Pretend

A/N: I've been working on this for a very long time now, but due to a lot of trouble getting it posted on the previous site I had used to post my writing, I left it alone and deemed it 'too much trouble' to merit any more attention. Now that I've joined Portkey, which I've found to be far more accepting when it comes to letting writers write what they like instead of restricting them to a certain idea of what 'plot development' should be (excuse that short rant), I've decided to put this back in the works and see where it goes!

So… enjoy!

PS: Unfortunately, as this story was not completed in advance, updates will not be as regular as they were with 'Hermione's Song'. I apologize to any of my very nice readers who may have gotten used to that aspect of my writing, and hope that I can still keep your attention, despite longer waits between chapters!

PPS: Because I love being delusional, Fred is not dead.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~

To anyone else, it was a positively gorgeous summer day, complete with birdsong, golden sunshine, and the steady, almost hypnotic hum of the bees that lurked in the Weasley apple trees, thinking that they had found the best hiding spots in the world. The wizarding world had been Voldemort-free for months, and people were still celebrating, riding on the wave of post-terror ecstasy for as long as they could. Most of the Dark Side followers had been incarcerated for the rest of their days, and those who had not already been locked up were standing trial for their crimes. Most witches and wizards couldn't really see why people like Lucius Malfoy even bothered asking for a trial; they all knew full well that there was nothing they could do to save themselves from spending the remainder of their miserable lives in Azkaban, after the things they had done while under the reign of their 'Lord'. Some magical folks even considered the Death Eaters to be stupid, having realized that standing trial instead of just accepting to go to prison quietly gave prosecutors more time to find evidence that could lead to the punishment of all punishments for evil witches and wizards: the Dementor's Kiss.

To anyone else, this bright, warm summer day was just about as close to perfect as the real world could get.

To the nine Weasleys, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, the same bright, warm summer day was absolutely miserable, all thanks to two people that hadn't really been on anyone's mind until very recently: Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Hermione's parents, who no one had really met until, seven years after Hermione had appeared in the magical world, the two eldest Grangers had come bursting into that same world with misery and other assorted forms of emotional upheaval in tow.

How could two seemingly kind, quiet people have caused such pain and trouble? The Weasleys, Harry and Hermione all knew, but that knowledge didn't do much to dull the emotional pain as they gathered outside The Burrow on that fateful summer day.

It had been very simple, really, nothing more than a battle of a parent's wishes against a child's. After being retrieved from Australia by their daughter and her two best friends, the Grangers had been very upset by the fact that their only child had, in short, destroyed her parent's identities and given them lives that they had never asked for, without ever giving them a single word of warning. Hermione's explanation of her motives for doing such a thing hadn't helped matters, as the Grangers had been very unsettled by the fact that their little girl had been in so much danger that she had felt it necessary to move her parents across the globe in order to protect them. Their solution had been a quick and easy one: their daughter would no longer be part of a world that could put her at that sort of risk. Simple as that.

Hermione's protests had fallen on deaf ears, her tears on blind eyes. She had assured her parents that the threat had passed and that she was perfectly safe, but the Grangers hadn't been swayed. When Hermione had reminded them that she was an adult in both the magical and Muggle worlds, her angered parents had gone so far as to threaten her with disownment, leaving their daughter faced with two choices: lose her friends or lose her family.

Hermione had been torn. She loved her friends, but she loved her family just as much, and she didn't want to lose either one, but she had had to pick one or the other. Her parents hadn't been sympathetic, only giving her a short time in which to decide whom she valued more: the people who had kept her alive for the past seven years, or the people who had given her life in the first place. She had fretted over this ultimatum for days, before her friends had, on the very last day that she had been given to decide, urged her to go with her parents, telling her that no matter how much they were all going to miss her, her family was more important than they could ever be. The exchange had reduced the entire party, boys and men included, to tears, but Hermione had decided that her friends were right. So, she had swallowed her tears, packed her things, and given The Burrow one last, sad look, before joining her best friends outside. Her parents were due to arrive in all of fifteen short minutes.

They stood in silence, too miserable to speak. No one had really been able to come to terms with what was about to take place, not able to believe that someone who had been part of their lives for seven years was about to been ripped away from them by the two people who were supposed to want only the best for her.

