

“A real posh one too,” he grandiosely continued on with a haughty smirk. “It even comes with its own appellation and everything; I only bother with the best. Of course…I haven't given it to her yet,” he insecurely sighed as he came to a halt in the middle of the room, ashamed almost of his irrational fear that his girlfriend would laugh and throw the shiny bauble back in his face. He knew she wasn't ready for the Malfoy Pearl, but the thought that Luna wasn't ready for anything else was a concern that hadn't eluded him. That's why he hadn't given her the damned snorkack ring yet, despite the fact that it had practically been burning a hole in his pocket for weeks.

He had it on him even now.

“The Ministry has been keeping me very busy as well,” he said, changing the subject abruptly to something a little less personal and far less perilous to discuss.

His company didn't protest.

“You just can't slouch on the job if you plan to be Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement someday,” shared Draco genteelly, and in a somewhat presumptuous tone. “I was born to be a Malfoy, not an underling. You see, that's where my father first went wrong,” he rather matter-of-factly stated, leaving no room for argument.

As he talked, Draco began to discreetly inspect the room. He needed to find that Advanced Potion-Making book and there was no point in squandering his time further with an invalid; gossiping like a couple of hens and painting each other’s toes. He didn't have all day to waste.

Never looking towards the window, Severus’ guest strolled over to the wall where the bookshelf hung. Despite his displeasure at having to sully his freshly laundered uniform, he brushed at the cobwebs and dust that had amassed there with his robed arm, then blew over it to get at the remains. That small gesture seemed to almost make the shelf collapse, taking the books that it bore down with it. However the crudely built projection teetered unsteadily for only a second, before it ultimately held. Once Draco was sure that the damned thing wouldn't just disintegrate into nothingness, he leaned forward to inspect the titles as he unceasingly rambled on.

“Did I ever tell you about how I made it all the way up from fourth string to the Second Squad in little less than a year?” Not really expecting a response, either way, from his host, he boastfully filled him in anyway. “That old Mad-Eye had said that it was the quickest clamber up the ladder he had ever seen.” Draco even squared his shoulders proudly at the account.

They then sagged.

“Of course soon after Potter the wunderkind waltzed in and was pretty much handed the Squad Leader position on a silver platter,” he resentfully groused, continuing his one-sided dialog. “I mean, sure he's good…but—”

His lips curled in revolt, forcing him to discontinue the thought. Draco begrudgingly respected his partner's work ethic when they toiled over whatever shite assigned mission Hanes dished out to them or when they went out in the field together, side by side, on some covert operation. Whatever the Gryffindor lacked in intellect, thought Draco meanly, he more than made up for with his usually infallible hair trigger instincts and often heart-stopping demonstrations of guts and derring-do.

Though on the whole the Second Squad consisted of a good group of lads and skirts, there was no other Auror on his team that Draco would have rather had backing him up in a trice; certainly not the dickless Jacoby, that snitch Krispens, or either of the smarmy, bootlicking Sweets! His partner was a credit to the Department; it was beneath Draco to belittle that simple truth. That didn't mean he had to go slobbering over arseface's balls about it, though.

“You remember how he was back then,” Draco went on, confidingly; reaching out to trace a gloved finger down the faded and encrusted spine of what looked like an old, worn textbook.

As his fingers perfunctorily flicked away the grime they had collected, his eyes stared unseeingly before him.

“He always wins; Quidditch matches, house cups, fancy and important sounding titles. Even when he doesn't want to…even when he isn't trying…he wins. It was maddening! That prat was always getting in my way,” grumbled Draco sourly. “There was a time when I would have given anything to be the one person who denied Harry Potter something he really wanted.”

His melancholy voice musingly trailed off.

“Anything…”

As if suddenly remembering where he was and what he had been about, Draco gave his head a good shake to clear away the rancorous miasma that had taken control of his thoughts. He removed the book he had previously been pawing from the shelf and took a gander at its front cover. He then irritably shoved it back from whence it came. It had been a very outdated edition of Hogwarts: A History.

“Bah! It's all ancient history now,” he tetchily proclaimed, moving on to the next book. Although he couldn't decipher much off of the battered spine, he could make out a few washed out letters here and there. 'A...Po...king', it said.

Pay dirt!

“Besides, my partner and I get along well enough these days,” divulged Draco, smiling to himself triumphantly as he pulled the book off the shelf. He fairly performed a victory two-step on the spot. “Believe it or not, every so often Potter does manage to come through,” he said smugly.

He then opened the tome to its title page.

“THAT SNEAKY SON OF A DEMENTOR!” bellowed the blond as he ripped the crumbling dust jacket away to reveal what was hidden beneath it; Potterdise Lost: The Mostly True Tale of The Boy Who Lived.

Draco's eyebrows came together in consternation as he began to plot out in his head his partner's slow and tortuously agonizing demise. He wasn't exactly sure how he was going to go about it, but he knew somehow it would involve a Never-Ending Bowel Expelling Curse, with a sweet little hex thrown in that would make the git's bollocks swell to twice the size and consistency of regulation sized Bludgers just for kicks! He was going to murder that bastard, Draco demonstratively seethed.

For all of the blond's howling and teeth gnashing, Severus never budged an inch.

Haphazardly tossing the absurd piece of trash to the side, Draco began yanking the remaining volumes from where they sat as he hunted like mad through them for the Half-Blood Prince's book. The Slytherin was almost frantic as he hurled them here and there, not even bothering to look where they landed. Magical Knitting & Other Sew-Sew Spells, Who’s Afraid of the Dark Lord, Turn Your Coal to Gold: Alchemy Made Easy, What Witches Want; Draco never stopped to question why a fellow who was pretty much a cabbage would have these odd and varied titles in his possession in the first place, he just wondered where in the hell the Sixth Year potion textbook could be or if Potter had been pulling his leg all the while.

Losing all pretenses of calm and comportment, Draco began to search the small room more thoroughly. He even got down on his hands and knees on the grotty looking floor to sweep his arm under the bed after his Summoning Spell failed to produce any results. He came up with zilch.

“WHERE IS THAT GODDAMNED BOOK?!” he thundered, nearly pulling the few hairs on his closely shorn scalp out in his fury. His head whipped back and forth wildly, practically willing the book to leap out at him before he tore the room apart brick by brick. It was only when Draco nearly upended the desk and the house plant atop it in his mindless rage, that his eyes finally fell fully on his old teacher, and he noticed for the first time the item that was held, almost as if in a death grip, in the man's dry, papery-skinned hands. It was a book.

Draco eyes closed in relief. He needed no soothsaying skills to tell him that it was just the page-turner he had been looking for.

Well maybe he wouldn't be making Potter shite himself to death today, thought the Slytherin benevolently.

He then cautiously approached his target. It's not as though he expected the frail, dried-up man to jump out of his seat and suddenly take 100 points from his house or something. The likelihood of the professor doing such a preposterous thing, even when he had all of his wits about him was practically nil; Draco had just learned never to assume anything when dealing with one Severus Snape. Even now, when all of the Healers and experts had pretty much pronounced Severus' case incurable, there still seemed to be something of the old Potion Master still lurking inside those black, furtive eyes of his. Of course it could have just been wishful thinking on Draco's part, but he knew of no other way to explain the way Severus' whitened knuckles sat rigidly around the tome in his lap. Not even Draco's cry of, “Accio potion book”, had dislodged it from its owner’s hold.

As Draco knelt before his former professor, bending on one knee, he had the pleasure of an up-close and disheartening view of just how badly Severus had deteriorated in the seven years since the War had ended. He appeared to be as neglected as his surroundings. Though the long, stringy hair Draco remembered always being thick with grease looked to be relatively clean, it had also prematurely grayed since the last time he had come to visit.

Severus also appeared to be wasting away. Though never what one would have considered a large man, the Professor had never looked to be made of nothing more than tautly stretched skin pulled snugly over poorly erected bones as he did now. The dusty, threadbare patient robes he wore practically swam around his emaciated frame. The shoddy garment greatly offended the dapperly dressed young man examining them, but Draco conceded that it was probably hard to get top-notch attention and care when you had murdered quite possibly one of the most highly regarded wizards of the age, despite your reasons for doing it.

The one and only attribute that Severus had to recommend him now was his face; even with the long, hooked nose that nearly dominated the rest of his newly deep-set features. Though greatly aged more than his 45 years would suggest, his blank, expressionless face gave off the impression of placidity and calm; two words that had never been previously associated with the man before. Finally freed from the dark shroud of duplicity that had always hung over him, and his constant state of always being at dual-purposes, Severus had finally found in his infirmed state what had been denied him all the days of his good health; a semblance of peace.

This was the first time that Draco had really taken the opportunity to seriously study the wizard seated in front of him. The few times Draco had come to visit in the past he had made it a point never to look directly on the professor; one of the few asinine rules of Hatchett's he actually observed. He usually stared at the floor, the wall, or took the time to examine the finely buffed fingernails he always kept immaculately clean, as he spent the paltry five minutes he generally allotted to these outings talking to the patient as though he could actually still understand what was being said to him. Then Draco would make his weak excuses, make a hasty retreat, and go and make whatever tart was readily available scream out his name as quickly as possible as he desperately tried to prove that he was alive; that he was whole, sane, and still the person he knew himself to be. But those shallow attempts at trying to purge from his conscious thoughts what his Aunt Bella had done, never really did any good.

There were many mysteries that surrounded the life of Severus Snape that Draco had long accepted would always remain unsolved; what had led him to become a Death Eater, what drove him into camp Do-Gooder in the end, or why such a gifted wizard had never looked into a good teeth whitening charm when he’d had the chance. Draco would never even know what peril had befallen Severus after the young Slytherin crept out of Spinner's End to begin his long journey to Durmstrang to retrieve the Cup that fateful day. He could only imagine the corrections that would have been meted out to the professor when he showed back up at Death Eater central with no young charge at his side. But they had already worked out a cover story beforehand in case the Dark Lord bothered to ask questions first or after.

Draco never knew if the lie that he had overpowered his Head of house after becoming fearful of what punishment awaited him, then gutlessly ran off into the night, had worked. But just in case the Dark Lord took the time to look for evidence of it, Severus had had him perform the Cruciatus Curse on him a few times so the Occlumens could have the specific images ready to show his master if needed. Although Draco's first two attempts had been rather lackluster, by time Severus had cruelly and craftily threatened to arrange for Narcissa Malfoy to be offered up to those two sick fucks, the Carrows, as a toy, instead of helping get her to their family in Geneva like he had already pledged, Draco was able to throw out a Crucio like he really meant it.

While Draco understandably never knew what had happened to the man right after he last saw him, he would learn from Hermione, in great detail, how Severus had ended up as this hollow shell by time he laid eyes on him again. She had been at Potter's side when the Prat Who Lived barreled his way into Azkaban Fortress to face Lord Voldemort for the sixth and final time. After avoiding a close scrape with two battling werewolves, the Disillusioned Gryffindors had run smack dab into their former teacher. Before Potter the hothead could attack the man, Hermione revealed to both of them, without delay, that she had known that the double agent had been Draco's silent partner, almost right from the start. Despite all proof to the contrary, Severus had always remained true to the Order. Oh how Draco regretted not being a spider on the wall to see the look on Potter's face when he had heard that one!

In his usual taciturn way, Severus hustled the teens to where Slytherin's Locket was being kept, telling them of how part of the Dark Lord's soul was encased inside it and needed to be unleashed if Potter had any chance of defeating his enemy. Having finally become aware that the Order knew about his little side project with the Horcruxes, Lord Voldemort took no chances with the last one he had blackmailed the Order into releasing to him. It was bricked up in a room under heavy guard of several dementors who hadn't fed in weeks.

When Potter had idiotically raised his wand as if to blast through the barrier himself, Severus had nearly petrified the wanker on the spot. Hermione had had a hell of a time keeping the two of them from killing each other before Lord Voldemort got a crack at it himself. Severus nastily informed them that he would be the one getting the Locket while the two of them waited out in the hall for him. When Hermione voiced aloud concern that he would never be able to take on ten dementors all by himself, Severus had laughingly told her in a voice made of ice that he had no happy memories or joyous emotions on which to dine. The creatures would find little interest in him, he foretold.

Severus got into the room by making the bricks penetrable. Though the two Gryffindors would never be quite sure what happened on the other side of that wall, by time Severus passed back through, shaken and white as a sheet, he'd had the now opened Locket in hand. Unfortunately he had walked right into a trap. With the discovery of the beheaded vampire guards who guarded Azkaban into the early dawn, an alert went out throughout the fortress and to all the Death Eaters that their stronghold had been breached. If the knowledge that there were now enemies amongst them wasn't enough to cause alarm, the remaining werewolf rampaging through the halls, killing all in his path had pretty much sent everything into chaos.

A retinue of the Dark Lord's minions, led by Aunt Bella, was sent out to find the cause of the disturbance, and when they encountered their fresh faced adversaries, they easily got the drop on the outnumbered teenagers. This was the scene that Severus had the bad luck to stumble back onto. The strength of the Crucio that Aunt Bella leveled out at the man was so powerful that he actually lifted into the air and fell back through the charmed bricks behind him. She then un-enchanted the wall, trapping him, and cackled with delight as her entourage led their prisoners away.

After the War ended and Severus was later admitted into St. Mungo's, his Healers were never able to tell what had done the most damage; the nasty Unforgiveable that broke his mind almost instantly or the beginning of the dementor's kiss he had received before the foul and surprisingly discerning creature decided it wasn't worth it to finish the job.

Draco reached out a hand to ease the book out of the two withered hands that held it.

It wouldn't budge.

After a few more failed attempts to remove it from out of his benefactor's astonishingly strong grasp, Draco's chin dropped to his chest as he tried to sustain his nerve. When barely a minute had passed, he raised his head and began to speak aloud; hoping that if there was anything still left of Severus Snape inside of the empty husk that bore his name, that portion of him would hear his former pupil's desperate appeal now.

“Please, Severus,” he said beseechingly, “I need your help again. I need this book.”

He rested a hand lightly atop the cover, nearly brushing against the skeletal, yet unyielding fingers that belonged to the other man. Compassionately he stared at them for a moment, then raised his arctic-like eyes back to his old professor's sunken face; unmindful of the suppliant expression his own bore.

“I swear to you on my life that I'll give it right back.” The vow was free of deceit. “There's just this girl—this woman, you see; she's in bad shape, Severus. I really do think she's in trouble and the Half-Blood prince may be the only person who can save her now. I think the answers I need are in this book. Please help me,” Draco pleaded, not really caring how he sounded as the strength of his voice seemed to weaken under the heft of his scattershot emotions.

He felt as though he had a boulder residing in his chest and couldn't quite work it down, no matter how hard he strained.

“You saved me,” Draco said plainly, somehow managing a tremulous smile. “You gave me back my life when I didn't even know it was lost. Help me give Hermione back hers,” he entreated. “You see, she called me friend when by all rights she should have cursed my name. I'll forever be beholden to her for that,” said Draco; the sincerity behind the words he spoke surprising even himself. “Just as I am indebted to you to this day,” he continued. “You fulfilled every promise my mother asked of you; even though it cost you much to do so. For that you'll always have my constancy. I know I'll never be able to repay what I owe you, but I can do something for her. Please let me do this for her.”

His voice treacherously cracked again.

“Please, Severus…”

The professor never stirred as the book slipped seamlessly into Draco's hands.

Mechanically he removed the false dust jacket and dropped the paper covering to the floor. As he walked his fingers across the battered hardcover of Advanced Potion-Making, Draco expressed his gratitude.

“Thank you.”

Then flipped the book open and lowered his head to read.

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

Draco stormed down the hall, determinedly striding towards Mungo's special access grate. It was designated solely for Ministry staff use and was only to be utilized by the Aurors when on Department business. Misuse of the right would earn one a fine and a write-up in their Ministry personnel file.

Draco didn't give a shite! He had places to be and he didn't have the time or luxury to go titting about it! If he had been in a volatile mood when he first showed up at the hospital, he was now near the point of biting off the head of the next poor, luckless bastard who had the misfortune of getting a little too close to his personal space. He practically shoved people out of his way in his mad dash to get to his destination. He didn't even hear what that fishwife at the front desk was bitching about as he sprinted past her desk.

He needed to get to Hermione.

No. No; not yet. He hadn't figured out just what he was going to say to her just yet. Hell, he was still trying to process it all himself.

He should talk to Luna first, he anxiously told himself. Luna could help him figure this all out. She would tell him the right step to take next.

Or maybe…maybe he should tell Potte—

Before he could even complete the notion, he was boiling with indignation at the very idea.

No, thought Draco numbly, a good pub was all he needed; one with a sturdy stool to support his weight as he drank himself into a bloody blind stupor. Because if what he had just read held even the slightest grain of truth…FUCK! ALL!

Draco now had a pretty good idea what price Hermione had had to pay to destroy the Cup Horcrux. It wasn't her happiness, as he had first surmised, though he now had to wonder if that had only been a nice fringe benefit in the deal. It certainly wasn't her denial either, because really, how utterly ridiculous was that?! If he needed any further proof that the formerly rational and levelheaded swot's brains had been addled nearly beyond recognition, it was the fact that Hermione actually seemed to believe that drivel when she had tried to shovel it at him weeks ago. Then again, she was in the midst of losing her mind.

Helga Hufflepuff had created the Elixir of Eris as a mind altering potion to be used for the purposes of psychological warfare. While causing chaos was the intended goal of the properly named Discordium, the damage it inflicted was actually inside the drinker's head, making them act irrationally, exhibit erratic behavior, all while swinging back and forth between violent moods and mounting bouts of depression and melancholia. The victim would be so distracted by their own personal crises that it left them assailable to any outside attack. The Discordium, having found a target inside the drinker's mind that was some hidden dilemma or confusing quandary that had been secretly plaguing them, would exacerbate the issue; turning it against them until the drinker became paranoid and demented.

The one thing Pomfrey had gotten right was the fact that Hermione would not be cured until she confronted the source of her inner turmoil. That meant dealing head-on with her feelings for Potter and confessing all to him. Once she did that the troubling side-effects of the excrapotio should go away.

But there was the rub; Discordium didn't want to just go away. It would make the drinker believe that if they were ever to unburden all to the one they needed to, catastrophe would ensue. So the drinker would sit on their secret, guarding it jealously, while the potion slowly ate at their sanity.

Severus' notes had been very clear and concise on the subject. Researching Discordium had become a favorite, obsessive pastime of his after first discovering its existence in some timeworn and highly prohibited tomes that had been in the possession of his Head of house, Horace Slughorn. It was the very definition of black magic, and young Severus had always been attracted to the dark.

The Slytherin had managed to talk his way into helping around the professor's classroom and office, and every time the irresponsible oaf was distracted by some feckless flight of fancy of his, Severus would voraciously tear through whatever book had been carelessly left hanging about. By the start of his Seventh Year Severus had graduated to brewing the excrapotio himself and had even slipped it to a couple of unsuspecting test subjects around the castle. The Half-Blood Prince had then remorselessly stood back and recorded the results for posterity.

The future Potion Master's meticulous and thorough findings stated that the incubation period before the Discordium drove its victim insane varied from person to person. Constant exposure to the target, the person or concern that the excrapotio used against the drinker, only helped to hasten its progression. Draco could only assume that Hermione's obstinate and inordinately strong will had held off the inevitable before whatever survival instincts the woman had honed through the years had involuntarily kicked in and forced her to put as much distance between her and Potter as she could. Otherwise she would probably be drooling all over her patient robes in a room just a floor below right now.

Draco reluctantly supposed he could no longer blame that bit of ancient history on the Littlest Weasley anymore, though he sure as hell could fault Potter for it. It was him, constantly hovering over his best friend, never giving her any room to breathe, that was causing her so much distress now. One could hardly miss the fact that since coming back home her behavior had become increasingly manic with each passing day.