Eventually, a cloud of dust in the distance announced the Grangers' approach, and the small group shuffled their feet in collective awkwardness, no one wanting to be the first to say goodbye. Reluctantly, Hermione took the goodbyes into her own hands, setting her bags on the ground before approaching Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. She immediately found herself engulfed in a crushing hug by a tearful Molly, who, though she knew that her feelings were somewhat irrational, couldn't help but feel like she was losing one of her own children.

Arthur came next, pulling Hermione into an uncharacteristic hug. He, too, couldn't help but feel like he was losing one of his own, having watched over Hermione during the seven years for which he had known her.

After Arthur came Bill, Charlie and Percy, who all hugged Hermione, knowing that they were going to miss her, even though they hadn't known her as well as some of the other members of their large family had.

Fred and George were the next people to engulf Hermione in a simultaneous hug, not making jokes for the first time since she had known them. Even the owners of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes couldn't figure out a way to lighten the mood.

After Fred and George had said their goodbyes, it was Ginny's turn. Wordlessly, she pulled her friend into a bone-crushing hug, tears rolling down both sets of cheeks. Though she was younger than Hermione, the two had become close over the years, and neither could bear the thought of not having the other around. Ginny had missed Hermione terribly when the older girl had been Petrified in the Hogwarts hospital wing, and that had only been for a few months, not for the rest of their lives. She hugged her friend for as long as she could, needing that one hug to be enough for every last one that she might have needed to give Hermione in the future. Eventually, though, Hermione had to let go. There were still two more people who needed to say their goodbyes.

Tears dripped off of the end of Ron's rather long nose as he hugged his best friend for the last time. He and Hermione hadn't always gotten along perfectly, but they had been through the seven hardest years of their lives together, forging the sort of bond that could not be broken by petty disagreements or the occasional period of tense silence between them. He loved her like a second sister, like part of his family, and having her taken from him felt like the bereavement of a part of his very soul, or maybe, in simpler terms, a punch in the stomach.

As Hermione and Ron finished up their tearful goodbyes, the Grangers' car pulled up. The two occupants of the vehicle didn't get out, not wanting to have anything to do with the people who had spent the last few moments hugging Hermione goodbye, crying as though she was about to die, not just get into a car with her parents and disappear from their lives forever.

Hermione ignored her parents' arrival as she turned to the last person to whom she needed to say her goodbyes. He stood silently, gazing at the ground as unshed tears sparkled in his green eyes. He looked up only when she was close to him, taking in the sight of her for the last time, before pulling her into a tight embrace, holding her as if he would never let go. In response, she buried her face in his shoulder, wetting his shirt with her tears. The rest of the small group backed away quietly, leaving the two relatively alone. The eldest Grangers didn't know it, but they were not only taking their daughter away from the one world in which she felt accepted, but from the one boy – or man, or whatever you were supposed to call a seventeen-year-old who had experienced more horrors throughout his life than most of the wizarding population put together – who cared about her more than anyone in either world, be it magical or Muggle, ever had.

It had been in the tent, during the few weeks that Harry and Hermione had spent alone after Ron's temporary departure, that the two had finally confessed their true feelings to each other, having decided that it was silly to keep secrets when their time together could very easily be cut short at any given moment. The following months had been difficult, between robbing banks and destroying Horcruxes, but still a bit more pleasant than they could have been, as the two had at least had the opportunity to be open about their feelings for each other, and had even stolen a few tender embraces now and again when Ron wasn't around to pull good-natured faces at his friends' budding romance. Though he would never admit it, the redhead didn't really mind his friends snogging each other when they thought he wasn't looking. Any daft git with eyes could have seen it as easily as they could have seen a rampaging Hippogriff: Harry and Hermione were very much in love. And, despite the faces he may be required by the Unwritten Code of Males to pull and the 'complaints' he may have to make about them 'snogging each other's brains out where any innocent bystander could see them', Ron was happy for them. The rest of the Weasley family had followed his lead when they had been informed of the fact that Harry and Hermione were a couple, congratulating them and, in the case of the twins, rolling their eyes and saying that it was about time that the two 'stopped beating around the bush and just snogged each other already'.