Or if she wasn't flying off the handle at the drop of a hat, she was wallowing in her misery. Just the night before when he and Luna had Apparated to the Hollow to collect Hermione for the Victory Ball, they had found her out back; sitting on an old tree swing, dressed as though she were going for a run in the park. When he made a pithy comment about her choice of attire for the biggest party of the season, she didn't even bother with favoring him with one of those snappy rejoinders of hers he was so fond of. In fact, she didn't say a thing at all; just stared out moodily before her.

Luckily Luna had been on hand to take control of the situation. She gently guided Hermione away from the large fruit tree they had been under, led her through the sliding patio doors into the kitchen, and took her upstairs; pausing only to ask Draco, who had been following closely behind them, to bring up the La Tour-Blanche that was sitting in the bottom right cabinet nearest the basement door. Draco didn't even bother with asking how she had known the bottle was there; just brought the fine white wine along with three crystal flutes he had also procured up the stairs to Hermione's bedroom.

When he knocked on the door his girlfriend opened it, took the La Tour and two of the glasses off of him, then closed the door promptly in his face. Draco hadn't had the time or presence of mind to be offended, though. The mammoth fleabag that Hermione owned had become aware of his being in the house, and had come out of whatever hole it had been hiding in to chase him back down the staircase and out into the backyard. Before he had run like mad though, Draco had distinctly heard his girlfriend’s dreamy voice ask to hear exactly what Ginny Potter had said.

Two hours later Hermione's fairy godmother Luna had capably produced the woman; dressed and ready for the Ball. However, all the cosmetics and toiletries in the world, could not disguise the fact that she was a wreck. At the time Draco had blamed the Weasel-bitch for his friend's condition, just like he had the night, some years ago, when Hermione had turned up at his flat in a similar condition. Now he knew that the cause of Hermione's troubled mind frame went much deeper than whatever enmity existed between those two. She was cracking up! And until the Discordium was flushed out of her system, she would continue her slow march to insanity.

That left Draco with only two workable options now; to sit back and watch as possibly the best friend he had ever had, saving his Loony of course, went battier than a belfry or to somehow convince Hermione that she had no other choice than to tell Potter that she was in love with him.

Oh how cruel the twists and turns of fate could be!

Because not only would he be forced to play witness to Potter getting some prize…some reward, yet again, without even trying, Draco would be assisting in it this time. And the bitch of it all was, that myopic son of a bitch wouldn't even want it once all was said and done!

Not that Draco wanted it either, mind you. Certainly not now! His reasons for helping Hermione were purely platonically motivated, despite his partner's opinion that he was always up to something. True, there was a time the Slytherin might have killed for the opportunity to be in Potter's place. Ok, perhaps kill was a bit extreme. He certainly wouldn't have been above committing any other vaguely unethical act or undertaking that stretched the bounds of propriety. But those days were long gone. Draco knew what love truly felt like. He would never again be able to confuse it with some immature, youthful fancy as he previously had.

Ironically enough the once bushy headed Know-it-all had tried to explain to him, ages ago, that that was all it had been. But unsurprisingly he hadn't wanted to listen to sound and straightforward reasoning back then. How different things might have been, if only he had.

“Infatuation? You think I've only been infatuated with you all this time?”

“Yes; just a meaningless little crush. You'll get over it eventually.”

“I think my dick might disagree with you.”

Hermione straightened at the waist, the baking pan in her oven gloved hand empty of the blackened biscuits she had just binned.

“Exactly my point! Exactly!” she exclaimed, pointing the other mitted appendage, covered with grinning, leapfrogging brownies, at him in recrimination.

Draco growled irritably. This was not at all how he had planned on this little tête-à-tête of theirs going.

After getting back in town from a nearly month long sabbatical the Department had granted him, he had come home to discover that Hermione and Wood had finally broken up. Draco could only view the news as fortuitous. He decided right away that the time had come to make his big move at last, though he would have to wait until she returned from holiday to do so. Sure he had made advances towards Hermione a time or two in the past, but those had been only halfhearted attempts, in his opinion. This time he had felt assured that the outcome would go much differently than the others had. And if it didn’t, he’d force it to. What harm would a good nudge do?

As far as he could see, the stars had been aligned in his favor; they both were finally single at the same time and Hermione had even recently suffered a recent loss possibly leaving her emotional and hopefully defenseless to his amorous assault. Not that he was celebrating the death of her Muggle grandmother or anything like that. He wasn't that unscrupulous! Still, Draco wasn’t above exploiting a situation when it presented itself and using it to his advantage. It wouldn't hurt to have her at least a little softened up when he went in for the kill. Despite the fact that Hermione had steadily maintained that their relationship would only ever be one of friendship and camaraderie, that hadn't stopped Draco from assuming that eventually he would wear down her reticence. What others called self-absorbed, he called confident.

So he had waited eagerly for her to get back to England, knowing that she was sure to be in town in time for Puddlemere's contest against the Thestrals. Since he knew for a fact that she never missed a single one of Potter's matches, he figured that this day would be as good as any to ask her out on a real, formal, honest-to-goodness date; no more of those buddy outings she dragged him out on. Those were nice and all, but he wanted more. Draco knew he definitely had to get the jump on Weasleby before the ginger git tried for another one of those lame reconciliation attempts of his, though.

While waiting for the game to end, he had a few shots of liquid courage at the Cauldron as he planned out exactly what he would say. Then, after growing impatient just sitting around twiddling his thumbs, he Apparated right to her door, unmindful of her Muggle neighbors, and decided to just wait for her to get back. Although he was surprised to find her at home after all, looking very brown and quite fetch, he didn’t bother asking her why she wasn’t at the game as she invited him in. He didn’t care really.

The only thing on Draco’s mind was getting what he wanted. He was done with pining. Malfoys didn’t just sit back and wait for things to come to pass, they made them happen. Knowing that, as soon as their chatter about her trip, her “Nan”, her baking she had left unattended in the oven and that was filling the kitchen with smoke, dried up, he cut right to the chase and made his request.

She hadn't even batted an eyelash as she shot him down once again.

“Draco,” began Hermione with a sigh, placing the baking pan in the sink and throwing both of the ridiculous looking oven mitts on the counter, “you and I began to become close during a…a very vulnerable period in your life. You were lonely, scared, and in need of an emotional outlet. I became that outlet for you.”

She said it all in the way that one would speak when talking to an imbecile. Slowly and avoiding large words.

“It also helped that I was the only female of a certain age around for miles,” she added for good measure. What Draco chose to hear was her purposely avoiding the issue at hand.

“Come now, Pet,” he smoothly drawled, sounding playfully chiding as he sat across from her at the small kitchen’s breakfast nook, “you know I've never been that discriminating. Following your logic I could have very easily tried to bed Nympho-dora whenever the mood struck. But I didn't,” he pointed out, sounding very proud of himself too.

Hermione smirked as she pulled her wand out of her flowing, tunic blouse, then turned back to the sink to charm the dishes to wash themselves. As the basin began to fill with bubbles, she supervised her work.

“Well, she is your first cousin. Then again, I don't see you being the type to be that discerning on that count either.” She looked over her shoulder and said pertly, “Who knows, maybe you were just never that intoxicated.”

Draco jumped from his seat, a mutinous look on his face, as he stalked right up to her side.

“Oh! Oh, that again! You're never going to let me live that one down, are you?!” he indignantly demanded, staring down into her grinning face. “Well let me just state for the record that those five minutes will forever be the highlight of Midgen's pathetic little life!” Draco sneered unkindly.

The pleased smile on Hermione’s face fell.

“That was mean,” she scolded, wagging her wand in his scowling face as though he were being a disobedient child. “And of course you missed my point entirely. All I was trying to say is that it's not really all that surprising that you developed an unhealthy attachment to me.”

Though Draco’s face remained impassive, inside he felt a small, unexpected pang of hurt at her harsh words.

“And here I thought we were friends.”

Laying a calming hand on his shoulder, Hermione kindly said, “We are. The hitch is that you have this disturbing habit of viewing any woman who isn't your mother through a sexual filter; those you would sleep with and those you wouldn’t. And even then, there’s constant bleed over. Naturally I would fall in one of those two categories. Problem is you just think there's more to it,” she went on as she removed her hand and used it to pull back the neck of her shirt, slipping her wine wood down it.

Draco had been so distracted by where the wand went that it took him a second to respond.

“Dragon shite!”

“Draco—”

“No, it is!” he cantankerously replied. “That's just some twaddle you've been telling yourself so that you could deny what's been happening between us.”

She rolled her eyes as she passed by him to get to the refrigerator. As she opened the appliance’s door and bent forward inside it, she dismissively said, “There is no ‘us’.” Draco, however, took note of how cross she sounded and imagined it was because he was hitting too close to the mark.

“You keep telling yourself that,” he arrogantly told her, facing her turned back.

Although he could tell that their conversation was beginning to gradually wind her up, he chose to take her deteriorating mood as a good sign. It meant that he was getting under her skin; one of his finer talents. Plus the firewhiskey in his veins was making him act even more forward than he normally would, as impossible as that sounded.

“I see the way you are around me, though,” he continued, approaching her slowly like a starving jungle cat. “You didn't show half that kind of fire when you were with Davies or Wood; you don't even show it when the Red Menace is lurking about.”

He had come up right behind Hermione and leaned in, whispering to her enticingly.

“Trying to push me away will not delay the inevitable; oh no, regardless of how your two little handlers might feel about it. Or is that what's got you so testy?” he asked in a sexy sounding drawl, just above her ear. “Don't tell me that the Brothers Dim have finally cottoned on to us?”

Hermione whirled around and shoved the bottle of water she had been drinking out of violently into his lower stomach, making him wince from pain as he stumbled back. As he held onto the bottle and rubbed at his injury, Draco couldn’t help but wonder if she had actually been aiming for the Malfoy crown jewels. A few inches lower and she definitely would have taken out the scepter.

And not in a way he might have liked!

“THERE IS NO US!” she yelled in high dudgeon, as Draco shuffled off, hunched over, to the table and leaned his weight against it. He raised the water bottle to his own lips and thirstily drained it, eyeing her cautiously.

She followed and stood over him; hands on hips.

“Fortunately for you, Ron knows this because if he were ever to become aware of your dubious intentions towards me, you, my friend, would be taking all of your meals through a bendy straw,” she high-handedly informed him. “To be fair, though, you did almost kill him.”

Peeved, Draco muttered something unintelligible under his breath. Hermione ignored it and continued to prattle on aimlessly.

“Ron simply thinks that you are using our connection as a means to redo your image and make yourself appear to be less of the scum sucking son of a Death Eater that you truly are.”

At the sight of Draco’s slighted expression, she immediately understood that she had tactlessly misspoken.

“His words, not mine,” she said posthaste, falling back to lean against the table at Draco’s side. “As for Harry,” she went on, her tone softening at the prat’s name, “well…Harry just doesn't like you.” She said it simply and with no apology. “He doesn’t consider you the Prince of Darkness…”

Draco gave her a disbelieving, sidelong glance making Hermione turn pink.

“…any longer…”

He snickered at the save.

“…but he's always going to be suspicious where you are concerned.”

“As he should be,” Draco snootily replied. “I guess wee willy Potty isn't as dumb as he looks.”

“Draco!”

He muttered darkly again before forcing his lips into a phony, disingenuous smile.

“Sorry. I guess wee willy Potty isn't as dumb as he looks. There; better?” He looked unashamedly into her livid face. “I said it nicely this time.”

Hermione shook her head at him in wonderment.

“I don't even know why I bother. You're impossible!”

“You bother because you like it,” he snotted, making her throw up her hands in frustration, snatch the now emptied water bottle from his hand, and stomp to the little dustbin in the corner.

Realizing that bashing Potter, no matter how enjoyable that always was, was winning him no points, Draco decided to change his approach.

“Pet,” he began in a silky, wheedling tone, “just think what our future children will be like. Your tenacity, my good looks and charm, both of our brains; they would be matchless.”

With an earthy sounding chortle, Hermione dropped the bottle and turned to face him.

“Honestly! I didn't know you actually wanted to breed with me. I thought you were only after a date to the next V-Ball,” she said mockingly in that prim little proper tone of hers that usually turned him on. Now was no exception.

“Merlin, that's sexy,” he said with a devilish grin. “You're even starting to sound a little like me. We could make Slytherins that would turn the world on its ear.”

“SLYTHERINS?!” she deafeningly blurted, sounding affronted at the very idea. Her hand pressed against her chest. “Perish the thought!”

Draco tried not to take offense.

“Oh, we don't all turn out corrupt, despite the bad press. Then again,” he said as he propped himself against the refrigerator, “I'm not that fussed. Our children could be Ravenclaws if you’d like.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Hell, I guess I wouldn't protest at least one Gryffindor in the batch. But no bloody ‘puffs!” he clearly stated, eyes narrowing with disdain. “I have standards!” Draco sniffed pretentiously.

“I'm not having Ravenclaws…”

She jabbed a finger into his chest.

“…Gryffindors…”

She did it again.

“…lions, tigers, or bears with you.” Three more times she bossily poked at him. “And certainly not Slytherins.” She practically gagged. “I could never have a Slytherin,” she snootily said, nose tipped upward.

Draco chuckled wryly, leaning into her. “Well I hate to break it to you, Pet, but there's hardly been a Malfoy not sorted into Slytherin house.”

“Well there you go! Find some other field to plow; this one isn't interested!” proclaimed Hermione crankily, shoving him away from her and exiting the kitchen.

Draco’s eyes hungrily followed her as she sauntered over to the large bookcase in the lounge. It was an oak paneled monster that Hermione kept organized with anal precision. Hardcover editions did not mix and mingle with lowly paperbacks, the magical tomes were kept far from the Muggle ones lest they be scorched or eaten, and she alphabetized not just by title, but by subject matter as well.

“Father would be turning pirouettes in the grave,” he teased, hanging over the low bar that looked into the living room.

Scanning one of the shelves and making a selection, she opened the book and said unaffectedly, “As lovely as that sounds, and as much as I enjoy the thought of Lucius Malfoy enduring a perfectly hellish afterlife, I'm afraid that's just not enough to convince me to let you take me out…”

She dubiously glanced over at him as she turned a page.

“Much less take me to bed.”

“You want me!” insisted Draco stubbornly. Although his ego was tweaked, he wasn’t ready for defeat. “I know you want me.”

“To leave? Yes. Anything else? Sorry.” She snickered dryly; shaking her head as she glibly turned her attention back to the book in her hand. “I just don't go for the bad boys,” said Hermione breezily.

Her dismissive tone rubbed him raw. “And I'm supposed to believe that you prefer that Elf Fucker to me?!”

Draco easily caught the object she flung at him. It was the book she had been looking through; a cookbook. If she didn’t have a wand in her hand, her aim was positively appalling.

“HEY!” she shouted, marching back to the kitchen doorway. She held out a threatening finger towards him. “WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT CALLING RON THAT?!” They had been through this a time or two before.

“You told me to stop calling the Elf Fucker that,” he deadpanned; eyes never leaving her face.

Although Hermione looked like she was just a whisker away from blowing her stack, she took a second, took a breath, then proceeded to take him to task as she slowly crossed the floor.

“I know this may come as some huge surprise to you, but not every woman is dying for want of having the chance to toss you their knickers.” Stopping before him, she regally held out her hand for her property.

“That's only because they have yet to come to their senses,” he ill-manneredly sniped, holding out the copy of Enchant Them in the Kitchen to her, then maneuvering it just out of her reach.

He had a few good suggestions of what they could do in the kitchen if she'd just ask for it, thought Draco wickedly with a lustful smirk.

“Besides, Weasley isn't half good enough for you,” he told her unflinchingly, making her huff with exasperation. “You know you deserve better; you desire better,” affirmed Draco sagely. “He can't possibly challenge you.” With a lordly sneer on his face he declared, “I think we all know who the bottom is in that relationship.”

Hermione stopped her aimless pursuit of wresting the book back from him for a moment, to give Draco a lethal look.

“I am warning you…”

Draco’s face screwed up with bemusement. “When has that ever stopped me?”

He was still toying with her, continuing to play keep away with the book. It was making her waspish in temperament. Draco didn’t mind; he kind of liked her hot-blooded and slightly mean.

“I know you, Hermione Granger,” he pronounced, lowering his face to hers so he could look directly into her glittering, amber-brown eyes. “I know what you really want. You want a man that's your equal. Who you admire, and who inspires you; as you do him. You want a mate you can be proud to call yours, and no matter how many times you go slinking back to the Weasel, we both know he isn't the man for you.”

“AND NEITHER ARE YOU, DRACO!” she screeched, finally snatching the cookbook away from him and holding it before her as though it were a shield to protect her from his perceptive attack. “Neither are you! Don't you get that yet?! Sweet Circe!” Hermione fumed, clawing a hand through her wild, brown curls. “How many times do I have to say it?! Do you want me to hurt you?!” she questioned him fiercely, trying to understand why he would push the subject once again after she thought it had been settled. “Why do you want me to hurt you?!”

“I like it rough.”

Draco’s straight-faced answer made her snap. She began pummeling him relentlessly with the book.

“KNOCK THAT OFF, WOMAN!” squawked the blond, trying to hold her off.

“ARGH!” she screamed with one final, spiritless swipe to his arm.

Just as quickly as her anger had appeared, it fizzled.

“What do I have to say to get it through that thick skull of yours?!” she wondered bewilderedly. “What do I have to do?!” she dazedly asked.

As if sensing just the opening he had been hoping for, Draco said the first thing that entered his single-minded head.

“Kiss me.”

Hermione let out a caustic, unladylike snort. “You just don't know when to quit!”

“Just bear with me,” he started, closely following after her as she walked back to her bookcase. “All this time all I've done is run after you and you've allowed me to because somewhere, deep down inside there, you've enjoyed the chase,” he told Hermione, stopping right behind her.

She gave him a haughty look over her shoulder. “I don't want to be caught by you.”

Draco smirked at her denial, not deterred at all by the prissy rejection.

“I didn't say you wanted to be caught; you just like the chase,” drawled Draco seductively. “But see, here's the problem,” he said, pinching the book right from her grasp, not even bothering to look where he put it. “That scenario took all of the blame out of those pretty, little hands of yours.”

He watched her angrily yank the wizarding cooking manual from a shelf lined with books written by a bunch of dead, poof Muggle poets, and place it in its assigned slot.

“It made it easier for you to play innocent in this little affair we've been having,” he went on.

Hermione whirled around, her eyes goggling with incredulity at the brash remark.

“It's partially my fault,” he admitted, quickly speaking over her raised objections despite the warning signals going off in his head that told him that perhaps he was treading too far. However once Draco’s mouth got going, it usually took a strike to the face, a hex, or his whole body being transfigured into that of a furry, woodland creature to get him to just shut up. Now was one of those times.

He placed both hands on the bookcase, one right next to each of Hermione’s shoulders, and trapped her between his body and the wooden fixture.

“I've permitted you to get away with it,” he pompously went on. “I've played along with your little game, but only up to a certain point.” He smiled broadly. “Why do you think I've never tried to kiss you again?”

Hermione’s eyes turned into two enraged, murky slits. “Because you prefer not having your bollocks banished into the next room!”

The mental image her threat conjured immobilized his reckless tongue for only a tic.

“True,” he conceded with surprising prudence. He then threw the momentary display of sensibility out the window.“But also because when we finally do kiss, I want you to be an equal participant. I don't want it to be about me kissing you. I want it to be about us kissing each other,” he finished with a confident flourish of the hand, chucking her roguishly under the chin.

“Dream on,” Hermione muttered, arms folded defensively against her chest. “I'm not snogging you. That’s never going to happen,” she stated, shaking her head.

“It will; one day,” Draco avowed forthrightly. The harder she fought it, the harder she would eventually fall, he believed. She had to get over Weasley eventually. “Hell might be experiencing a record chill on the occasion, but it will happen.”

“And what makes you so sure?” she acerbically questioned.

He gave her an unruffled look, though he was surprised she would ask a question she should already know the answer to.

“Malfoys always get what they want,” he immodestly told her.

He then followed that statement with a cocky, self-assured smirk.

Hermione flushed all the way from her hairline down to the skin her loose-fitting top didn’t cover. She tried to break free of him, first one way, then the other, but he had her successfully boxed in again; trapped right where he wanted her. When her breathing became erratic and labored, that didn’t even give him the first clue that maybe he should back off; he did tend to have that effect on women. All the more so, when she suggestively crooked her finger at him, beckoning him closer, he gamely decided to play along and lowered his face to hers; closing his eyes as he leaned in. That’s why he didn’t see the whites of her pearly teeth as she bared them at him in a wicked grin.

“SHITE!” Draco caterwauled in distress, stumbling back from her as his hands quickly flew to the fleshy, bottom flap of his mouth. He checked to make sure it was still there, or if she had reduced it to a ragged, bloody pulp.

Finding it whole, if sore, he gawped at her unsmiling face.

“YOU ‘IT ‘E!” he incoherently hollered as he held his lower lip between his fingers.

“Damned right I bit you!” she growled; hands authoritatively on her hips as she planted her feet widely apart.

Draco inched away from her just in case the she-devil intended on taking another nibble; backing right into the back of her couch. She had hurt a hell of a lot more than just his pride. Thankfully she hadn’t drawn blood. Draco could only wonder what had gotten into her.

“I just figured I'd explain it to you in a language that you'd best understand since you seem to only comprehend cruelty, Draco Malfoy!” she spitefully spat out. “We are friends. Only friends! ACCEPT THAT! You can’t always get what you want! I've learned to live with it; so should you.”

Draco forgot about his own paltry woe for a moment, his hand slowly falling from his mouth, and worriedly stared after his friend; no matter what she would always be his friend. He couldn’t comprehend a thing she was saying. She was in the midst of a full grade meltdown; raving like a loon. And the worse part was he knew the onus of it all fell on him. He had worked her up, purposely taking liberties with their friendship; intentionally trying to get a reaction from her. Although it hadn’t been the one he had hoped for, it was now up to him to set things to right.

Merlin, how he hated how his conscience reminded him of its presence from time to time!

Draco slowly approached the woman, hoping not to spook her, but she jumped back into the bookcase.

“I TOLD YOU NO AND I MEANT IT! I DON’T WANT TO KISS YOU, DRACO!” she screeched; her eyes enlarging. “I don't want you! I don't want Roger! I don't want Ollie! I don't want…”

She paused as if losing the thread of her rant…or sanity. Grabbing both sides of her head, her eyes squeezed shut.

“YOU'RE NOT HIM!” she shrilled, pulling at her long brown tresses. “NONE OF YOU ARE! NONE OF YOU WILL EVER BE HIM! YOU'LL NEVER BE HIM! NEVER!”

Draco finally was able to get near her. As he grabbed her wrists and somehow managed to detach her hands from her head, she opened her eyes and seemed to goggle at the sight of him standing in front of her. His swollen lip especially seemed to hold her fascination. She loosened a hand from his hold and it floated up to her mouth at once.

“Oh! Oh my,” she breathed, chagrined at her bad behavior. She lowered her hand. “I don’t know what just came over me,” Hermione said. “Did I…”

She tentatively reached out to inspect the damage she had done.

“…did I just do that?” she asked, sounding awestruck at the possibility.

Draco took a hasty step away as if to ward her off. He wasn’t scared of her or anything, but he was still a little rankled. He was human, after all.

“Yes! Stand back!” he grouched, reaching into the pocket of his training uniform and grabbing onto the article he had stashed in one of his pockets. As an Auror trainee, his instructors had taught him to always be prepared. “I may not carry a cross on me, but I usually keep an ampoule of Holy water and the Host readily available.”

Unsure of if he was joking or not, Hermione eyed him cynically.

“I'm not the undead, you prat.”

“No,” said Draco sullenly, eyes narrowing at her as he pulled out the small mirror he always carried on him for emergencies such as these, “but you are a bitch; I hear those work just fine on your kind as well,” came his nasty riposte.

He examined her handiwork in the looking glass, turning his head from side to side to get a good look at his precious lip. It was red and still swollen, giving him the unfavorable likeness of a duck-billed platypus. But all things considered, he’d live. Once he glanced back at Hermione, her miserable expression quelled most of his pique. He couldn’t stay mad at her. Besides, he’s the one that set her off in the first place.

“Luckily for you I happen to like complex women,” he jestingly bantered, sliding the mirror back in place. In a way it was his way of saying all was forgiven. At the flirty remark, a faint smile formed on Hermione’s face. His teasing tone let her know that there were no hard feelings.

She then took his hand and led him back into the kitchen, sitting him down so she could try and heal the reddened wound on his bottom lip. He didn’t even peek down her shirt as she bent over him, tending his injury. Then again, she did have her wand in her hand.

“I'm so sorry, Draco,” she apologized after she was done with her spell.

Although she had gotten his lip back to its normal size again, it still stung a bit. Draco didn’t mention it though; she was already beating herself up enough as it was.

“The things that I said…what I did…”

She hung her head shamefully.

“It was uncalled for,” she sighed. “It’s just that lately I’ve been so twitchy that I don’t know what I’m doing or saying half the time. I just…just want to kick and rip things apart these days.”

“And taste test them apparently.”

Hermione sheepishly grimaced as she watched Draco gingerly finger his lip once again.

“I shouldn't be taking this all out on you, though,” she said, voice steeped in deep regret, as she gloomily supported herself against the table. “Please forgive me.”

Draco shook his head.

“No,” he said, standing up. He took her in his arms and gave her a friendly squeeze; staring down into her face. “Because there is nothing to forgive. It was my transgression. It was my fault. I can be a bit hardheaded,” he confessed. “Sometimes it just takes me a while to get the message. What can I say; I like having my own way. Say,” he added, a cheeky glimmer in his eyes, “here’s a thought; to prove that all’s forgiven, we should kiss and make up.” He gave her a frisky grin to top his silly statement off.

She laughingly smacked him on the arm. “You are incorrigible.”

He chuckled at his own brazen humor.

“Seriously, Pet, don't worry about the lip; we're squared,” he told her, lifting a wayward curl from off of her face and tucking it behind an ear. “We'll just pretend that this never happened. How does that sound?”

He had hoped his offer to wipe away the day’s events would please her, but it seemed to have the exact opposite effect. Draco actually saw tears well in Hermione’s eyes as she unhappily heaved a heavy sigh. He had to lower his head just to hear her whispered mumbling.

“All I ever do is pretend.”

Before he could puzzle out the peculiar remark, Draco felt the surge of powerful magic being expelled somewhere nearby. It happened so fast that he hadn’t the time to even extract his fingers from out of Hermione’s hair. Someone had breached the flat’s protective wards and had come straight through. Knowing Hermione, her Anti-App was as formidable as the stalwart witch herself, so it could only be her FailSafe making his presence known.

But when Draco turned his all seeing, lynx-like eyes behind him to glower at the git who had intruded upon his visit, it was Potter he found standing there, hair still dripping from his post-game shower, and not the Weasel King as he had presumed. And he was enraged! As Potter prowled menacingly towards the entranceway of the kitchenette, the look on his face was nothing short of murderous, as his burning green eyes traveled from Hermione’s face to land on Draco's. The Gryffindor had obviously taken one look at the innocent scene he had popped in on and jumped to the wrong conclusion. But that wasn’t all that surprising, thought Draco snidely. Sometimes people only see what they want to see.

That's when he decided to leave and allow the two friends to start up whatever quarrel the four-eyed ponce was obviously spoiling to have. The git was so possessive of his sister that he practically bristled when any man got near her, especially Draco. He knew all to well of Potter’s disapproval of his persistent presence in Hermione’s life. So Draco could only guess at just how hacked off the other man really was if his expression was any indicant.

As he swept out of the flat, he imagined he could even hear the pansy arse’s whinging. Malfoy’s dangerous…Malfoy’s evil…Malfoy’s knob is bigger than mine (blah, blah, blah, blah, blah). It put a smile on the Slytherin's face just to think of it. Anything that made his dark haired foil unhappy, made him giddy as hell. The fact that Potter would probably be thinking the worse was just icing. In truth, he couldn’t remember what, if anything, he had said to Hermione before taking his leave of her because he had been too busy savoring the moment to do much of anything else. It had been inconsequential really. No; Draco couldn’t recall much at all as he departed, because he had been too damned busy enjoying the look on Potter's face.

THE LOOK ON POTTER’S FACE?!

The fleeting image had been so potent, so overwhelming that it literally made Draco’s feet skid against the polished, hardwood floor, making him block the shiny gilded fireplace he had just emerged from. The evocative memory was so powerful in fact that the blond didn’t even hear the cry of the fellow Ministry employee who clumsily collided into him as she floo’ed into the building’s peacock-blue ceilinged Atrium right behind him; nearly falling back on her bum in the process. Quite frankly Draco had been too distracted to notice much at all.

“Do you mind?!” the middle-aged witch nastily queried, righting her crooked, pointed hat, as she gave the preoccupied Auror a dirty look. The woman had already marched off before he even thought to give her an offensive gesture or crudely tell the old bat just what part of his anatomy she could kiss.

What exactly had been that look on Potter’s face, Draco now urgently asked himself, brow furrowed, as he tried to regain the intangible reflection that had slipped from him only too easily. He had been thinking back on that memorable afternoon at Hermione’s flat when Potter had looked like he had been ready to annihilate him. That had been nothing new; back then the prat had always seemed just a stone’s throw away from slaughtering Draco on the spot, especially if the blond happened to be standing a little too close to Hermione at the time. But there had been a fundamental difference that day.

Reflecting on it all again, there was something in that encounter that the usually observant Slytherin had missed. Something unnamed that Draco had never bothered to examine fully; probably because he had been too engrossed in pursuing his own desires back then to pay any consideration to what anyone else wanted, even Hermione. That’s how he had missed the now obvious signs that she had been in love with the Boy Who Lived to chap his arse. At the time Draco had always known that there was something standing in his way, (Weasley, timing…the maddening witch herself) but he had never once bothered to consider that it had been Potter.

It had been Potter all along.

Or maybe he hadn’t wanted to consider it, knowing that he would have never stood a chance to begin with.

Sometimes people only see what they want to see.

But Potter…there had been something about Potter that day.

The look on his face…

What had been that look on Potter’s face…

“AUROR MALFOY!”

Draco’s head quickly swiveled around to find Donavan Jacoby racing towards him pass the newly restored fountain of Magical Brethren that sat in the middle of the hall.

A few years prior a wealthy, anonymous backer had provided the funds to replace the golden statues that had been destroyed during the battle fought right inside the Ministry’s walls, and to return the fountain, whose revenue brought in thousands of galleons to Mungo’s coffers each year, back to its former splendor. Once the successful renovation project had been completed the brand new fountain, even grander and more dazzling than the one before it, became a big draw that attracted a countless number of spectators each year. There had even been a rumor that the redesign for the noble looking wizard and the adoring witch that stood at his side was actually modeled after the Potters; the picture perfect epitome of everything that their society revered and admired. Whether that was true or not, Draco didn’t know; he did know he got a kick out of chucking coins off the golden wizard’s fat head from time to time. Besides, it was all for charity.

That thought actually made Draco chuckle as the younger Auror came to a gasping stop before him.

“Thank Merlin I finally found you,” said Jacoby, breathing in deeply. “I was beginning to think you weren’t still in the building. Auror Malfoy, I’ve been searching for you all over the Ministry.” He took a minute to stoop over and catch his breath.

Draco sneered down at the panting little pissant coldly. If these were the useless muppets they were churning out of training class these days, it was a wonder the Ministry didn’t have dark wizards falling out of its crack, thought Draco snidely.

“Well, rookie, you found me. Bully for you!” he delivered in a scornful, mocking tone; uninterestedly brushing past the officer to head towards the lifts. “Now go away!” He didn’t have time to bother with whatever shite Jacoby wanted to pester him with.

What Draco actually wanted to do was get a hold of one of those large Penseives the Department kept on hand at the staff’s disposal. The memory receptacles were employed for training purposes on Level 2. Instructors would often use the Penseives to show their students what to expect once they actually went out into the field tracking dark wizards or to closely revise old battles firsthand with them.

Potter tended to use them to work on strategy with his adjunct officers. After a botched raid or any successfully completed assignment, he would walk the team back through their joint recollections of the mission to point out where they had failed or what they had done right. It actually helped to make them stronger as a unit and made their squad (Draco wouldn’t lower himself to calling them a “Posse”) a force to be reckoned with.

Right now, however, Draco had in mind a much different purpose for reserving one of the Department Penseives. There was an old memory the Slytherin wanted to take a good, hard, long look at, and to do so, he needed one of those damned stone contraptions. There was just something about the look on Potter’s face, years ago, that kept teasing at the very periphery of Draco’s thoughts in the present. When Potter first Apparated into Hermione’s flat and saw her in Draco’s arms, right before he had turned to the blond, ready to kick his arse; there had been something else there. Draco wanted to see it again. Needed to see it again. Unfortunately he found his path blocked. Jacoby seemed unwilling to let him get by.

Draco groaned inwardly; of all days for Jacoby to grow a pair.

The blonde wizard was near boiling as he roared at the younger officer, drawing stares from the scattering of Ministry workers nearest them who were either going or just returning from lunch.

“I SAID, BUGGER OFF, YA’ MONG!”

He then shoved passed the uppity whelp to continue on his way. However he didn’t get very far, before Jacoby’s voice froze him in his place.

“But Auror Malfoy…it’s Cadmus.”

To Be Continued…

A/N: Next up is the conclusion to chapter 21. I’m not sure, but I think that Draco fellow might be putting two and two together. ;^)

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Silence Hatchett and Trainee Costigan are canon.

2) The Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Memorial Wing, the titles of Head Healer’s Assistant and Healer’s Assistant, the Never-Ending Bowel Expelling Curse, and the books Potterdise Lost: The Mostly True Tale of The Boy Who Lived, Magical Knitting & Other Sew-Sew Spells, Who’s Afraid of the Dark Lord, Turn Your Coal to Gold: Alchemy Made Easy, What Witches Want, and Enchant Them in the Kitchen are all original to this story.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review. Check out my yahoo group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/insidepandiesbox/, to see timelines and other ARLB goodies.

27. Chapter 21b

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.

SPOILERS: All six books.

WORD COUNT: 21,171

RATING: NC17 for language and later sexual content.

BETA: None. I was under the gun to get this to y’all. All mistakes are totally mine.

WARNING: Did you read Chapter 21A yet? If not, you will be confused reading this one. I posted two chapters. Happy New Year and Happy reading. Enjoy!

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.

Death. Draco Malfoy knew it quite well. He had stood witness as Albus Dumbledore took his final breath in this world. He had fought in battles and found the ground about him littered with the bodies of his allies as well as foes. He had almost shuffled off this mortal coil so many times in service to the British Ministry that he had long since lost count. So Draco very well knew and understood the complexities of death. Still, nothing had prepared him for what he encountered when he arrived at the scene of what was once the Zabini stately country seat out in Wales.

To date it was the largest assault that Ptolemy Cadmus had pulled off. Not only had Blaise and his Muggle wife been killed, but all of their servants as well. They all had been locals who had sought employment with the recently arrived young lord, never knowing that one day they would die with him too.

A good number of townspeople, some of whom had run out from nearby businesses and homes when the spectacle of the small Peruvian was first spotted flying high above Newcastle Emlyn, and had stood by powerlessly as the ensuing conflagration entombed their relatives, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances, were all being interviewed and memory wiped. Ministry reps from almost every department were scurrying about, trying to maintain order and assess the damage, while members of the wizarding press were scattered here and there attempting to out scoop each other. The heat of the midday sun, however, seemed to make everything run at a sluggish, draining pace. Coupled with the endless, droning kerfuffle that surrounded him from all sides, Draco likened the whole experience to being trapped inside a beehive submerged in a vat of syrup. He certainly felt uncomfortable and sticky enough.

The worse of it was the smell, though. The aroma of charred, overcooked carcasses mingled with the pungent, sulfurous stink of dragon’s fire and was virtually overwhelming; despite the numerous charms and spells many of the Ministry officials were using to try to alleviate their discomfort. Draco merely held a handkerchief to his nose and mouth as he tried to concentrate and listen to the report he was getting from the two Aurors that traveled on either side of him.

“So in all Catastrophes is saying that we are looking at about twenty-five…possibly twenty-six dead,” said the one to his left; a lean, bantam of a man who nearly made Draco feel huge walking next to him. Cato Sweet glanced back down at the small notebook he had been reading from as if to confirm the number, then slipped it back into his robes.

The officer on Draco’s right nodded his curly, chestnut head; the Bubblehead conjured around it jostled with its movements.

“That’s not including the Zabinis themselves,” Cicero Sweet told the blond; his muted voice sounding as though it were trapped in a fishbowl.

The three Aurors were near the bank of the river behind the house…behind what used to be the house, and were heading back to join the rest of the team. Draco had stolen away for a moment, hoping to get his emotions in check before anyone noticed how raw he was, but he had been easily found by the eager to please Sweets. It was no good anyhow. The torched shell of the manor loomed ominously over them all, providing no comfort, and even the gentle breeze moving off of the river's edge offered no respite from the heat and the putrid odor of devastation and waste that encompassed the area.

Draco stopped and looked back and forth between his two teammates; fraternal twin brothers that had been only a year or two behind him at Hogwarts. They were adequate officers, yet downright transparent wannabes whose grasping zeal was more than assisted by their rich father; one of Scrimgeour’s oldest friends and most staunch patrons. The Sweets had both been transferred from the Third Squad within the last year, and since then, had been a thorn in the Slytherin’s side; always following after him and grinning in his face. He didn’t know either of the brothers well; one of them might have been in Hufflepuff back at school as far as he could recall, but he wasn’t sure which. Even though they weren’t identical, people still easily confused the two.

Draco couldn’t stand either one of them.

“Twenty-five dead?” he questioned as he lowered the scrap of silk at his nose. It was almost as if he doubted what he had heard. “That can’t be right. What would they have needed a household staff of that size for?”

“Who knows? It’s just a pity they didn’t have house-elves like civilized people,” said the Sweet that Draco disliked the most; Cato.

While Cicero’s ill-timed verbal gaffes were always exasperating, it was Cato’s incessant preening that tended to vex Draco’s nerves like nothing else. The only reason the fop wasn’t displaying a Bubblehead himself was probably because he feared it would muss his perfectly coiffed, golden brown waves, thought Draco with rising scorn. The pretentious peacock always reminded him of someone he knew, but Draco could never quite put his finger on whom exactly.

“Five house-elves could have easily taken care of an estate like this,” said the vain little pipsqueak in that grating, self-important drawl of his.

“And best of all,” added Cicero, a servile dolt who usually parroted everything his brother uttered, “a few dead elf servants would have meant less paperwork; don’t you think, sir?”

It was said unconcernedly in the manner one would expect a couple of highborn purebloods to discuss such things in. Draco chafed at the brothers’ unwanted familiarity.

“What I think is that there are going to be more than twenty Muggle families who won’t find the matter as humorous as you two so obviously do,” said Draco snidely.

The fawning jackarses almost made him wish for the long gone, halcyon days of Crabbe and Goyle. At least those two monosyllabic lumps knew how to shut up when in the presence of their betters.

Sensing the blond's annoyance, Cato was first to jump in line. “Oh I agree, sir.”

“Auror Malfoy, I couldn’t have said it better…sir,” replied Cicero quickly.

Draco rolled his eyes havenward and heaved a disgusted sigh. With the rumor floating around the Department that Potter would be leaving the Second Squad after he wrapped the Cadmus case, some of the more ambitious officers were already scrambling; preparing for the foreseeable power shift within their ranks. At that very moment Krispens was trying to position himself even further up Hanes’ arse; walking the grounds at the Chief Auror’s side instead of collecting evidence with officers Fitzroy, Cohen, and Whitmer like he had been ordered to.