But now, just as soon as their love story had begun, it was being cut short, and there was nothing the pair could do about it but hold each other one last time, both of them trying in vain to hold back their tears, neither wanting to upset the other. The Weasleys looked on helplessly, all wishing that they could do something to heal the hearts that were breaking before their eyes, but knowing that the only thing they could do to help was step back and give the young couple a few last moments together.

A few paces away from the helpless Weasleys, Hermione sniffled softly as she lifted her head from Harry's shoulder, looking at him properly. He was crying too, she saw, with tear tracks on his cheeks and those green eyes of his seeming brighter than ever as a flood of unshed tears sparkled in them. Unable to bear the sight of him crying over her, she put her head back on his shoulder, leaning into the last embrace that they would ever get to share.

"I love you so much, Harry," she whispered tearfully, needing him to hear it one more time, before she would have to leave him forever. She'd told him that she loved him many times before, throughout the few hard-but-blissful months that they had gotten to spend as a couple, but those times had always been very casual. Those three words had really seemed to be just that: three words. Three words that had followed the goodnight kisses she always gave him; three words that she had murmured to him when they had shared a few quiet moments, cuddled up together in the tent; three words that she had said because it just felt right to say them. This time, though, she wanted him to know that those three words weren't just three words, but both an apology for leaving him and, more importantly, a promise that not only did she love him then, but she would keep on loving him, no matter what circumstances forced them to be apart.

He sniffled as well, shifting a little so that he could wipe his eyes, before pulling her close to him once again. "I love you too," he whispered back, his words carrying all of the meaning that she hoped she had managed to put into hers. Neither of them really knew why they were whispering – everyone who could hear them knew about their relationship, after all – but it just felt like the right thing to do.

She snuggled her face into the fabric of his shirt once more. "I don't want to leave you," she whispered.

There was a moment of silence then, in which she heard him swallow with what sounded like some difficulty. "I don't want you to leave," he assured her. "But I do want you to be with your family, 'Mione, you know that," he reminded her, "and if that means we have to be apart, then…" he swallowed again, "then I guess I'll have to tough it out without you," he said, his tone somewhat lacking in conviction. "Not that I want to, of course," he added.

She sniffled again, extracting her face from the folds of his shirt and resting her head on his shoulder again. "I don't want to either," she said tearfully. "It hurts so much, leaving you."

"I know," he assured her quietly. "Believe me, I know, but you're… you're doing the right thing," he said, in a tone that suggested that he wanted to comfort her but couldn't quite bring himself to believe what he was saying.

"Am I?" she asked softly, though she knew that he couldn't know the answer any more than she could.

"Yes," he replied, though his tone indicated that he, too, knew that he couldn't know the truth. "Hermione, if there's one thing life has taught me so far, it's that your family is the most precious thing you'll ever have, and right now, I think that your time would be better spent with them than with me," he said, slightly shakily. "No matter how much I'm going to miss you," he added.

His words made her sniffle again. "Don't forget me," she whispered into his shoulder.

He gave her a momentary squeeze. "I couldn't if I tried, 'Mione," he assured her.

She felt slightly comforted by that. "I'll write," she promised. "It'll have to be by normal post, though," she added, remembering Hedwig with a pang of loss.

He nodded slowly. "I'll write back," he promised, "the moment I get your letters."

She nodded in response and the two drifted into silence for a few moments, before she sniffled once more, wiping her eyes. "It's not fair," she whispered, shaking her head. "I can't even kiss you goodbye. Not in front of them." She didn't need to specify whom she meant by 'them'. Harry already knew.

He gently shifted her head off of his shoulder, allowing him to look at her properly. "That's OK," he murmured tearfully, lifting one hand to cup her cheek. "After you leave, pretend that you did. Pretend that it was like all those times you kissed me, back in the tent." The corners of his mouth twitched into a tiny smile. "Pretend this time was even better," he said, idly stroking her cheek with his thumb. After a moment, he pulled her close again. "And pretend I was able to hold you one last time without crying," he whispered, the sentence punctuated by a small sniffle. "Pretend I was able to be a man."