The Sweets, on the other hand, had decided to climb into Draco’s back pocket. Sure that Hanes in the Arse would be promoting from within, the brothers had opted to hitch their wagons to the Slytherin’s star; believing that he, Potter’s partner, was the Squad Leader’s natural successor. Within the last few days their incessant kowtowing had become almost embarrassing. Draco cynically wondered just how ingratiating the brothers would be if they knew about his hasty dalliance with their sister in the alleyway behind the Hog’s Head a few years ago. Then again, thought Draco knowingly, the two smarmy crawlers would have probably gotten down on their knees right beside Clytemnestra; one holding back her hair as the other called out directions. Then they would have jockeyed for who got to go next once she was done. The Sweet triplets were nothing short of obliging.

Unsurprisingly, Draco had no clue whether Potter was actually leaving the squad or not; the toss-pot hadn’t the decency to inform his partner of any of his future plans. For all Draco knew, Potter really was moving up to Shacklebolt’s team or had been handpicked to head up Scrimgeour’s personal security detail as that Pest’s shrew, Yaxley-Pickering, was telling anyone who would listen. He had noticed that Potter had been more secretive than usual lately; skulking around the Archives, taking mysterious floo calls from overseas connections, and telling spurious tales with almost Slytherin worthy canniness.

He had also been quite distracted. Not so much to impact his work…yet, but definitely enough to make his partner take note. Whatever it was that was weighing on the Gryffindor’s mind, however, Draco had a strong inkling that it had nothing to do with getting a promotion.

Regardless, if Potter was actually leaving the team, Draco felt that the Squad Leader position was only due him. Though there were officers who had more seniority, he was the one who had worked right by Potter’s side these last few years, doing all of the grunt work that the git was so kind to delegate to him. Even now, when Potter still had yet to show his ugly face, it was Draco who was managing the whole operation out at Carregbryn.

He had Romero, O’Shea, Bradshaw, and Whalebridge working alongside the Obliviators taking witness statements. A group led by Auror Dollanganger was helping with the body identification and removal, while the Sweets, Jacoby and the rest were supposed to be handling crowd control and containment. Draco was also the one getting the business end of Hanes’ barbed tongue since Potter wasn’t around to take the licking himself. Draco felt he had more than earned the spot.

And just where in the hell was Potter, thought Draco; wondering at his partner’s whereabouts for perhaps the fifth time that day. He had sent out that Messenger Spell well over an hour ago. Potter should have showed up by now, he inwardly fumed.

As if tapping into the Slytherin’s riotous thoughts, Cato Sweet tried yet again to curry some favor with his idol.

“Old Hanes in the Arse really seems to be in a strop,” he timidly said, hoping to land on the older officer’s good side…if he had one. Cato had practically modeled his whole school and career trajectory on that of Draco Malfoy’s, save for the brief stopover as Voldemort’s gofer, so now was not the time to go getting on his fellow Slytherin’s bad side. It seemed to work.

“When isn’t Hanes throwing a hissy?” Draco’s slightly muffled voice asked as he held the hankie to his nose again. He never missed a chance to vilify his commanding officer.

Not wanting his brother to rack up all of the points with the surly Auror, Cicero decided to speak up. “He’s just hacked off because Potter hasn’t arrived yet.”

Draco cut his eyes at both young men.

“That’s Squad Leader Potter to the likes of you,” came his clipped, no-nonsense response; dropping his hand back to his side. He was free to heckle his partner to his heart’s content, but the two overeager pups obviously needed to be reminded of their place.

Judging by the way they both shut their yaps, they had gotten the message loud and clear.

“And don’t worry about him. He’ll show,” continued Draco. “Potter will show,” he said with fierce conviction. That’s the one thing he never questioned. He only wondered how much longer it would be.

Draco resumed his progress across the field. His two little shadows followed right after him, hanging off his every word.

“If Commander Hanes is in a foul mood it’s because of Weasley’s babysitters over there.”

He motioned his head to where the MMBA envoys, Fournier and Pilliwickle, were standing; surveying the Department’s handling of the latest attack and whispering back and forth between each other. Both were taking copious notes.

“Since the last incident, those wankers over in the Home Office have been after the MMBA, wanting this thing brought under control yesterday. They’ve been hands off so far, but after today, with this many Muggle casualties to take into account, it’s only a matter of time before they decide to horn in on our investigation. Especially since their papers are still making a stink about Banks-Cosgrove.”

Archie Banks and Xerxes Cosgrove had been a same-sex couple slain way back at the very beginning of March; the last twosome that was offed by Cadmus the very day their wedding announcement had boldly appeared inside the Prophet’s society pages. Strictly speaking the couple had only been granted a civil partnership; one of the country’s first, but that was irrelevant. Cadmus didn’t take such legal technicalities into consideration. The gay rights community in Manchester, the borough the couple had called home, had deemed the deaths a hate crime; not knowing how close to the actual truth they were.

Draco paused in mid-step. The two brothers, realizing that they were missing someone, turned to find the blond hanging back, gazing out at the water with a contemplative look on his face. Cato and Cicero were equally concerned when he turned those, gray, analytical eyes on them.

“They just don’t get it yet,” he said with a jaded snicker. “Banks didn’t get killed because he was gay. Cadmus doesn’t care if they’re straight or as camp as a row of tents; doesn’t give a damn if they’re black, white or puce. He could give two shites about whom or what they worshiped. He just hates Muggles! And he hates the witches and wizards who are misguided enough to marry those damned Muggles, despite what you try to tell them!” huffed Draco sourly. “And it’s all because of that slut daughter of his who went and let one get her up the duff! She couldn’t keep her legs closed, so others have to pay the price now and we have to clean up the mess,” he passionately finished.

Both Sweets were unused to the Auror speaking so upfront and openly with them. Hell; speaking to them at all! It all went to both of their heads.

“And what a mess!” exclaimed Cicero, eager to take advantage; his russet eyes looking almost maroon in his excitement.

Cato’s similarly colored eyes were just as enthusiastic. “Last time I checked, Catastrophes was having a slow go of it,” he remarked.

Draco’s face took on an expression of apprehension and his brow line puckered with unease. “Have they found—”

“No,” answered Cato, expertly perceiving his former housemate’s unspoken query. “But the last I heard from Doreen, they believed they may have recovered the lady of the house. The remains of two females were found huddled close together in one of the parlors. The first one was burned pretty badly, but thanks to the rings on the other one, they’re pretty sure it’s the wife. Of course some additional testing will need to be done,” he said. “As for Zabini himself,” Cato went on, quickly raising his robe sleeve to his nose as a swift breeze assailed them and kicked up the festering stench from the fire’s aftermath across the field, “it shouldn’t be too long before we find him as well.”

“Then again, it’s not like much is ever left over after a dragon attack,” added his brother thoughtlessly, hoping to contribute something to the conversation and appear clever in front of the other two men. Unfortunately for him, the Bubblehead he was sporting made that next to impossible. “For all we know, Blaise Zabini is nothing more than a moldering pile of ash right now.”

He compounded his mistake further by misreading the blond Slytherin’s riveted scrutiny and actually grinning, dunce-like, at him.

“You knew the poor, dead sod; didn’t you, sir?” Cicero fecklessly asked.

The alarming look that Draco shot the brothers was positively malevolent. In fear of their lives, the two Sweets scuttled away from their senior officer, heading straight for the safety of the still smoldering framework of the manor. Draco watched their hastened retreat, took careful aim with his wand, and popped the dumb one’s Bubblehead as though it were a large, plastic zit. Damned Sweets!

As Draco placed his wand back in its holster, he could only shake his head at the sheer idiocy of the question that had been put to him. Did he know Blaise Zabini? What the hell kind of stupid question was that?! Of course he knew…had known Blaise. He had known Blaise all of his life. Literally. They had been introduced during a lull at one of Maude Avery's winter socials some years ago. The two had been placed right next to each other inside the same pram. Draco and Blaise had been 6 and 5 months old at the time, respectively.

From there a lifelong association had sprung. It wasn't all that surprising. At Hogwarts their mothers, Magnifika and Narcissa, had been the best of friends and greatest of enemies. Draco's mum had even been quite fond of regaling company with the tale of how she had stolen the Malfoy heir right from under her bestie Aggie's upturned, patrician nose. Despite that near felony, the two women remained close; often vacationing together with their families.

He and Blaise grew up sharing quite the bond. They weren't exactly what one would call mates; his revolving door of father figures left Blaise rather aloof and reluctant to emotionally attach himself to people, while Lucius Malfoy's boy had been reared to seek power not friendships. Nonetheless, Draco felt a connection to his fellow little aristocrat. The moment his nanny 'Zelda threw the two toddling wizards in the same bath after a long day of playing in the mud, then pushing each other's faces in it, helped solidify their relationship.

Blaise was the yin to his yang. Or the yang to his yin. Whichever way it went, where Draco was brash and outspoken, Blaise was usually more of a reserved introvert. While Blaise was as readable as a book of goblin erotic poetry, Draco, despite his father's best efforts to mold him into a hardened, emotionless reflection of himself, regrettably had too much temperamental Black in him. The pampered princes, however, shared one thing in common; before either had even learned how to walk, they had both been taught to hate.

Once the boys got to Hogwarts, Blaise played the lone wolf, while Draco's inborn desire to dominate others quickly earned him followers and what he hoped was his father's approval. Still, Draco respected Blaise's independence and secretly admired him for his ability to be his own person. He considered the handsome black boy an equal. Late at night, while everyone else was fast asleep in their beds, the two teens would have long talks in their darkened dungeon Common room. Draco often found himself seeking out his fellow Slytherin's counsel, and every now and then, Blaise would come to him to discuss what was on his mind as well. Even though they each took different paths in school, their link remained solidly intact.

Until the War, that is. To be fair, Draco completely understood why a lot of his housemates turned on him. He was a blood-traitor. The outcome of the Second War left most of their parents, siblings, and acquaintances dead, missing, or rotting away in Azkaban. Upperclassmen like Flint, Bole, and Montague, Death Eaters all, had each landed in one of those three categories. The dream of a “pure” society had fallen to ash around the feet of his childhood playmates and Draco had played a pretty significant role in its ruin.

Shortly after the Reconstruction, Crabbe and Goyle each severed ties to him in deference to their fallen fathers. Harper, Vaisey, and Knott began to openly cut their old housemate when running into him in public. Pansy granted Skeeter an exclusive one-on-one interview to announce to the world that her and Draco's longstanding betrothal was kaput and that no amount of begging from the shunned Slytherin would make her take him back. That last one had actually come as somewhat of a relief to Draco; Pans had always been a pretty terrible lay, truth be told.

It was Blaise's desertion that had saddened him, though. Blaise; who had never shown even the slightest interest in the Dark Arts, only accumulating vast stores of gold and other wealth. As far as Draco knew, none of his step-fathers had been dark wizards or even Death Eater sympathizers. Although Magnifika Zabini had always been very vocal with her stance on purifying the magical race, he couldn't say that he had ever heard her voice the Dark Lord's name aloud. The two Zabinis had been neutral observers all through the Second War, so Draco hadn't expected Blaise to cast him aside and end their near two decade long association like most of their peers. But that's exactly what he did.

It took some time, but Draco eventually came to accept the break. First his burgeoning friendship with Hermione had helped ebb his isolation and loneliness directly after the War. Later the demands of his grueling career along with his blossoming relationship with Luna left him so fulfilled that he rarely thought of Blaise at all.

It would be years before a word was said between the two of them.

“Have you ever slept with a Muggle?”

Draco had been raising his half filled bottle of stout to his lips when Blaise's question quite literally caught him by the short and curlies. The stunned look on his face was a laugh riot; eyes bulging, mouth hanging open like a surprised fish on a hook, and had Blaise been the type to have even a dollop of humor in him, he would have fallen into hysterics at the sight of it. Instead the grim faced Slytherin stared solemnly at his old housemate and awaited a response.

Draco didn't disappoint.

“W-WHAT?!”

He fumbled his drink and nearly spilled its contents everywhere.

“No!” he protested as he quickly set it down and sought a napkin from the dispenser to dry up the mess he had made. “NO!” he said again as he emphatically shook his head. “Why would you—NO!”

As Draco wiped up the remnants of the beverage on the table, he tried to make sense of the out of nowhere inquiry.

“I mean...I'm sure everything still goes in the same slot,” he floundered, brow furrowed as if trying to suss out a most difficult conundrum, “but—NO! WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP QUESTION IS THAT, ANYHOW?!” Draco snapped, looking at his tablemate as if he had lost his head to ask such a thing.

Blaise merely rolled his eyes at the blond's crudity.

“Thank you, Draco. Although the first ‘no’ would have sufficed,” he said curtly, squirming a bit in his seat.

“The question just took me by surprise, is all,” Draco said after finishing off what was left in his bottle and setting it back down. “'Have you ever slept with a Muggle',” he aped in Blaise's stuffy, uptight mien. “Is that you’re idea of a gag?!” he griped, cocking his head. “Of course I’ve never slept with a Muggle. Who do you know who’s slept with a Muggle?” he demanded to know, referring to their circle of associates back at Hogwarts. Back then that was the kind of joke that would either earn the teller a Jelly-Legs for a few hours or a box to the ears.

The two young dandies were sitting in a booth at the very back of the Haggling Hag. Earlier that day Draco had received the rather intriguing invitation, sent by unregistered owl post, to meet Blaise for “drinks and conversation”, at the Knockturn Alley watering hole after nightfall. Since the parchment had marked the first time in nearly six years that the now big shot, captain of industry had even bothered to acknowledge his existence, Draco had been tempted to just throw the damned thing away without even reading it first. Luna had been with him when he received it, though, and her levelheaded calm had given him the encouragement to see what Blaise was up to.

When he later arrived at the pub, he found the nervous looking fellow already seated in a spot that was least likely to draw attention; his back to the door to ensure that no one saw his face. He was anally wiping at the mouth of the brandy snifter in his hand and raising it to what little light filled the room to inspect the glass for spots. After Draco slid into the seat across from him, the two traded polite greetings, asked after the wellbeing of each of their mothers, and settled into painfully courteous small talk that lasted nearly an hour. It all was enough to drive Draco to drink; fortunately the waitress who was tending them kept the Russian Imperial coming.

Once Blaise asked his ridiculously inane question, Draco really began to appraise the situation and wonder just what this little reunion was all about. He had already come to the conclusion that Blaise didn't care a fig about Auror Department intrigues or whether or not his mother was going to holiday in the Greek Isles like the rest of her set this winter. Although Blaise had sounded pleased to hear that things with Luna were going quite well, even commending him on finally settling down with a “good, pure-blooded girl”, he had sounded awkward and exceedingly ill at ease while saying it. Like he was just bubbling to tell someone, anyone, something, but couldn't quite get the words to come out right. When the question had finally spilled from Blaise's lips, even he seemed surprised to hear it.

Since Blaise had never been the antsy type, Draco could only question what had the man in such a dither. Draco also wondered at why, of all people, Blaise had chosen to put such a ludicrous question to him. Sure he was somewhat of an outcast in certain camps now, but he hadn't become that progressive. He may have fooled around with a few witches whose lineages might have been beyond the pale, but that's where he officially drew the line.

The truth was he had no great love for Muggles; despite enjoying the fruits of their labor from time to time. While Draco didn't think he hated them really, he wasn't exactly sure he liked them all that much either. He had been conditioned to think so little of them for so long that it was much too hard for Hermione, and later Luna, to break him out of all of his preconceived beliefs and foibles. The thought of actually having sex with one was completely foreign to him. The only reason he could think that Blaise would seek him out, after all these years, and ask him such a silly thing was if—

Draco gasped loudly.

“YOU’VE SLEPT WITH A MUGGLE!” The blond had nearly risen from his seat with the force of the accusation.

Blaise's almond shaped eyes darted guiltily around the room.

“Announce it to the whole pub, why don’t you?!” he whisper-shouted ferociously, setting his sights back on Draco once assured that no one had heard the charge. He was clearly embarrassed by the allegation judging by the way he grabbed up a handful of paper serviettes and began to mop at the perspiration pouring from his temples.

“Sorry, Blaise,” Draco apologized as he eased himself down slowly, “but just how in the hell did this happen?!” he bewilderedly asked.

Blaise, after debating with himself whether or not to just go ahead and share the information, finally relented after despondently exhaling. He leaned forward and Draco did the same.

“You remember my mother’s sixth husband?” he began in a hushed murmur, balling up the napkins into a wad and tossing them on the table.

“Balthazar?”

“No, that was hubby #3. After him came Barnaby, then Bartleby, then Balthus,” Blaise corrected him. “He was always a bit of an odd duck. Well one of the companies he had bequeathed to me was an outmoded textiles factory in Jakarta.”

Blaise paused, as if to reconsider what he had said, then grimaced. Draco suspected it was actually a forced attempt at a smile.

“Oh, let’s just call it what it was, shall we? I owned a sweatshop. It made silk gloves for Muggles. And that’s all it ever made,” he continued as he indolently relaxed back in the booth. “It returned next to nothing in means of profit, so last year I finally decided to sell it. Not too long after a group of investors made an offer to buy the land it sat on and we settled on a deal.”

“Let me guess,” the blond interrupted him, “the woman…”

Draco grinned evilly.

“…that is assuming we are talking about a woman,” he snarkily said, causing Blaise to sit up straight and shoot him a threatening look, “was one of these high rollers?”

“No. However the law firm that she,” he made sure to emphasize the word, “works for was representing them. We bumped into each other one day in the lobby,” Blaise replied. One of his eyes twitched. “The way she looked at me…”

A salacious leer formed on Draco's face. “That randy for you, eh?”

Blaise wryly shook his head.

“No. She looked at me as though I were dripping in essence of pubescent ogre jiz.”

“Yeesh!” responded Draco sympathetically.

“Although I hate to admit it,” began Blaise, “it kind of…intrigued me. Not many people have ever been so openly dismissive of me before. The fact that she was a Muggle, and that I could have had her kneeling before me if I had felt so inclined, only heightened my interest. I must have asked her out over twenty times before she finally relented. It almost became an obsession of mine. But I was convinced that once I got this particular…”

He paused discomfortingly.

“…curiosity out of my system,” he self-consciously went on, “I would be cured of it.”

“So what happened?” Draco eagerly asked, scooting even closer to the edge of the table. Blaise's predicament was the most fascinating piece of goss he had heard in ages.

The left corner of Blaise's lip turned downward. His company interpreted this as a frown.

“We played a game of lawn bowls,” he told Draco. “I’ve never done anything half so pedestrian in all my life. And yet I didn’t hate it,” he unwillingly admitted.

“No, no,” said his guest impatiently. “I mean after you fucked her, what happened?” Draco avidly asked. “Did it fix you?”

In answer, Blaise lowered his face to the table in disgrace.

“I see,” replied Draco astutely.

Now he understood what had Blaise awash in flop sweat and acting so twitchy. This was no meaningless coupling he had been confessing to. Blaise actually felt something for this Muggle he had been sneaking around with. And it was plainly evident that he had been keeping the shocking secret to himself for so long that the shame of it had finally driven him to seek out the one person he believed wouldn't judge him for it.

“I can’t believe you fucked a Muggle!”

Blaise slapped his hand hard on the table, rattling both of their drinks.

“As though you can talk!” he hissed. “The way you carried on after that plain, Muggle-born trollop and all—”

“Watch it, Blaise!”

Draco instantly went on the defense. After all this time the topic of Hermione Granger was still a sensitive subject with him. Although she had been missing for years, he still cared about her and hoped that wherever she was, she was happy and safe. Blaise had no right to speak her name; especially in such an ugly, disparaging tone. The other Slytherin, however, ignored the warning and kept right on flapping his jaw.

“My father—my real father used to tell me all about them you know; Mudbloods. I was hardly more than four when he died, but I still remember everything he tried to impart to me. He always believed that they were aberrations, never meant to be born; neither Muggle, nor truly magical. I thought you knew that too, but I was wrong. I mean at first I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt after the War. I had hoped that you were only playing some angle fawning over Potter's pet the way that you did,” said Blaise pompously. “But it soon became painfully obvious that you were actually after that Granger slag.”

Draco had had enough.

“YOU GO TOO FAR!” he shouted, eyes as dangerous as a pair of ice picks. “And I wasn’t obvious,” he unconvincingly sniped as an afterthought once their waitress stopped by to drop off another Russian Imperial. As she walked away, Draco jerked the bottle up to his mouth and stared hatefully at his housemate before slamming it back down.

Blaise laughed dryly, not moved at all by Draco's mounting outrage.

“Why do you think I cut ties?” he volleyed, folding his arms on the table. “Because you sided with the Resistance? Don’t be thick, Draco. I’ve always been more of a pragmatist than the rest of the old crowd,” Blaise imperiously pointed out. In a snooty voice he professed, “There is no shame in protecting one's own self-interests. But to debase yourself for the likes of her?” The sentiment was rife with disgust. “A common, overreaching, little social climbing freak?! Did you at least get a return on that investment?”

It was a wonder Draco's gums didn't bleed; his teeth were grinding against each other so painfully that he could practically taste the enamel stripping from them. In a deathly calm voice he said, “Hermione and I were only ever friends.”

“So I take it that means no, then?” Blaise pursed his lips. “Well, your mother can continue to hold her head up over something, I suppose.”

“SAYS THE TWAT THAT’S BEEN FUCKING A MUGGLE!” came Draco's malicious retort. If Blaise thought he was going to sit back and be ridiculed just so he could feel better about his own questionable indiscretions, the blighter had another thing coming. Draco was beyond furious!

“Stop saying it like that!” yelped Blaise anxiously.

Though he was concerned that his secret would soon be the talk of the town, he still couldn't stand to hear Draco sully it and turn it into something ugly and profane.

“It wasn’t like that! It was more than just…than just that,” he swore vehemently. “She’s urbane and well-bred; she's as sensible as she is cerebral.”

As Blaise listed off his mystery woman's many virtues, his eyes were aglow with his esteem.

“And she has a talent with money the likes I’ve only seen in those possessing goblin blood,” he added with a smile almost approaching giddy. “And…and…”

All at once, as if really hearing his own mad, impassioned gibbering, Blaise suddenly slumped in his seat disconsolately. He dropped his face in his upturned hands and mumbled unhappily into them.

“…dear Merlin, my mum is going to blast me right off the family tree, isn't she?”

The answer was an emphatic, categorical, no doubt about it “yes”. But even Draco, being the sort of bloke that typically enjoyed kicking a fellow when he was down, in fact getting a right kick out of it to be honest, just couldn't bring himself to do it to Blaise. The toerag deserved it, Merlin knew how much he deserved it, but Draco's better angels won out in the end.

“Did you ever consider the idea that our parents got it all wrong?” he ponderingly asked, leaning back in the booth. He was fidgeting with his drink on the table, twisting it this way and that; watching the liquid swish and sway.

Draco seemed to reflectively study the last drabbles of black ale that lingered at the bottom of the bottle.

“That all the shite they drummed into our small heads when we were too young to know any better was just that; shite?” It was a question he had often asked himself, never really wanting to say the answer outright.

Blaise raised his head and lobbed a denigrating look at his tablemate.

“Draco Malfoy, what the hairy blue bollocks are you blathering on about?!” he stormily inquired, having no use for such philosophical tosh at a time like this. Didn't Draco know he was having a real-life, personal crisis here?!

The blond stifled a chuckle and shrugged Blaise's vexation off.

“Never mind,” he said. “So tell me; what are you going to do about this, uh…um…”

He realized that Blaise had never mentioned his lady love's name.

“Amparo.”

Draco quirked a smile. Sounding politely curious, he asked, “So what are you going to do about this Amparo?”

Blaise breathed out a heartsick sounding sigh at the question. Draco had never seen him look so lost, so miserable. He even felt a slight twinge of empathy at the poor berk's plight.

“I don’t know,” Blaise answered. He raised his neglected drink and swirled its contents. “Ask her out again? Break things off?” He put the glass to his lips and knocked back his liquor in a single swallow. Setting the emptied snifter back down, he closed his eyes tightly against the warm liquid draining like quick-silver down his insides, before returning his face to its routine enigmatic expression. “Turn her into a dormouse and keep her in a cage under my bed? I haven’t decided which yet.”

Draco laughed at the funny, before immediately sobering. It's not as if Blaise was ever known for his frivolity and lighthearted sense of fun.

Shaking off the disturbing notion, Draco awkwardly attempted to lighten the mood himself.

“Well, you could always marry her,” he ineptly joked, tittering weakly as he said it. He then promptly turned his head to signal the waitress for the check.

Five months later, no one was more surprised than the blond Slytherin himself, when Blaise actually took him at his suggestion.

Of course by then Blaise and Amparo were all in love (or at least something passing for it). Apparently the love struck fool had thrown himself fully into the relationship shortly after their conversation that night at the Hag. Amparo had even gone so far as to thank Draco for his “endorsement”. Really she gave him far too much credit.

In actuality, before the two had said their vows, Draco had done his best to talk Blaise out of going through with it. Not because he had anything against Amparo; for a Muggle, she was tolerable. The one and only time he had ever met her, she had come off straitlaced and a bit dull for his own personal tastes. But that actually made her perfectly suited for her rather humorless intended, he reckoned.

Problem was, when Blaise had chosen to share with Draco his plans to propose, the Auror and his partner had just come from spending the better part of the day in the morgue at St. Mungo's with the bodies of Cadmus' most recent victims. February had been a busy month that had already seen hits on two half-and-half couples previous to the murders of Chutney Gupta and her Muggle husband, Suchindra. The idea of Blaise marrying Amparo had been the last thing Draco had wanted to hear after that, but the excited bridegroom would not be swayed. He had stood up to his own mother, for Merlin's sake! If he could face that termagant's wrath and still come out with his dignity…not to mention his inheritance, no bigoted barmcake was going to stop him from being with Amparo for as long as they both should live, Blaise had fearlessly declared.

As Draco gazed at the wreckage of Carregbryn, his eyes treacherously prickled at the bitter irony of those words now.

It just wasn't right! Blaise had done everything correctly to avoid this very catastrophe from coming to pass. He and Amparo had eloped, opting not to have some big, flashy ceremony that would have only drawn attention to them. Knowledge of Amparo's Muggle ancestry was not that widely known. The two kept a relatively low profile. They had been perfectly safe and married for months before they and their entire staff were so ruthlessly exterminated.

So why now?!

Why them?!

What could have possibly put Blaise and Amparo on the lunatic's radar all of a sudden after having gone to ground for weeks? This attack had come out of nowhere, it seemed. Something just wasn't adding up, yet Draco was at a loss. All he knew was that for the first time since Ptolemy Cadmus had started down this senseless trail or terror, the madness had finally come right into Draco's own backyard, claiming the life of someone he had known personally, almost as long as he had known his own self.

And he was mad enough to spit in a cyclop’s eye over it!

As a matter of fact, Draco was still ruminating over these very thoughts when his partner finally arrived a short while later.

“HIT THE DECK!”

Draco felt the whoosh of hot air travel down the length of his back as his body hugged the ground beneath him. He had been conversing with one of his teammates when the officer, a great big bruiser with a ballet dancer's grace, glanced up and saw the projectile figure barreling straight at them. The officer called Draco's attention to it just seconds before diving for the ground; taking his colleague with him. Although he was thoroughly shaken, the blond managed to get out one single word before he kissed dirt.

“MOTHERFUCKER!”

He then rolled onto his back just in time to see Potter haphazardly touchdown on a patch of grass right on the bank of the rolling river. The impact of the near crash landing was so forcible that Draco wouldn't have been surprised if it had left a stamp. He had come just this close to hurtling into the drink. It was a wonder that Potter hadn't snapped his neck after such a reckless stunt!

Instead the showoff dismounted his broom with little ceremony, shrunk it down, and shoved it into his pocket. Straightening his dangling specs, and without even bothering to apologize, he hustled right past Draco and Auror Fitzroy as if he hadn't seen his two bewildered teammates gawking after him. Rather his rounded, haunted eyes were focused solely on the large gutted mansion as he rushed towards it. The blond had to race and jump in front of the man to head him off.

“POTTER, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU PLAYING AT?! YOU ALMOST DECAPITATED ME!” Draco bellowed, shoving at his partner. Auror Fitzroy was right at his side, clearly just as stunned as Draco was to see their leader in the condition he was in. Although both of them had last seen Potter at the Ball the night before, the man looked like he had aged a couple of decades since then.

“Where is she?” the Gryffindor questioned, all wild-eyed as he struggled against the blond. Auror Fitzroy had to get between them just to disentangle the two men from each other.

Draco, who had been only half contemplating the best way to stun Potter and make it look like it had been an accident, was startled not just by the question, but by the near hysteria that accompanied it.

“Where is who?” he composedly asked, quickly coming down from his annoyance.

It was no good. Potter simply shook Auror Fitzroy off and grabbed at the front of Draco's scarlet robes, pulling him close while staring franticly into his eyes.

“I have no time for games, Malfoy! Just tell me where she's at,” he fixedly implored, giving Draco a good shake. “I need to see her! I need…I…I n-need…”

Potter's incoherent blithering choked up in a near sob as fevered tears came, unbidden, to his eyes. Draco saw them plainly there before some form of self-possession over took him and he valiantly fought them back. Accomplishing that, Potter tried to throw the blond to the side.

“If you won't tell me, I'll go find her myself!” he forthrightly vowed, forcing Draco out of his way. He didn't get too far before the blond grabbed a hold of him and wheeled him right back around.

“Who are you talking about, Potter?”

Rather than respond to the question, he ignored Draco completely and turned to Auror Fitzroy instead.

“Church, where are the survivors?”

The black man's anxious eyes found Draco's for only a second, before they settled back on those of their distraught Squad Leader.

“Survivors?”

Potter's eyes glowed as if lit by green fire. “Yes! Where are they, Church?”

Once again the other two Aurors shared a look. For his part, Draco was unnerved by the whole exchange. The Second Squad had been working the Cadmus case for months. Nothing the kook had done so far had ever rattled their team leader like this. Potter sounded far too panicked now for Draco's liking.

“T-there are none, boss,” Auror Fitzroy gently answered, his thick brows knitted in worry.

“WHAT?!”

Unperturbed by Potter's agitated explosion, the Auror held his ground and repeated the answer.

“There are none. Most of the bodies were so badly burned that there was a touch of trouble identifying a few.”

At the reply, all of the blood drained from Potter's face and he began a new round of maddened jabbering.

“NO!” he cried out in distress. “No, it's not true! It can't be true! You have to tell me where she is!”

Potter tried to get passed the two officers once more before Draco managed to grab him from behind; hooking his arms under the Gryffindor's pits, and curling them back to physically restrain him.

Though there was no Auror on the team more loyal to the “boss” than himself, Churchill Fitzroy stood by and watched the whole thing play out as he agonizingly fretted over what to do; if he should break it up or send for help. He was quite used to seeing Harry and Auror Malfoy come just within inches of tackling each other to the ground during a heated altercation, but there was always that underlying assurance that neither would actually make good on his threat to kill the other. This time around Churchill couldn't be sure.

Draco recognized that this little skirmish of theirs was something all together different as well. Judging by the way Potter thrashed and flailed in his arms, he was ready to destroy the blond as soon as he got free of him. This led Draco to secure his hold on the man until Potter could calm down somewhat and be reasoned with. Draco wasn't stupid. Like himself, Potter wasn't the most physically imposing of blokes, but he was scrappy. Having tussled with him a couple of times in their youth, Draco could personally attest to this fact.

Luckily most of the bystanders had already cleared the area, leaving only a handful of stragglers from the media lingering about. Those bloodsuckers were camped around front where Hanes was giving an impromptu, blustery press conference and taking questions. There were no prying eyes to witness the scuffle that was happening in the field behind the manor ruins.

“Potter, are you mad?!” fumed Draco right into his ear, struggling to keep him in his grips. It was like mud wrestling a greased mountain troll.

Not that Draco got his jollies mud wrestling too many greased up mountain trolls.

“What the hell is wrong with you? What's going on? Do you even realize that you are out of uniform?” he continued, taking in his partner's disheveled appearance. If the commander caught sight of Potter in his civies, the arsehole would blow a gasket. Hanes was always looking for a reason to jump down the Gryffindor’s throat; always looking for any reason to get rid of him, no matter how petty. Potter was just begging for a warning.

With a solid elbow to the belly, the sinewy Gryffindor was able to throw off his captor. It took Draco a second to adjust himself properly, before the two of them were angrily face to face again. Auror Fitzroy stood by as a helpless spectator, ready to jump in and lend his lead officer a hand if needed. Harry might be acting a bit loopy, but Auror Malfoy deserved a good arse kicking for such flagrant insubordination. Harry, however, seemed to be holding his own just fine.

“Hermione, Malfoy; is she safe?! Where is she?” the dark haired Auror demanded to know.

Draco's eyes popped at the inanity of the questions. Hermione?! What did any of this have to do with her?

“Well if she's lucky, she's having a frozen pumpkin latte somewhere right now. Otherwise, fuck if I know.”

“NO, YOU IDIOT!” yelled Potter through tightly clenched teeth. “SHE WAS SUPPOSED TO BE IN THERE!” Turning his head, he stared despairingly at the ruins of Carregbryn again. His eyes squeezed shut, as if willing the sight away, but when they reopened, it still remained. “Hermione was in there!” his tormented voice croaked before making a maddened dash for the house once more, leaving Draco and Auror Fitzroy in his wake.

Potter's spur of the moment escape didn't leave Draco much time to think; the Slytherin just made a gut-check decision. Turning to the befuddled Auror still standing beside him, Draco caught his attention.

“Auror Fitzroy, I need to speak to the squadron leader alone for a second. Could you go and see what the Chief is up to?”

“And?” came the leery response. The man eyed the Slytherin warily; unsure of whether it was a good idea to leave the combative pair alone without a referee. Draco couldn't begrudge him his watchfulness.

“Keep Commander Hanes as far from back here as you can,” the blond unsmilingly told the Auror. After years of being used as target practice for evil wizards and fighting off legions of dark creatures, the inevitable had finally happened. Harry Potter had officially gone off his nut!

Draco didn't think he needed an audience for it, though.

Auror Fitzroy seemed to agree. With a nod, he blinked out of sight.

Draco also Disapparated; appearing again just shy of the mad Gryffindor, unable to get a finger on him. He had to take a clumsy leap, arms outstretched, to grab onto any part of Potter that he could just to catch the wanker by the ankle. They both ended up going down flat on their faces. Although an Impedimenta would have been more civilized, Draco continued to temper his urge to simply pull his wand on the prat to make him stand still. He might fantasize about hexing Potter from time to time, but Draco would never seriously do it…he didn't think. Besides it was pretty bad form to jinx your own partner.

“LET ME GO, MALFOY!” rumbled Potter as he pumped his leg out to free himself. With a quick roll, Draco narrowly avoided wearing the pattern at the bottom of Potter's trainers on his face. Whereas the Slytherin had only been mildly aggravated by the man's insane ranting and odd actions before; he was ready to strangle him with his bare hands now.

“NOT UNTIL YOU STOP ACTING LIKE A FUCKING CRAZY PERSON!” yelled Draco, jumping from the ground and dusting himself off. The bastard was definitely getting his cleaning bill after all of this confusion was cleared up. “DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHERE YOU ARE, POTTER? WHOSE HOUSE THIS WAS?”

The dark haired Auror had also made it to his feet and was staring back at him contentiously.

“BLAISE ZABINI'S!” he growled in defiance. It was obvious that he realized how erratic his behavior read, but he would not be cowed by any of Draco's insults. “He's married to a Muggle by the name of Amparo Leon,” he explained. “I've met her. I've talked to her. Hermione knows her too. The two of them were supposed to be meeting here this very afternoon.”

Although all the facts told Draco what he had just heard was impossible…improbable…in-fucking-conceivable, his chest still hitched from lack of available air.

“That…that can't be,” he barely gulped out.

“WHY WOULD I FUCKING MAKE IT UP?!”

“But…but…”

Draco felt as if the earth had suddenly shifted right from under him. He had to fight off an inconvenient bout of the dry heaves. All of those blackened bodies; he had watched as the Mediwizards carried the last of them out. One of them had been Blaise's, and if Potter was now to be believed…Hermione's?

“B-b-but that…th-that doesn't make any sense. No one c-came out of th-there alive,” Draco weakly stammered, staring at the ground as if to make sure it was still underfoot and had not somehow switched positions with him. “Not Blaise, not Amparo, n-not…”

As his eyes met with Potters, he couldn't even say the name. Potter dumbly shook his head as he ungainly staggered back.

“She's not dead,” he mumbled in a hollow, dispassionate voice, barely recognizable from any Draco had ever heard out of him before. Gone was the habitual Gryffindor, holier-than-thou swagger. Draco much preferred that bastard to this rather unfamiliar imposter he had somehow happened upon.

Clumsily, Potter plopped down to his knees like a marionette cut at the strings. It was like he had internally shut down, and Draco was horrified to find an empty void residing there when he looked into those much ballyhooed eyes of his. If he didn't do something soon, he feared that Potter would soon go into shock. Draco wasn't so sure that he wasn't already at that stage himself.

The blond Auror dropped in front of his partner, looking him squarely in the eye. Unsure of what else to do, Draco tentatively reached out a hand towards him.

“Harry?”

Potter's unfocused, glazed over gaze instantly adjusted. His eyes blazed with fiery contempt at the blond. Draco immediately felt foolish for his momentary lapse of judgment. Potter scrambled up from the ground as though Draco's touch would somehow contaminate him.

“SHE'S NOT DEAD!” he howled; his whole body wracked by the force of a powerful, grief burdened sob. “SHE CAN'T BE DEAD! I would know it if she were dead. Don’t you see?! I would feel it! SHE’S NOT DEAD!”

Draco achingly rose from the grass, watching as Potter shoved a hand into his trouser pocket and yanked out his Muggle two-way; pushing a button and fastening it to his ear. He determinedly ignored Draco's presence as he mumbled incessantly to himself.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up! Please, Hermione, pick up!”

Potter had bought the device a couple of days before when the two of them had been doing a bit of undercover surveillance work in Westminster. When it looked like nothing would come of the false Cadmus sighting, Potter had wandered into an electronics shop and bought the bit of gadgetry, while Draco had hung silently in the background, avoiding the reach of Hermione's leashed pooch Potter had brought along with them. However he had ended up leaving the store in a fit after the cheeky salesman offered to give Potter a discount on a second “mobile” for his boyfriend, all while motioning in the blond's direction. To add insult to injury, the assumption that the two men were lovers hadn't stopped the oily berk from continuing to flirt with his customer while Draco stood right there and played witness. He had stormed out in protest at the indignity of it all.

“HERMIONE?!”

Potter had stopped his busy back and forth as he throatily pronounced her name. He cradled the Muggle two-way to his ear and turned his back to Draco, unwilling it seemed to share with him the delirious, jubilant tears that had somehow managed to slip by his tightly screwed eyes. Nevertheless, Potter's voice betrayed his exultation; filled with such heartened, unvarnished relief that it vibrated with it. Although Draco would have never admitted it to the man, the sound of such naked emotion put the Slytherin's tenuous fears at rest. It all could only mean one thing. She wasn't dead! Hermione wasn't dead!

“Hermione, I've been ringing you all day!” Potter exclaimed, treading a fine line between sounding exasperated and near drunk with rapturous joy. “Where are you?!”

Unable to hear Hermione's end of the conversation, Draco had to make do with listening closely to everything that Potter said to follow along.

“YOU'RE STILL IN BED?!” When Potter swung around, Draco could see the look of pure astonishment on his face. In a mystified tone he blurted, “You mean you've been asleep all this time?!”

Whatever she said to that had Potter tripping over himself to apologize profusely. Over and over again, he tried to make amends.

“For the last time; I’ve already said I'm sorry, Hermione!” he eventually groaned out, giving up in frustration. “Now listen; I need you to stay right where you are. Don't leave the village until I say so. In fact, don't even go out the door if you don't have to.”