"Harry…" she murmured, wanting to tell him that, at least to her, only a real man would let himself cry in front of so many people, but not quite knowing how to put what she thought into words that he would believe. She was cut off, anyway, by the loud and unexpected wail of a car horn, which made everyone present jump a little. She wished her father had the sense to remember that while her friends had all ridden in cars before, the wizarding population was not generally disposed to be used to the ear-splitting racket of a horn. Even Harry, who had been raised as a Muggle, had forgotten what it was like to live outside of the normally quiet magical world.

"I have to go," she whispered, loosening her hold on him. With great reluctance, he did the same, and the two shared one more moment's look before Hermione turned away, gathering her bags from the ground while avoiding his gaze, as well as that of all of the Weasleys. If she saw one more pair of tear-filled eyes, she was going to change her mind and get herself disowned by refusing to leave with her parents. She knew it.

All of her things in hand, she turned towards her parents' car, took a single step, and stopped as she heard Harry's voice calling her name, still in a very soft tone.

"Yes?" she asked, turning back around with great reluctance. She doubted that her gaze would be met with a dry-eyed one. She was right. She fought the urge to embrace him again, knowing that she would never be able to leave him if she did. She reminded herself that he wanted her to be with her family, even if it meant leaving him. He had said so not five minutes ago.

"Don't forget me either," he said quietly, ignoring the tears that were sliding down his cheeks.

She had to wipe her own eyes to keep from bursting into fresh tears. "I won't," she promised. "I couldn't."

He didn't respond, unless you counted the infinitesimal movement of his head that may or may not have been a nod. After a moment, he seemed to find his voice again, and with what seemed to be quite an effort, he managed a whispered "Goodbye."

She sniffled once more. "Goodbye," she whispered back, before turning and making her way to the car at a somewhat brisker pace than she had intended, making her escape before he stopped her again and made her change her mind. She was quite sure that she would, should she even hear one more whisper from him. She opened the car door and haphazardly tossed her bags onto the back seat, before getting in and shutting the door behind her, with a strange feeling of shutting the door on the life that she had led for the past seven years.

Her parents didn't greet her. Her father merely waited the few moments it took for her to buckle her seat belt, and then pulled away from The Burrow without a word. Looking back, Harry could see that Ron had taken Harry by the arm, as though intending to keep him from running after the Grangers. Harry, however, didn't look like he had the slightest intention of doing any such thing. He simply stood, watching the girl he loved slip away from him, tears trickling down his cheeks.

Hermione's father made a sort of 'pah!' sound, making her jump a little.

"Look at him," he said scornfully, "blubbering like an infant. Nancy-boy if I ever saw one."

Hermione's mouth remained resolutely shut. She'd realized that having a blazing row with her father only moments into the drive home was probably not a good idea.

Her father didn't seem to mind her unresponsiveness. "Is that that Harry boy you were always writing to us about?" he enquired, not sounding like he really cared all that much.

Hermione limited her response to a short nod.

Her father repeated the 'pah!' sound. "He's the one who's supposed to have saved the world? Somehow I find that hard to believe, Hermione," he said, in a tone that, to Hermione, sounded like the verbal equivalent of an eye-roll. "Or were you lying to us about him too?" her father continued.

"Rick…" her mother said softly, in a 'please don't start' kind of tone.

Hermione appreciated her mother's defence, but she didn't really need it. Her father might as well have been talking to himself, for all the mind Hermione intended to pay him. He could say whatever he wanted about Harry, the Weasleys, or anyone else Hermione held dear, and he wouldn't get a response. She didn't care if her parents would be angry with her. Nobody was going to hear a word out of Hermione Jane Granger for a good, long time.

A/N: So, here we go, Chapter 2 of 'Pretend'! Now, as this chapter was completed a little while ago (I didn't want to post everything too fast and then make people wait a month while I struggled through my writer's block and wrote the next chapter), I ask everyone to please excuse any punctuation/grammar mistakes that anyone may have corrected in a review so far, and I promise that future chapters will not have these possibly-annoying errors!

Enjoy!