Potter bit down on his lip as he heard her response.

“I know…I know you were seeing her today, but—no, listen. You can't go over to Amparo’s house.”

Potter huffed irritably.

“Because you can't,” he replied to whatever argument she had given.

Draco smirked when the Gryffindor self-consciously glanced over at him. Embarrassedly, Potter rubbed at the back of his neck and attempted to lower the volume of his voice.

“This has nothing to do with…with what happened after I took you home; with what I said.”

The blond's ears pricked up on that; saving it to digest later.

“Of course I'm not trying to order you around,” said Potter tightly, trying his best to sound agreeable. The way he dragged his fingers through his longish hair in frustration, however, gave away his true feelings. When she said something that must have particularly stung, Potter pulled the Muggle two-way from his ear and infuriatedly shouted into it. “YOU'RE NOT LISTENING TO ME!”

Draco could actually hear what sounded like Hermione's teeny, discordant voice railing back at him before Potter shot the blond a look of disdain, and put the device back to his ear. He vigorously shook his head.

“Oh no!” Potter yelped; eyes growing wide. “No! I'm telling you that you can't go to Amparo's!” his steely voice said. “Because…because…”

Rolling his eyes; Potter dug in his heels and spoke authoritatively into the device.

“MERLIN'S WHISKERS, HERMIONE; IF YOU WOULD JUST STOP ARGUING WITH ME FOR A SECOND, I'LL TELL YOU!” he yelled. “YOU CAN'T GO TO AMPARO'S HOUSE BECAUSE IT'S NO LONGER THERE! DO YOU UNDERSTAND THAT?! IT’S NO LONGER THERE!”

Her response made him curtail his anger and dolefully nod his head.

“Yes, that's what I said. It's what I've been trying to tell you. I can't give you all of the specifics right now, but…they're dead, Hermione. That’s right; Blaise and Amparo are dead.” After a cheerless sigh he added consolingly, “I know, luv. I know.”

Draco realized that the note of tenderness in his partner's voice had nothing to do with Blaise, but with Amparo somehow. Remembering what Potter had said earlier, Draco wondered at just what Hermione's connection to Blaise's wife could possibly be. However instead of hearing any further details on it, Potter began to bluster loudly.

“Whaddaya mean, 'does Glinda know'?! I've not spoken to her.”

Potter's eyes began to blink furiously as he shook his head.

“Oh, no!” He spluttered again, “No! You listen to me right now, Hermione. Do not go to Glinda's!” Smiling sardonically he said, “Why yes, that was an order. You can't go to Glinda's; it's not safe! I forbid it!”

The tactical error made even Draco cringe. Potter did too. The surefire way to get Hermione Granger's hackles up was to try and push her around. She always fought back! Although it was pretty petty of him, Draco happily smiled as he watched Potter go down in flames.

“I'll take whatever tone I want!” he snippily told her. “Yes, I know she's your friend, but—”

Disbelief spread across Potter's face, hindering him from completing the sentence.

“Hello?” After pulling back the Muggle two-way for a second to stare at it in astonishment, Potter put it right back to his ear. “Hello?! HELLO?! HERMIONE?! SHITE!” Kicking at the ground crossly, Potter shut it off and stuffed the Muggle device back into his pocket. The look on his face was most fearsome.

Not that Draco cared. He had finally reached his threshold of patience with his partner's bizarre theatrics. He wanted some answers. And fast!

“Potter, how did you know that this was Blaise's estate?” he keenly asked, holding the man’s attention. “Hell, I didn't even know it until I arrived out here.”

The git shrugged his shoulders and evasively answered, “Lucky guess.”

Draco frowned. “And just how do you know Amparo?”

“Met her last night at the pub after the Ball. Listen, Auror Malfoy,” Potter brusquely began, trying to redirect the conversation, “I need to pop off to Hogsmeade to check on something, but before I do, I think we should gather the team and have a short briefing. I want to know everything I've missed.”

Obstinately narrowing his gray eyes, Draco said, “A lot! But I'm not telling unless you talk, you wanker!

The bastard was trying to turn everything around on him, thought Draco crankily. Like he hadn't been the one zooming in, mad as a hatter, to announce that Hermione had been inside Carregbryn; like it wasn't his fault that the two of them had been rolling around in the dirt just moments earlier. And now he was traipsing off again?! Potter was trying to keep something vital from him, he just knew, but Draco wasn't having it.

“Your shite might work on others, Potter, but I'm not buying it!” he proclaimed, pointing a finger at him accusingly. “If you know why Blaise is dead right now, you better start talking. What the hell happened here today?” The blond was a kettle of resentment just ready to boil over.

“Alright, alright!” Potter fussily carped, walking right up to him. With no further hedging, he lowered his voice. “I'm not really sure. All I know is that two days after meeting Hermione in the heart of Diagon Alley, Amparo Leon is now dead; killed in a house fire.” At the sight of Draco's gobsmacked expression, Potter let out a mordant snicker. “Quite the coincidence, don't you think?”

Draco was knocked for six by the news.

“Let me see if I understand you correctly. You think Ptolemy Cadmus came after Amparo and Blaise…to get at Hermione?” he incredulously questioned. He couldn't grasp what he was hearing. “But why here?!”

Potter huffed in exasperation. “He wouldn't be able to get her at the Hollow, would he? He wouldn't even be able to get within twenty miles of her with that Bulwark I put up.”

The blond nodded his head thoughtfully. “But I'm sure he could have gotten her any number of times outside the Hollow.”

Gritting his teeth, Potter shot back, “When?! When she was with me? When she was out with you?! Ron?! Cadmus would have never stood a chance!”

Still Draco pushed back. “Well what exactly would his plan today have been? Kidnap her? Kill her? And why? Just because she looks like his dead kid?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” exclaimed Potter, tiring of his partner’s unremitting cross-examination. “But since when did any of this make sense?!”

Draco couldn't disagree with that. Crazies weren't really known to be rational. But the timing of Blaise and Amparo's unforeseen deaths did seem to dovetail nicely with Potter's theory. If Hermione was what led Cadmus to Carregbryn today, that would mean that this wasn't over. If he had now truly switched his focus over to her, what would be his next move?

“If you're right,” said Draco decisively, “we have to tell her she may be in danger now. We have to let Hermione know.”

Potter's forehead creased. “What 'we'?” he aggravatingly queried; straight-faced. Continuing in the same vein, he dismissively said, “Hermione's safety is none of your concern.”

The blond blinked as though he had misheard. “None of my concern?”

Draco nearly choked on the condescension.

“That's right,” came Potter's smart arsed reply, “so stay out of it. I'll be the one to ensure that she remains out of harm's way.” As if mulling it over some more, he added to himself, “I'm also going to have to get my brother and sister-in-law under protection again as soon as possible.”

With that said, he turned his back to Draco to head for the front of the structure and seek out the rest of the team. News of Hermione's non-death had done wonders for his disposition. He had crashed down in a tailspin, figuratively and literally, but was now acting more like the Potter of old; practical, professional, and a pain in the arse.

“Now see here, you self-righteously smug bastard,” snapped the blond belligerently, marching right alongside his partner, “you don't own Hermione!”

Without slowing his progress, Potter glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and sneered. “Of course I don't own her, but I am her friend.”

“As am I!” Draco griped, stopping dead in his tracks.

Potter came to an abrupt halt and turned to face the other Auror.

“That's debatable,” he said flippantly, readying to turn the cornerstone of what had been Carregbryn's west wing.

“Why you—”

Without thinking, Draco's hand involuntarily jumped to his wand holster. The only thing that paused the events of the day from shuttling to the inglorious finish it would eventually end on, was the appearance of the wizard and the dark robed witch that came strolling around the corner; Hanes, and on his arm, a resplendent looking Magnifika Zabini. She was bedecked in an array of glittering jewels from the diamonds in her dusky, upswept hair, all the way down to the moonstone buckles on her shoes. Trailing behind the pair was Magnifika’s manservant, Gimlet; a satyr that Draco remembered fondly from his adolescence. The shaggy legged creature used to tell the best old Grindelwald yarns and had even let Blaise and Draco have a few puffs off his “medicinal” hookah when they had asked him once; loyally cleaning up the evidence when the two young masters had been sick all over his servant’s quarters afterwards.

The two partners immediately stood at attention; their hostility vanishing in the presence of their shared villain. With only a hint of irreverence, they both saluted their commanding officer.

“Gentlemen,” the two men lowered their hands, “I hope we're not interrupting,” began the irritable Chief Auror unpleasantly, eyeing both of his officers with an air of disfavor. “I had a feeling I would find you skulking around back here, Auror Malfoy, but Auror Fitzroy was adamant that you had returned to headquarters.” Hanes fixed his sight solely on the Slytherin; his dark eyes sparking with distrust. “I suppose he was just mistaken.”

Draco refrained from visibly flinching at the hardly subtle indictment. Hanes might hate Potter’s guts with an unyielding passion, but Draco knew full well that he wasn't on the commander's Christmas list either. Where once his father's influence had been a boon, now; years since the War's end, Draco still paid the cost of being the Death Eater's son.

“Auror Potter, it's so good to see that you could finally join us,” Hanes continued, turning a rictus grin on him. Hanes gave Potter a silent, once over, then introduced his guest as he released his hold on her. “I'm sure you both know Madam Zabini.”

The ageless beauty stood by mutely as the two Aurors acknowledged her presence. Potter showed just the bare minimum of respect with a short nod, while Draco exhibited what he felt was the proper deference owed such a longstanding family connection; especially one he hadn’t spoken to in ages.

“Hello, Magnifika,” he said, bowing at the waist. As he straightened, he could hear his partner sniggering just under his breath. He met Potter's mocking smirk with a moue of simmering displeasure.

Hanes' feigned cough broke up their warring stares.

“She just arrived and was hoping to find out any information concerning her son. I don't suppose either of you could help her on that,” he added, pointedly looking at Potter. Knowing the commander, he was going to tear into the Gryffindor's arse as soon as Magnifika departed. Potter knew it too. The veins in his neck corded as he bit back a quick-tempered response. Draco decided to step in to defuse the situation.

“We're pretty much done here,” he said, approaching Blaise's mum. Taking one of her ring heavy hands in his own, he looked her in her eyes as he sympathetically stroked her wrist. “Unfortunately, Magnifika…and I'm sorry to have to be the one to tell you this, but—Blaise is dead.” His scratchy voice nearly cracked. “I identified him myself,” he delicately told her. “Neither he nor his wife survived today’s attack.”

As cool as ice, she removed his fingers from her wrist and pulled back her hand. Draco felt the chill as she appeared to stare straight through him.

“Has the Ministry issued a formal decree yet?”

The question stumped him, causing Draco to frown. “Pardon?”

Gimlet stepped up and handed his mistress a loosely rolled sheet of parchment that she then held out to the Auror. He spotted right away its broken wax Gringotts’ seal.

“I've just come from the bank,” she announced as Draco took the roll from her. While he unfurled it to read, she continued to speak. “Ragastaadt, the foul little thing in charge of Blaise's account there, has informed me that until there is an official ruling; control of my son's vaults will not turn over to me.”

Draco stared at the woman, dumbstruck at what she had said. He couldn't have heard right. At least that's what he tried to convince himself. Unfortunately Potter was there to burst that happy little bubble of self-delusion.

“Unbelievable…”

There was no denying the sheer abhorrence in Potter's tone. It made Draco recoil in trepidation and Hanes shoot the hothead a severe, disciplining look. Potter ignored them both, gazing at Blaise's mother as though she were something inhuman and contemptible. The witch, however, paid little heed to his stark disapproval. To the rest of the world Potter might still be their savior, but to Magnifika Zabini he was little more than some upstart half-breed.

“It has to be in writing, you see,” she said frostily as the stout, little Gimlet stepped forward, his rounded, low hanging belly swinging before him, and retrieved the paperwork from out of Draco's ashen, shaking hands. He was dismayed to find that the once paternal old satyr seemed to be following his mistress' lead by treating him as if he were little more than some insignificant gnat. “The goblins are very strict about these niggling details,” Magnifika continued, turning to Hanes. “Armistead, could you look into it for me, please? Until then I suppose the solicitors will just have to hash it all out until they find a way to work around this minor inconvenience.”

She was all business; her carefree delivery nearly making Draco bend at the waist and drop his head between his knees. He was that ill. And yet he held his tongue, unable or unwilling to vocalize his horror at the woman's alarming indifference. He had just told her that her son, her only child, was dead and all she seemed interested in was discussing formalities and sticky red tape. It was surreal! Draco would have thought it was all some sick joke if Potter hadn't gone and blown his stack.

“SHE WAS PREGNANT, YOU HAG! YOU'RE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW; SHE WAS GOING TO HAVE A BABY!” he roared, advancing on her in two swift steps. Both Gimlet and Hanes moved as if to shield the little woman from the big, bad, intimidating Auror, but Magnifika confidently waved them off. She didn't even blink in the face of Potter's raging fury. With his voice edged in disgust he cruelly snarled, “YOU WERE GOING TO BE A GRANDMOTHER OR DON’T YOU EVEN CARE?”

Draco's head had instantly snapped towards his partner's direction when he dropped the bombshell. The blond was positively floored by the information. The impact of it hit Magnifika hard as well.

“A child?” The barest hint of human feeling seemed to creep into her voice at last. “Blaise never mentioned anything of a child,” she said faintly.

The divulgence actually made Potter's hostility wane. As Magnifika turned dark fringed eyes up at him, the Gryffindor dialed his attitude back.

“He didn't know,” he disclosed tactfully. Potter looked sincerely saddened as he solemnly went on. “She was waiting to tell him on his birthday. She’d been so happy.”

Frown lines appeared between her eyebrows, flawing Magnifika’s near perfect, ocher skin. “Why that's just in a few days,” she murmured pensively.

Her stoic expression then hardened.

“Pity.” Draco and Potter both gaped at her in astonishment. “Then again I suppose one less mongrel is no great loss,” she coolly added, then turned to her manservant. “Come along, Gimlet.”

Holding out her arm rigidly, the woman impatiently waited until the satyr gingerly touched her elbow to Disapparate them both away.

The second she was gone, Hanes pounced on his two Aurors like a wild dog.

“Look you two,” he heatedly began, “I'll have no more of this tomfoolery out of any of the officers under my command; you got that?!” His eyes ricocheted between them. “That mincing little prick Gilligan Pilliwickle is waiting for me back at my office. One word from him or Fournier and your father-in-law will give the go-ahead to blow my whole investigation wide open,” Hanes continued, his eyes landing on Potter; practically boring a hole through his head. “I'll not have the Home Secretary in my hair because of the incompetence of a couple of spoiled, over-hyped war brats!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see his partner's jaw line tense, but the Auror maintained his cool veneer. Draco tried to follow Potter’s lead, but he was furious. Their team had been busting their humps for months trying to nab this psycho. They were doing the best they could to track the dark wizard down, but it was like trying to throw your fists against the wind; you hit nothing but air. Other than the daughter's ring they found back in January, they hadn't come across anything more substantial to help lead them to Cadmus or his pet Vipertooth; no prints, dander, not even dragon waste. No accounts of livestock or domestic animal mutilations near any of the crime scenes; typically an occurrence reported soon after a dragon sighting. But there was nothing at all about this case that was typical.

Sometimes it felt like all of their hard work was futile, and that Cadmus, the dragon, all of it was just some figment of their collective psyches. But it was an insult for Hanes to intimate that they hadn’t put their all into the investigation. Draco practically slept with a copy of the Cadmus case file. His partner was just as invested, even going outside the Ministry’s authority to bring in one of his brother-in-law's colleagues for a consult. As far as Draco knew, his partner was still waiting on word from the dragon expert. But the idea that both Aurors were not putting forth their best efforts was laughable. Hanes was full of shite!

“Now listen,” began the commander crabbily, “I have to go convince Arthur Weasley’s minions that my officers are actually capable, and that we'll have Ptolemy Cadmus in custody shortly. Do not make me eat my words, Auror Potter,” Hanes sternly upbraided him, looking directly at the younger man. “I want you to round up what’s left of your team here and have them back at HQ by time I'm done meeting with the MMBA representatives.”

Draco and Potter each saluted Hanes, both sensing that they were being dismissed. Hanes just glowered at them with distaste.

“Oh, and Auror Potter, we'll be discussing your tardiness, your impertinence, and your lack of appropriate attire after the briefing,” he finished, right before vanishing from sight.

“Yes, sir,” grumbled Potter to the empty space where Hanes had been standing. Dropping his arm back to his side, he addressed his partner. “Come on, Malfoy. I'm sure Madam Zabini is just dying to get the go ahead to add that new wing to her summer home. Let's not keep her waiting, shall we.” His lips twisted in a cruel smile with the bitter jibe.

Draco didn’t get the joke.

“That's not true. I…I know Magnifika,” he protested weakly. Even he recognized how pitiful he sounded. “She's in shock. She's simply mourning the loss of a child,” he loyally defended. “We all cope in our own ways.”

Potter heartlessly rebuffed the flimsy excuses.

“Oh please, you heard her. She's already planning out her next shopping spree with all that newfound blood money that will be coming her way soon,” said the Gryffindor with mean-spirited relish. “And all it took was one dead son. I can't say that I'm surprised, though,” he carelessly muttered to himself as he turned to walk away. “Slytherin and all…”

If he had thought little of the scornful aside, his partner did not. Potter nearly ran smack dab into the blond as Draco materialized right before him like lightning.

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?!”

Potter took one look at his partner’s disgruntled scowl and threw up his hands, palms forward, in a conceding gesture.

“Nothing,” he said, hoping to head off an argument.

“No. No, tell me,” pressed Draco, practically begging for one; aggressively getting in the other man’s face. Potter had to take a hasty step backwards; still nobly trying to avoid a row. “You see, I want to know,” Draco went on, voice rising. His face was frozen in a vicious smile. “Gift me with your vast and profound insight, dear leader. Just what were you trying to say?” he questioned. “That because Magnifika Zabini was in Slytherin house she somehow lacks a heart? A soul?”

He roughly poked at Potter’s shoulder, taking the Gryffindor by surprise judging by his mystified expression. The sight of it only spurred Draco on.

“That Slytherin's can't care about anyone but themselves?!”

Once more Potter had to back up in retreat as the blond antagonistically prodded at him.

“THAT WE AREN’T CAPEABLE OF LOVE?!”

With each question Draco’s voice went up a decibel.

“If that were the case,” he snarled meanly, “Blaise wouldn't be dead right now!”

Tiring of trying to play nice, Potter finally shoved back; laying both of his hands on his partner and pushing him off.

“I don’t want to have this fight with you right now, Malfoy,” he warned, trying his best to reign in his own escalating temper.

“Too bad; I do!” huffed Draco stubbornly. “So tell me, Potter,” he scathingly began, “am I just the soulless monster that's been nothing more than a thorn in your side all these years; first in the Order, then in the Department? Is that all I’ve been?”

Potter took the blond’s measure, and giving up all pretense of being the bigger person, tossed him a simple, tight-lipped response.

“You said it, not me.”

The answer somehow amused Draco.

“You know,” began the Slytherin, chuckling darkly, “it really is a shame that Hermione doesn't see you for the smug…narrow-minded…sententious arse that you are,” he denounced. “She's completely snowed when it comes to you.”

With a roll of the eyes, Potter shook his head.

“You can act as if you and Hermione share some close and personal, deep understanding all you like, but it doesn't make it so. You know nothing of Hermione. Nothing!” he declared, righting his slightly askew specs. “So stop pretending that you do.”

“Oh I know a lot, Potty.” Draco’s eyes seemed to turn silver as they glinted with fathomless malice. “Believe me. Hermione trusts me far more than you know,” he goaded, hinting at something; heedlessly treading too close to the perilous edge he was about to go over. He was just so narked that he wasn’t even aware of what he was saying any longer.

Oblivious of what his partner could be alluding to; Potter brushed off Draco’s veiled comments as blustery twaddle.

“Why? Because you're friends?” he mocked, laughing outright at his own question as if he had told a funny. “Listen, Ferret,” Potter said, smiling superiorly, “you and Hermione were never friends. You don't have friends.” He stated it as simply as if it were fact. “And as for her, well…you were just a stray she felt sorry for.”

All ten of Draco’s fingers curled rigidly to form two tight fists.

“Shut up.”

The barely audible, mumbled reaction made the Squad Leader smile contentedly. It was fun taking the piss out of the Slytherin for a change.

“As you know, she's always had a thing for taking in big, difficult beasts.”

“You shut up, Potter! YOU SHUT YOUR BIG FAT GOB RIGHT NOW!”

“Of course you tried to take advantage her kindness and make something more of it,” he continued, needling him; talking right over Draco with little care. “Hounding her…pursuing her like she was one of your cut-rate slags. But she wouldn't have you, would she?”

Draco couldn’t remember the last time he felt such overwhelming hatred towards another living being, but he was willing to lay odds that Potter had somehow been involved then too.

“No,” seethed the blond in answer.

Potter condescendingly nodded his head. “Because she wasn't interested; was she?”

“No.”

“She didn't want you,” Potter taunted; nearly intoxicated by the sight of his partner’s crumbling composure. He was merciless in his abuse. He had the Slytherin on the ropes and was loving it. That’s why he was so perfectly blind sighted.

“NO!” blasted the blond hatefully. “BECAUSE ALL SHE EVER WANTED WAS YOU!”

Potter’s mouth had been open, probably prepared to deliver another bruising attack, when Draco’s surprising blow nearly knocked him on his arse.

“Wait…wh-what?!” His bottom lip quivered as his green eyes blinked rapidly.

Draco didn’t notice. He was too worked up to. His eyes didn’t even seem to see the other man as he continued to shout. “NO ONE EVER STOOD A CHANCE, POTTER! YOU WERE ALWAYS IN THE FUCKING WAY!”

“WAIT…WHAT?!” Potter fell on Draco and savagely grabbed him by the shoulders. “What are you saying?! Malfoy, what do you mean?!” he begged frantically.

Draco flung the Gryffindor off of him. Potter cumbersomely tumbled to the ground and just stayed there; too paralyzed to budge an inch.

“What am I saying?! WHAT AM I SAYING?!” Draco glared at the other Auror with undisguised venom. “JUST HOW DAFT ARE YOU?!” he railed incredulously; his storm filled eyes bulging in their holes. “Hermione was in love with you! Stupidly, blindly in love…with you!” he ferociously spewed. “Of course you couldn't see passed your own ridiculous nose to ever notice. All through the War—all to the very moment she got the hell out of town, she was in love with you! FAT LOT OF GOOD IT EVER DID HER!”

It was as if Potter didn’t even hear the last dig; so enrapt was he in everything else Draco let loose, that he just stared at the blond in awe. His mouth contorted back and forth between a wobbly, slight smile and a queasy looking grimace of circumspection. He was unsure that he had heard right. Worse; he was terrified that he might have heard wrong.

“In love with me?” the overwhelmed Gryffindor finally breathed in wonder. “Hermione…she’s in love with me?”

Although Potter voiced the question to no one but himself, the horrifying realization of what had just happened suddenly hit Draco like a pile of erumpent shit.

He had done it. He had gone and done it; he had broken his promise to Hermione. She had lain all of her trust in him, had begged of him to do her one solid, and he had betrayed her without thought. And for what?! All for the simple pleasure of trying to make Potter the rotter jealous?! Just so he could hold over the prat’s head that it was he, Draco, who knew more about the woman than her so-called best friend. Well good job, Draco angrily berated himself. He had told Potter that Hermione had been in love with him. The kneazle was out of the fucking bag! The best he could do now was try to stuff the bugger right back in and hope with deluded fervor that his partner was too dumb to notice.

“Oh, but don't worry, Potty. She got over you,” he said with cold deliberateness, hoping that it was enough to do the trick.

He wasn’t dumb enough.

“What?!” rasped Potter in such pained agony that the sound of it should have sent a thrill of accomplishment up the Slytherin’s trouser leg. But unluckily for him, he had caught sight of the look on Potter’s face before he had a chance to properly gloat.

Well fuck me three ways from Sunday, thought Draco; almost too numb to be exasperated by the surprising discovery. Hermione wasn’t the only one carrying a torch.

Because that’s all the shattered, heartbroken expression Potter wore could mean, the Slytherin now realized, years too late, as comprehension slid snuggly into place at last. Draco no longer needed a Ministry Penseive to tell him what he could see plainly with his very own eyes.

Potter was madly in love with Hermione.

Draco knew it to be true. It was so painfully obvious. Why it had taken so long for him to finally figure it out, he chose not to dwell on. Instead, his thoughts turned to Hermione, suffering for years thinking that her feelings for Chosen Wanker were unrequited, while all the while that git had been just as gaga for her. Why then had he married the Weasley shrew, Draco wondered. Merlin! What the hell was with all of these damned noble, self-sacrificing Gryffindors?! All of this confusion…all of this heartache could have been avoided if Potter had simply said something; done something instead of sitting on his arse all this time.

In that moment a fleeting flurry of indignation at just what the buffoon’s inaction had cost stirred inside the blond on his friend’s behalf.

But just as quickly, Draco’s thoughts turned to the Discordium that was slowly destroying her. Hermione had suffered with it for so long. Well she didn’t have to any longer, did she? This was the answer to her problem. Here was the solution; screw the Weaselette! Knowing that Potter was in love with her just might be enough to give Hermione the wherewithal to make her own little confession, he believed. And then she’d be cured.

And he would be the one who had made it happen, Draco told himself. If both Hermione and Potter were made aware of how the other felt, the prospect of her being freed from her affliction would be that much easier. And the beauty of it was that he would get the credit for it! He would get to be the hero; not Potter. And Hermione would be saved.

Well, thought Draco sagaciously, there was only one, responsible thing he could possibly do considering everything.

“Hermione doesn't want you anymore,” he unfeelingly told his partner.

The lie had passed from Draco’s lips before he had even become conscious of telling it. Instead of doing right by Hermione, Draco had chosen to stick the knife deeper into his once rival…and turn.

Staring mournfully at his tormentor, it took a moment before Potter could eke out a labored, overwrought response. “She got over me?”

The wretchedness of the question was near tragic. Still, all things considered, Draco had to say that Potter was taking it all rather well.

“LIAR!”

Before Draco knew what was what, Potter had sprung to his feet and went charging at him like a quintaped drunk with blood lust. The Gryffindor caught him about the midsection and tackled his partner to the ground. Draco cried out in surprise as he landed badly, and prayed that the unpleasant, yet distinct sound he heard wasn’t that of bones splintering.

“Fuck…all…” he groaned in agony as Potter turned him on his back and sat crouched over him.

“God…damned…fucking Slytherin…BASTARD—”

Each near incoherent word from Potter was punctuated with a rock hard fist as he pummeled Draco’s pallid face. The only thing that kept the blond from passing out from the pain spreading throughout his body was the taste of blood mixed with something bitter that filled his mouth, and the adrenaline that began to quickly travel his works. However it was only when Potter’s assault began to slow, as if he had begun to tire of using the Slytherin’s head as a punching bag, that Draco managed to spit out a stroppy comeback.

“I’m the liar?!” The blond peered out at his assailant with some difficulty. The bastard had socked him in the eye and Draco could already feel it swelling shut.

Potter had been pulling back his fist once more and it seemed to just hang in the air, as of its own volition, at the Slytherin’s question.

“You’ve been in love with your best friend for years, you fool. You tell me who the liar here really is?!”

Potter didn’t even attempt to deny the accusation. Instead he grabbed Draco by the material of his uniform and jerked him up so that he could look the blond Auror directly in the eye that still functioned normally.

“You either tell me the truth or I’ll make you,” he ordered in an unnervingly calm tone.

Before Draco could answer him, he felt the abstract brushes of someone playing at the very fringes of his thoughts. Then the sun went out.

And came back.

And went out.

And came right back out again. It didn’t take much more for Draco to realize that he had only seconds to do something before it was too late.

“SHITE!” Potter yowled in distress.

The punch that Draco landed had caught his teammate dead on his jaw, sending Potter reeling back and his glasses flying off his face. With the Auror caught off guard, Draco was somehow able to flip them both over so that he was now the one anchoring his partner and Potter was the one laid flat on his back. As he held him down, Draco sneered in triumph; delighted to have one-upped the git.

“If ever you try to fuck with my head again, Potter, you’ll regret it,” he swore, panting shallowly. Draco drew his wand out and aimed it at his captive’s heart. “Next time I’ll give you a show you’ll never forget,” he promised him.

Despite being in the position of weakness, Potter challengingly squinted back up at his attacker while struggling lightly against his hold.

“Oh yeah, Ferret?! Like what?” he defiantly queried; eyes smoldering with contempt. He didn’t even acknowledge the wand in his partner’s hand.

“C’mon, Potty,” said Draco wickedly, cocking his head to the side, “don’t tell me that secrets are all you think me and Pet have shared?”

Potter growled like a rabid animal and began to buck and thrash around under him, outraged at the sly intimation. Although Draco knew it was wrong of him, the insolent tone in Potter’s voice had only inspired him to new depths of treachery, making him say things he knew he shouldn’t.

“YOU’RE A GODDAMNED, FILTHY LIAR, MALFOY!”

“Am I now?” Draco smugly shot back. “Pray tell; which part am I lying about then?” he queried.

The question made Potter’s movements abruptly still. Narrowing his eyes, he answered the blond.

“Before, when you said Hermione loved me—I don’t get why you, of all people, would even know such a thing,” he began. “But I saw your eyes, Malfoy. You were just spouting off; shooting off at the mouth like you always do. You weren’t even aware of what you were saying. It just…slipped. But it was the truth,” Potter perceptively said, noting silently the way that Draco’s wand arm seemed to sag as the Gryffindor boldly spoke on. “It was only afterward, after you had realized what you had said, that you tried to backtrack,” said the Auror with confidence.

“Oh…oh yeah?!” Draco shakily bleated. For the first time he began to feel like he just might be on the losing end of this thing. For such an idiot, Potter was being eerily insightful. Draco didn’t like it one bit!

“Yeah!” replied Potter with a cocksure smirk; wincing only slightly from the pain of his aching jaw. Still he soldiered on; inclining halfway from the ground and propping himself on his arms. “You and I have been forced together for a very long time, Malfoy. I can read you like a book by now,” Potter told him.

The look on the Gryffindor’s face left little doubt that he meant it.

“Just like I know you won’t hex me,” he shrewdly continued; taking another poke at his already rattled colleague. The claim seemed to only fire Draco up.

“Is that right? I can kick your arse with or without my wand,” he said, straightening his drooping arm and tightening his hold on his beech wood.

“Doubtful,” snickered Potter. “But for all your many, many, many faults…”

Draco resentfully scowled.

“…you’re a good officer, Malfoy. You wouldn’t hex your partner,” the dark haired Auror stated. “Plus I’m unarmed. My gut instinct tells me that if you really wanted a go at me, you would prefer a fair fight,” he added pompously. “Am I right?”

Draco didn’t answer him right away. Instead he holstered his wand without much fanfare, rose up on his sore and protesting legs, and extended a hand to help his former archenemy, now associate, from off the ground where he still lay sprawled. Although Potter eyed the aid with open skepticism, and for good reason, he eventually took the offered assistance and was effortlessly hoisted to his feet. However it wasn’t until the two men were on equal footing; Potter’s hand still securely clasped in Draco’s and standing toe to toe with him, that the sphinx-like expression on the blond’s face morphed into maniacal glee. Right away recognition flickered in Potter’s eyes upon sight of it, but regrettably not fast enough to steel himself for the blow to the stomach Draco delivered with his free hand.

So much for that gut instinct, apparently.

With what sounded like a stifled, hollow oomph, the ambushed Gryffindor collapsed to his knees before his traitorous teammate. His hand fell lifelessly out of Draco’s.

“C’MON, POTTER,” bellowed the blond, standing over him; his eyes glistening with an almost fanatical sheen, “I’M A BLOODY SLYTHERIN! WE DON’T…FIGHT…FAIR!” he screamed.

The Slytherin was so hot under the collar that he no longer knew what had him so riled, though he did know that he wanted to kick Potter’s arse. For the moment he didn’t give a shite about Department protocol or mundane moral codes; he just longed to give the arsehole a mark like the old one he used to have. A full body scar, this time. However he was denied the opportunity.

A guttural sound tore from Potter’s throat as Draco was jerked straight up in the air and flipped upside down; too startled to cry out his astonishment. Invisible fingers seemed to grip him by his booted ankles and his robes fell across his face, obstructing his view. If that wasn’t embarrassing enough, he began to be jostled up and down making it difficult for him to get to his weapon.

When Draco finally managed to yank the material of his uniform over his head, he looked to Potter; fully prepared to demand that he be put down immediately. However the request turned into a strangled gurgle once he observed his partner’s arresting, almost Voldemort-like countenance; emphasized somewhat by the missing specs. Potter just stood there; face blank of emotion, arms folded imposingly against his chest, and the mere sight of the picture he cut unsettled Draco extremely.

He wasn’t using a wand.

Draco was fairly capable of small acts of wandless magic as were most wizards and witches, but he had never managed anything half so focused or well executed as what Potter was exhibiting. Quite frankly he was impressed by it; even as he was smacked back to earth as if he had been squashed by the world’s largest fly swatter.

Hitting the ground in a crumpled heap, Draco felt as if he had just done ten rounds with a brassed off yeti. But he had no time to muse over every little ache and complaint, because from his low to the ground vantage point, he could see Potter’s trainers in the grass advancing in his direction. With little finesse, he managed to get his feet underneath him and grab for his wand. He had been awfully proud of himself when he somehow got it to Potter’s neck in time. That is until he felt the sharp press of wood digging into his own throat.

“What are you going to do, Potter?” asked the blond Auror, fully aware of the fact that, had he wanted to, Potter could have had him flayed alive by now. However Draco wasn’t willing to back down. Neither was his partner.

“Just you wait and see,” replied the deathly serious Gryffindor.

At the exchange, a queer and inappropriate smile ghosted Draco’s lips before it disappeared. Still, Potter noticed.

“What’s so funny, Ferret?” he questioned, somewhat reluctantly.

Having been caught, Draco shrugged. “It just feels like we’ve been here once before, doesn’t it?” For some reason Draco couldn’t shake the intangible sensation of déjà vu that seemed to surround this comical circus of theirs.

Although Potter’s only acknowledgement to the strange admission was an upticked eyebrow, there was still something in his expression that seemed to say that he caught his partner’s meaning and oddly enough, agreed.

“EXPELLIARMUS!”

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

Much later, when Draco was ennervated, he found himself sore, surly, and trapped in the Seventh Circle of Hell; also know as Armistead Hanes’ private office. Glancing over to his left he discovered his partner seated in the chair right next to his, looking just as dazed and disoriented as he felt. It took the blond a few seconds to get his bearings and recall, with full and inexorable embarrassment, the duel he and Potter had been engaged in right before someone had decided to stop the clock on them. That same person had apparently unarmed the two Aurors, right after stunning them both.

Probably that rat Krispens, guessed Draco sullenly.

Even though he had no evidence to back up this presumption, the Slytherin began planning exactly what he would do to Fur-Face as soon as he got his wand back and caught up with the backstabbing blighter.

But first he and Potter had to face their commanding officer’s unfettered, tornadic rage. After they gave a heavily edited account of what had happened, each smoothly corroborating the other’s story, Hanes viciously tore into them for three hours straight. Even when the Ministry had closed down for the day, he was still going. Adding to their collective humiliation, the Chief Auror had insisted that Draco’s madcap cousin sit in on the meeting and witness firsthand the evisceration. To her credit, though, Nymphadora seemed uncomfortable just being there. Her hair was even a muted shade of robin’s-egg blue to match her mood, as she stood at attention near the door and silently watched the floorshow.

Although Draco wished he could say that they didn’t deserve the dressing-down, he knew that not to be true. He had allowed his partner to get under his skin, thus making him act out in a way not becoming of an Auror. To be fair, though, he had pretty much provoked Potter into attacking him first. They both were guilty. However once Hanes finally started to wind down, the full extent of his wrath finally spent, neither felt that the punishment the Chief meted out fairly fit the crime.

“PROBATION?!”

“Yes, Auror Malfoy,’ said Hanes, sifting through a stack of Ministry parchments on the desk he sat behind. He barely acknowledged the blond’s existence as he put quill to every other sheet. “Six months should just about do it. Feel free to thank me for not demoting you,” he derisively added.

Draco openly glowered at the man as the aloof Commander continued with his paperwork.

“As for Auror Potter here…”

The silver headed hawk actually paused, as if to consider his verdict, before speaking again. He looked up from the search order he had been preparing to sign and locked his eyes on Potter’s.

“In eight days he’ll appear before the Disciplinary Board and plead his case. Until then, he’s on Administrative leave; effective immediately.” With that he put his signature on the directive, then shuffled it to the back of the pile.

Potter, hardly moving like a man who had just been pulled out of a bare knuckled bout, was instantly out of his seat; bent forward across the desk before him. “YOU CAN’T DO THAT, HANES!”

“Sir, we’re in the middle of one of our biggest cases!” Draco ardently interjected, standing as well; blanching from the pain that shot through him from the too quick movement. Gritting his teeth against the discomfort, he said, “To disrupt the team at a time like this would be…”

Inopportune.

Rash.

Calamitous.

Any of those three. All of those three.

“…bad business,” he stated.

Unfortunately good old Hanes in the Arse didn’t seem to see it that way.

“Well, Auror Potter should have thought about that before he assaulted an officer under his command. You’ve damaged the prestige of the uniform, not to mention the entire Department,” he said, looking directly at the dark haired Auror.

The Slytherin pulled a face at the commander’s glaring overstatement. The Sweets being in their ranks did far more damage to the Department’s good name than Potter ever could, thought Draco. Still, he couldn’t help but notice that in the Chief’s version of the day’s incident, his own wrongdoings had been conspicuously absent from the account. Draco wondered if Potter had picked up on that tidbit as well.

‘In the meantime,” Hanes continued, leaning back in his leather chair, “Auror Lupin will be assuming leadership of the Second Squad until a decision on Auror Potter’s future is made.”

Both Draco and Potter’s heads swung around to where the woman was standing. Nymphadora reticently met both of their eyes, then dropped hers down to the ground. It was obvious that she had been briefed on Hanes’ underhanded scheme beforehand and was being forced to comply with his orders. She appeared to want to fade right into the stucco wall behind her at their scrutiny.

Returning to his parchments, Hanes spoke again; almost as if it were an afterthought. “You’ll be getting her up to speed, Auror Malfoy.”

No one in the near suffocating room made a peep after the pronouncement. It incensed Draco; he had basically been relegated to being his kook cousin’s water carrier, but it was Potter’s reaction to the news that was more noteworthy. The space around him seemed to crackle with an intensity that was almost concrete. His lamp-like eyes, still free of his glasses, spookily bored into the commanding officer, and he gave off the impression that with the simple snap of his fingers, he could probably explode the git without a hair falling out of place. It was terribly rousing, to be truthful. Had Draco been a witch he might have even dropped his knickers at such a prospect.

“In case you’re wondering,” muttered Hanes in a rigid tone, eyes still doggedly fixed on his meaningless paperwork, “the two of you are dismissed.”

He didn’t even bother to see if his subordinates saluted him or not. Which was a relief really; Potter had looked like he was about to lunge across the desk and rip out Hanes’ throat with his hands. Instead he forcefully slammed them down against the top of the wooden fixture, causing it to wobble unstably. Without even a backwards glance, Potter wordlessly stormed into the outer office, leaving his two colleagues staring after him.

“If Auror Potter isn’t careful, he just might never be reinstated.”

Draco pulled his eyes away from the door in just enough time to see the sly look flit from off Hanes’ lowered face. A quick peek at his cousin told him that she had witnessed it too. Neither had to say the word aloud to confirm what they both suspected in that very moment.