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

The months passed. September came and went without any fuss, leaving Hermione one uncelebrated year older.

To the new 19-year-old, the months were all the same. She remained in her room except for mealtimes and trips to the bathroom, all of which she did in silence. Her mother and father were not pleased. They tried to make her talk using many different strategies – they talked to her in the sort of voices that were normally reserved for small children and the very ill, they talked to her in their normal tones, they even got frustrated and shouted at her once or twice – but Hermione accepted all of their blabber with complete indifference. She knew they were hurt and frustrated, and she knew that they even felt a little guilty about taking her away from the only world in which she felt like she belonged, but she couldn't bring herself to feel sorry enough to speak to them again. She often heard her parents talking to each other when she wasn't around, fretting over whether or not they were doing the right thing. Admittedly, her mother was the one who did most of the fretting. Her father was quite determined to keep his daughter away from the people he perceived as a bunch of weirdoes, who had put his little girl under some sort of spell and dragged her off to become one of them.

Her parents' conversations always went the same way. Her mother always started them.

"Rick…" she would say, in the sort of tone that told anyone who could hear her that she was about to try to change her husband's mind. Not an easy task. Rick Granger was a kind man, but he was stubborn as a mule when he thought that he had made the right choice.

"Yes, Emma?" he would reply, in the sort of tone that made it clear that he recognized the beginning of the same old discussion.

"I'm worried about Hermione," her mother would always say next.

"Why's that?" (It wasn't that Rick didn't care about his daughter, he just felt that she was now safe and sound, out of harm's way, and there was therefore no need to worry about her.)

"She hasn't come out of her room in months," her mother would always remind her father, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. Which, if you thought about it for a moment, it was.

"I'm aware of that," her father would reply.

"And that doesn't worry you at all?" her mother would ask, though both she and Hermione already knew the answer.

"Not particularly, no," her father would reply.

"But-"

"Look, Emma," her father would always interrupt, "we know exactly where she is at all times, we know she's as safe as she can be, and we know that she's still alive and well, because we see her at least three times a day when she comes out to eat. I see no reason to be worried."

"But she doesn't look 'alive and well', Rick," her mother would always protest. "Can't you see how pale she's gotten? And she looks like she hasn't slept in months! That doesn't worry you either?"

"It does, occasionally," her father would admit. "I don't want her to get herself sick, of course; what kind of father would I be then? But you and I both know full well that she's bringing this on herself," he would say, as though that settled it.

"What do you mean, she's-?" was all her mother would ever get out before her father would cut her off again, in the exasperated sort of tone that said that he was tired of having to say this over and over.

"She's sulking, Emma!" he would say. "She's mad at us for taking her away from those… those freaks that she calls her friends, and she's sulking!"

"She's sulking because she's upset, Rick," her mother would remind him. "She's not herself anymore, not after we took her away from… you know, from her world."

"'Her' world isn't safe, Emma," her father would remind her mother. "All this talk of evil wizards and black magic-"

"Dark magic," her mother reminded him every time.

"Whatever. All this talk of all the danger she got herself into, all the time she's gotten herself hurt, nearly gotten herself killed, running after those two boys, Weasley and… well, whatever the other one's name was. Doesn't that worry you, Emma?"

"Of course it does!" he mother would exclaim, in a scandalized sort of way. "Of course I was worried about her when she went off to that school, of course I worried about her when we got letters informing us that our daughter had gotten herself turned into some sort of half-cat creature and had been – what was it again? – Petrified, I think… and of course I was scared when she told us why she moved us to Australia for a year, but what you don't understand, Rick, is that she needs that."

Her father would snort scornfully. "Our daughter needs to put her life on the line for some gang of weirdoes? I don't think so."

Her mother would sigh, frustrated by her father's pigheadedness. "No, of course she doesn't, but she needs to be a part of that world. Don't you remember how introverted she used to be, Rick? She barely talked, and she didn't have a friend in the world, except for the ones that she could find in her books! She felt rejected by everyone, and she had a right to, because all of the other children were… I don't know if they were jealous of how smart she was or afraid of all the 'incidents' that there were when she got upset, but they definitely weren't very nice to her. But then, the moment that McGonagall woman showed up on our doorstep and started telling us that Hermione had some sort of magical power and that, if she liked, she could choose to go to some place called Hogwarts and learn how to use it properly, well… You remember how her face just lit up, don't you?" she would ask, a hint of nostalgia in her voice.