“Potter, wait up!” called Draco over his shoulder; abruptly backing out of the room, and chasing after his partner as fast as his exhausted body would allow.

If the Gryffindor was being railroaded off the force, and Draco was almost certain that that was exactly what Hanes had in mind to do to Potter, the two of them needed to gather the squad together, stat, to find a way to call a halt to the commander’s dastardly machinations. Even if Potter was already planning to leave eventually, now was not the time to kick him out of the Department; especially if the Chief was doing it just to be vindictive. While Draco could certainly understand that kind of motivation, the threat of Cadmus was too persistent for such absurdity. That was the reason Draco was prepared to go to the mat over this. He was doing it for the team; not Potter, he convinced himself. Besides, Hanes in the Arse had some nerve passing him over just to toss the reins to a ruddy First Squad-er, he thought bitterly.

“Potter! Hey, Potter, we need to talk about this!” Draco exclaimed, just as he caught up to the still fuming Auror outside the entryway of the department. At the sound of his partner’s voice, Potter looked over and even slowed his pace as if to hear the blond out. However Draco never really got a chance to share his hunch about Hanes’ true intentions with him. They hadn’t gotten very far down the hall, before they had been bushwhacked.

“YOU!”

Potter’s whole body seized up at the sound of the infuriated, female voice.

“AND YOU!”

“Oh balls! It's the Warden!” Draco shouted. He had nearly done a 180 and retreated back to the shelter of his cubicle at the sight of Hermione Granger’s irate form stomping its way straight up the passageway towards them.

And she was livid. By the look of her, disappointed as well; but mostly mad enough to kill a grown man. Or two. Clearly she had learned of the fight somehow, and had come all the way to the Ministry to murder them both since they hadn’t the decency to finish each other off before she could get to them. The visitor’s badge pinned to her baggy sweatshirt said as much.

HERMIONE GRANGER

GELDING

Both of Draco’s hands dropped protectively before his willy at the sight of it. He shuddered at just what she must have told the bloody Ministry Visitor’s box was her reason for coming.

“It's all over the wireless!” she shrilled; planting herself directly in front of the intimidated men. “For hours, they’ve been going on and on about nothing else—two Aurors seen brawling at a crime scene today!”

She scanned both of their faces, seeing firsthand the evidence of their high jinks.

“One of Glinda's neighbors ran over with her portable wireless,” she explained, telling them how she had heard the news. “The reporter didn't mention names, but I just had to come to make sure that neither was any Auror that I knew. Because none of the Aurors that I know would be half so foolish as to get into an altercation…WHILE AT A BLOODY CRIME SCENE!”

Her brutal salvo actually made Draco and Potter look to one another for protection. Both knew Hermione well enough to understand that if they tried to sell her the same cockamamie tale they had just pushed at Hanes, she would see right through it. So instead they instinctively drew closer together, as if physically forming a united front, and remained silent for the moment; their scuffle from earlier completely forgotten by now. There was safety in numbers, all things considered. And she was scary!

After peevishly staring down the two at length, something caught her eye.

“Your chin…”

As she murmured the words, a hand reached out to stroke Potter’s bruised face. Her eyes softened as she caressed his cheek and inspected the man’s war wounds closely. Her anger had burned itself out on its own.

“Your poor chin. It’s all black and blue.”

Indeed it was. No one had thought to take the two unconscious Aurors to the Infirmary before they were unceremoniously dumped in Hanes’ lair. Potter’s mug still bore the markings of the thumping Draco had handed him, while the Slytherin could only imagine what he looked like himself, especially since he could barely see out of one of his battered eyes.

It still worked well enough, however, to watch as one of Potter’s hands closed tenderly around hers and squeezed. His lovesick visage nearly made Draco vomit the sausage from breakfast.

Hermione’s reaction was to instantly pull away; snatching her hand back as if she had been scalded by the intensity of Potter’s doting gaze.

“What happened to your face?” came her terse query.

Although her sudden impassivity seemed to hurt him at first, Potter’s unhappiness soon gave way to disgruntlement as he replied in a flinty voice, “I was polishing my fist and it went off.”

Not liking his cheek, she turned to the blond in a snit. “And you? What happened to your eye?”

She didn’t like his response any better.

“Oh, I can't come up with anything half as good as what he said,” Draco self-effacingly conceded.

The former adversaries had banded together against a common cause it appeared. Her. The woman fairly flipped her lid over their suddenly convenient camaraderie.

“WHAT ARE YOU TWO; A COUPLE OF COMEDIANS?! ANY PLANS TO TAKE THE ACT ON THE ROAD?” she waspishly seethed. “TELL ME, JUST WHAT DO YOU BLOKES DO FOR AN ENCORE?!”

Without thinking, Draco raised a hand. “Well I am surprisingly bendy.”

The mistimed quip made Potter and Hermione, who had been eyeballing each other heatedly, turn on him.

“SHUT UP, MALFOY!” they both screamed, then started in on each other; squabbling animatedly. However, underneath all their yelling and finger pointing, was a simmering, fiery passion that seemed ready to consume them and anyone else unlucky to get caught in the crossfire.

Draco just irritably shook his head at the whole thing. How could anyone be so impossibly blind not to see how crazy these two were for each other, he marveled. Gingerlocks, the wife, the five hundred other interminable Weasleys—total and complete strangers on the street; how could they all have missed this?! For fuck’s sake; Potter was all but pissing on her leg, marking his territory.

And as for Hermione…well, she looked like she wanted to just haul off and slap the tosser. Then fondle his tonsils with her tongue. Then slap him again. It was mind-boggling! Then again the Slytherin had conveniently forgotten that up until a few hours before, he had been just as obliviously in the dark as the rest of the horde.

“What were you fighting about?”

It took Draco a second to realize that the question had been posed to him. Hermione had finally wrested her eyes away from Potter and had turned them up at the blond, hoping to get a response out of him.

Oh, not much, went the imaginary conversation in his head. Just told the wanker that you were hot for him. Then took it back.

Draco swallowed hard at the daydream; more like nightmare. Just the notion of telling the already disagreeable woman something like that made his stones shrivel in his shorts. So instead he did something he rarely ever managed to pull off that well. He shut the hell up!

Getting nothing from the Slytherin, she raised the same question to her best friend.

“What were you fighting about?” she asked. The inquiry came out gentler than the last; sweeter. It was coaxing this time. Subtly persuading, almost.

Potter didn’t fall for it. He just continued to stonewall; driving her bonkers in the process.

“You should know better than to keep things from me, Harry James!” she piously snapped; frustrated that nothing she had tried seemed to work on either of the two men. However for Potter, the seeming mendacity of her last remark had pushed him a little too far to be ignored.

“ME?! KEEPING THINGS FROM YOU?!” he protested incredulously. Dragging his fingers violently through his hair in aggravation, he barked, “ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”

The outburst made her jump out of her skin and Draco nervously cut his eyes to his partner, fearful that he was about to be sold down the river. He knew that eventually he would have to clue Hermione in on just what he had done, but he hadn’t yet figured out how he was going to break everything he had learned that day to her. However Potter looked like he was mad enough to blow the lid off the whole thing (or at least the parts he knew) right then and there. Draco didn’t know whether to run or cheer him on.

“‘Keeping things from you’…you know, you really ought to rethink that statement, Hermione,” Potter darkly suggested. The look on his face said the same. A quick survey of it seemed to convince her to take his unsolicited advice.

“I think…I think I should go,” she squeaked, then turned as if to flee the building. Or the planet.

As he caught her by the elbow, he said, “Oh no you don't.” And swung her right back around to face him; pulling Hermione close against his body and encircling her with his arms.

Although Hermione stood rigidly within his embrace at first, eventually she relaxed somewhat; letting her guard down for the time being.

“I thought you were dead, Hermione.”

Draco heard his partner mumble the words into her frizzy hair; no longer the sleek, fastidiously crafted creation it had been a mere two weeks before when she had first gotten back to town. It was as if it had started to stubbornly revert to its original form as soon as she had come home, the Slytherin theorized. Even the artificial color had started to grow itself out. The wiry, wild tendrils seemed to perfectly reflect the flustered woman’s prickly emotional state as Potter began to pour out his heart.

“For one whole minute…” he haltingly began, searching for the right words to go on as a tremor almost robbed him of his voice. Trying again, he said, “For one whole minute I thought you were dead.” His arm seemed to impulsively tighten around her as if to moor the woman to him. “For one whole minute I thought I had lost you all over again,” he breathed out softly…sadly. “It had nearly killed me, Hermione.”

As if finally understanding what Potter must have gone through when he had gotten to Blaise’s, she placed both of her hands on the man’s face, soothingly cooing, “Shh, shh…I’m here. I haven’t gone anywhere. I’m right here.” She threw her arms around his neck as if to assure him of that fact.

Although Draco could have reminded the maudlin pair that he too had thought Hermione was a goner there for a tic, he decided against it. Not that it would have really mattered anyway, he sulkily recognized. The two of them were so engrossed in each other that they had apparently forgotten that Draco was even in the hall with them. Luckily with the late hour the building was practically deserted, and besides the three of them, the corridor had remained deserted; allowing them some privacy.

When he had sufficiently gotten his fill of the embrace, Potter let her go and took a reluctant step back. “We need to talk, Hermione,” he said.

The entreaty put her on panicked alert straightaway.

“About what?” she agitatedly asked, eyeballing him nervously. The shift in her demeanor seemed to vex Potter.

“We need to clear the air,” he unsmilingly answered. “We owe each other that much. It’s time for some honesty here. The two of us have a few things we need to say to each other, I think.”

Hermione scoffed at that.

“Well I think you’ve said a good deal too much already,” she retorted bitingly, making Potter turn red. “I think I heard enough of it back at the Hollow this morning. I think…I think I heard enough to last me several lifetimes, in fact. And I think I never want to hear it again!” she said with shaky conviction.

Judging by the man’s reaction to what she threw at him, and the comment Potter had edgily made back at Carregbryn earlier, Draco was able to deduce that something big had transpired between the two friends some time after the Ball. However whatever it was, Hermione looked distraught just bringing it back up again. Not wanting to talk about it further, she quickly changed the subject.

“I shouldn't have come.” Hermione’s voice was tinged with shame and regret. As if trying to convince herself, and having a hard time of doing it, she feebly said, “Glinda needs me now. My friend needs me right now. I shouldn’t be here…with you.”

As if drawn by some magnetic force; her eyes slowly drifted up and met his. Potter took a resolute step forward. The look on his face determined, yet hopeful.

“But Hermione,” he said, brushing the backs of his fingers tenderly against the plane of her cheek, “don’t you see; I need you too.”

The confession was so earnest, so heartfelt that Draco watched his friend closely; curious to see what her reaction would be. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was the moment that she would finally unburden herself and end this thing, he hoped.

Hermione’s tear filled eyes held with Potter’s, mesmerized as if by some form of enchantment it seemed, and her lips parted to speak.

“I…I…”

Potter held his breath. Draco did too. The only sound that seemed to fill the air was her ragged breathing.

“I…”

Unable to speak, the woman nearly lost her footing as she stumbled back to escape Potter’s touch. Both he and Draco moved promptly as if to catch her, but she only edged further away to avoid them; especially Potter. She numbly shook her head back and forth.

“I can’t,” she mournfully bawled. Her rasped words were pronounced as if they were an invocation of protection; a spell to ward Potter off. Although the battle within her had played itself on her face for all to see, the Discordium had clearly won out. Of course only Draco realized this.

Taking the two men by surprise, Hermione turned quickly and bolted down the hallway.

“HERMIONE!” Potter fervidly shouted, before chasing right after her.

Draco was left behind, forgotten in the rush. He unexpectedly felt a stitch of pity for Potter in that moment. Not that she could help it really, but Merlin was Hermione dragging the poor sod around by the ring in his nose.

At the stray thought, Draco’s eyes widened anxiously. The ring?!

He quickly shoved both hands in his pockets; turning out the linings in his frenzied zeal to make sure Luna’s ring was still on him. Getting his fingers around the box, he exhaled with relief; comforted by the knowledge that it hadn’t fallen out of his robes when Potter had been using him as a human yo-yo, and left in the grass behind Carregbryn when the two of them had been shanghaied back to HQ.

Stuffing the ring box back where it had come from, the blond’s thoughts had drifted to his Loony Love for a moment. As he observed Potter turning the corner that Hermione had just rounded, he suddenly felt a deep and all-consuming devotion for his girlfriend, and just what they had together, swell in him. Sure Luna was unconventional, her manner and ways unorthodox, and had the unnerving habit of saying things at times that were so far off the wall that they defied all comprehension or laws of accepted logic, but she was his. And just as important; he was hers. They always knew where they stood with each other. There was a sweet simplicity in that truth that he had never fully appreciated until just then. But by watching the Harry and Hermione drama unfold before him, all he could contemplate was one thing: thank Merlin, he wasn’t Potter! All in all, he had really dodged a bullet on that one.

When Draco was finally able to drag his tired body to the lifts, he found Potter standing there, all by his lonesome; his forehead resting against the wall nearby a cracked, webbed indention someone had punched right into the plaster. Bits and pieces were still crumbling to the floor. Hermione was nowhere to be seen. One look at the bloody knuckles on Potter’s right hand easily answered Draco’s unasked question.

“Hermione told you that she was in love with me.”

Although not really a question, Draco still understood that Potter was asking for some form of confirmation from him. The blond leaned passed him to punch the call button for the lifts and gave his partner a cheeky grin.

“Suck my cock,” Draco’s singsong voice replied. With Hermione gone, their armistice was officially ended.

Potter dryly chuckled as he turned around and supported himself against the wall.

“That’s as good as a confirmation as any,” he said with just a hint of a smile.

Although he was finally starting to show the wear and tear of the day, his tone was astoundingly light. He might not have gotten a confession out of Hermione, but he had seen and heard enough to fill him with drive and purpose.

“She’s still in love with me.” Potter spoke the words with unwavering certainty. “You can deny it all you want, but I know it’s true,” he told Draco. “The proof’s been staring me in the face all this time. The looks, the smiles, the little things she does and says that drive me absolutely crazy insane…Glinda.”

A burst of maddened, uproarious laughter erupted from Potter at his sister-in-law’s name, bewildering Draco.

“GLINDA!” Potter exclaimed again, hand to head, as a look of wonder crossed his face. “Why, that clever, little minx! She figured it all out, didn’t she? How on Earth did I miss it?!”

The Slytherin shook his head at his partner’s nonsensical ramblings and muttered under his breath. “I have a few theories,” he said with a snide snicker, grateful for the series of tinkling chimes that signaled the arrival of several lifts.

As the golden grill pulled open to the one nearest him, Draco prepared to enter the carriage and depart. The hour was late and all he wanted to do was go home and sink into a hot bath right before sinking into his Loony. However Potter’s arm shot out and blocked him from entering it. The blond bristled at the imposition, but Potter indifferently ignored Draco’s peppery language as he stared at his partner with unblinking eyes.

“There’s just one thing I don’t get. Why didn’t she ever say anything?” asked the Gryffindor concernedly. “Why would she tell you and not even think to tell me first?”

Draco was torn on how to respond. He had already told enough of Hermione’s secrets, he believed. It just didn’t feel right giving away information that the woman didn’t know herself. And yet he feared that she couldn’t go on much longer the way she had been. There was no telling how much time she had left before the Discordium finally robbed her of all total reason. Hermione needed to tell Potter that she was in love with him. And fast.

And yet…Draco just couldn’t bring himself to play Cupid for the git.

“Look, Potter, maybe I’m not the one you should be discussing this with,” Draco grumpily told him; barreling past the man to force his way onto the empty lift. Turning himself around he added frankly, “You need to talk to Hermione. Ask her these questions. See what she says. Listen to her. Make her listen to you. If you don’t…you’ll regret it. Both of you will.”

Although the advice was grudgingly given, Potter’s meditative expression showed that he was listening intently and had appreciatively absorbed everything his partner had said. Draco was satisfied with that; he had played it safely down the middle, helping Hermione as best as he could, without giving Potter too much of a hand in the process. He was a Slytherin, after all.

“Then again,” chimed the blond with a devilish smirk as the lift began to slowly descend, “I suppose you could always go home to the Missus. At least you know for sure that she still wants you.”

Draco rumbled with laughter as Potter’s peeved face disappeared from view.

Arriving at Lovegood House minutes later, Draco found the place darkened without a single soul stirring. He smiled to himself at the discovery. Knowing his girlfriend, she was probably already in bed, waiting up to tuck him in for the night. Heh. Luckily Linus was a heavy sleeper and wouldn’t hear all of the things he was about to do to the man’s precious, little girl.

Draco skipped up the front parlor’s staircase at a clip, ring box in hand; happy to put the day finally behind him. Thanks to Luna and her father’s firm aversion to allowing a wireless in the house (according to her, while you were sleeping, they transmitted secret, coded directions to orgiastic Umgubular Slashkilter bacchanals), he felt confident that there was no way his Loony would have heard about the fisticuffs with Potter. But when he got to his and Luna’s bedroom, he was surprised to find the door locked; barring him from entering. Worse yet, there was a note, bearing his name in Luna’s looping, unique hand, Spellotaped to the wood panel.

Toodles made a pallet for you in Daddy’s study. I’m not sure what exactly it is you did today, but something tells me that you deserve a timeout tonight.

Love,

For all of his ridicule of Potter and the Gryffindor’s complicated predicament with his woman, Draco had to concede that having a Precog for a girlfriend came with its own set of drawbacks as well.

A/N: Next up is Harry’s POV. He knows! YAY! Full steam ahead!!!! Things to look forward to: a couple gets a little too frisky at a party, Ginny puts her plans into action to disastrous results, and the Potters go BOOM! And yeah, that means exactly what you think it means. ;^)

A few more points of interest...

1) All characters other than Cato Sweet, Cicero Sweet, Clytemnestra Sweet, Churchill Fitzroy, Auror Cohen, Auror Romero, Auror Bradshaw, Auror Whalebridge, Gilligan Pilliwickle, Archie Banks, Xerxes Cosgrove, Maude Avery, Balthazar, Barnaby, Bartleby, Balthus, Chutney Gupta, Suchindra Gupta, Gimlet, and Ragastaadt are canon.

2) From what I understand the U.K.’s Home Office is the equivalent of the U.S.’s Office of Homeland Security. The head of the Home Office is the Home Secretary.

3) The first civil partnerships in the U.K. didn’t happen until December of 2005, but for the purposes of the story I had the Banks/Cosgrove union happen earlier in March.

4) The Harry and Draco duel is a shout back to the scene in Chapter 03 when a teenaged Draco finds the Order at Hermione’s house. If you recall they were unarmed and stunned back then too. LOL!

5) Way back when a reviewer suggested the idea that it would be funny if at some point Harry and Draco banded together and turned against Hermione for a change. I loved the idea so much that I had to find a way to incorporate it into the story somehow. If he’s still reading, I hope that reviewer liked how it turned out. Also I once got a review that was curious as to just how and the heck Blaise wound up married to a Muggle. Although I hadn’t intended on incorporating that back-story at first, when this chapter started taking shape and Draco and Blaise’s relationship became more fleshed out for me, that flashback just happened. I hope it answered your question.

Tell me if you like it. Tell me if you hate it. Just tell me something. Please review. Check out my yahoo group, http://groups.yahoo.com/group/insidepandiesbox/, to see timelines and other ARLB goodies.

All Roads Lead Back: Take2

1. Prologue

2. Chapter 1

3. Chapter 2

4. Chapter 3

5. Chapter 4

6. Chapter 5

7. Chapter 6

8. Chapter 7

9. Chapter 8

10. Chapter 9

11. Chapter 10

12. Chapter 11

13. Chapter 12a

14. Chapter 12b

15. Chapter 13

16. Chapter 14a

17. Chapter 14b

18. Chapter 15

19. Chapter 16

20. Chapter 17

21. Chapter 18a

22. Chapter 18b

23. Chapter 19a

24. Chapter 19b

25. Chapter 20

26. Chapter21a

27. Chapter 21b