"Yes," her father would answer tersely. "But honestly, Emma, what child wouldn't be excited at the idea of a 'magical' world? And as far as I can recall, that McGonagall woman didn't say a word about evil wizards cursing our Hermione half to death," he would grumble.

Her mother would sigh a second time. "Hermione explained this to us before, Rick. When that Professor woman showed up, everyone thought that the threat of this 'Voldemort' man was gone! They had no way of knowing-"

"-whether or not he was gone for good," her father would finish, though Hermione was always quite sure that that hadn't been what her mother had meant to say.

"They had no way of knowing that he was going to come back," her mother would correct her father, now sounding a little terse herself. "And the Professor obviously couldn't have known that Hermione was going to go and make friends with the one boy that 'Voldemort' was after! Why do you insist on fooling yourself into thinking that it's this 'magical' world's fault that Hermione's been in danger for the past few years?" she would demand to know.

Her father would go quiet for a moment, before replying something along the lines of, "It's this 'magical' world she was trying to protect."

Her mother would sigh yet again. "I still say it's that Harry boy she was trying to save," she would say. "And I still say he's the reason she's 'sulking', as you put it," she would add, steering the conversation back towards the point at which it had begun.

Hermione was always glad that her mother understood her, even if she never opened her mouth to say so.

"I still say that Hermione's above sulking for months over a boy," her father would mutter.

"It's not like it's something to be ashamed of, Rick," her mother would say. "I mean, yes, maybe shutting herself in her room for months isn't the best way to deal with being away from him, but what did you expect her to do? Just smile and accept the fact that we took her away from everyone she held dear?"

"Of course I didn't," her father would say, in that tone that Hermione always took to be a verbal eye-roll. "But I still say that Hermione isn't shutting herself away because of some silly boy who kept nearly getting her killed for seven years."

There was always a pause, and then, after a moment, her mother would reply, in a half-teasing and half-serious sort of way:

"What I think is that you, dear, can't accept that your little girl grew up and fell in love with a boy who you don't completely approve of."

Hermione always smirked a little at this point. She could just see her father turning a faint shade of red.

"What I can't accept, Emma, is that Hermione went and got herself involved with a boy who could've gotten her killed seven times over, at the very least. Why do you think I wanted her as far away from him and his kind as I could take her without moving back to Australia?" he would reply, trying to sound offended but usually failing miserably.

"Hm," her mother would always say, and that would be the end of that. Both she and her daughter knew that there was no point in continuing to argue with Rick Granger when he was sure that he had done the right thing. But Hermione was sure that her mother wouldn't continue to have the same pointless argument forever. She would, eventually, find some way to persuade her husband to do something besides letting his daughter hide in her room for the rest of her life.

As for said daughter, she didn't feel as bad as she looked. She was only pale from lack of sunlight (her only source of it being her bedroom window), and she had, in fact, slept, albeit rather restlessly. She couldn't get any sort of peaceful sleep when she was busy missing Harry. Not just Harry, of course, she missed all of her friends – the Weasleys, the Lupins, Hagrid, everyone – but she couldn't help but spend most of her time missing Harry.

He kept his promise, writing back to every letter she sent. Hermione decided that being forced to use Muggle post was a huge hassle, as she had to Summon her mail from the mailbox before her parents got to it and was forced to wait until absolutely no one was looking, but it was still better than getting no word from the magical world at all.

His letters, like hers, were full of sadness and loneliness, but the two of them managed to work in a few happier things as well. Hermione was overjoyed when she learned that Harry had been asked to play for the famous Montrose Magpies Quidditch team, considered to be the best team in the British and Irish League. Harry, on the other hand, wrote that he intended to wait a little while before he decided whether to join the team or not. He explained his reluctance to take on even more fame (the 'youngest Seeker in a century' being invited to play for one of the best teams in the world was sure to cause quite an explosion in the press), and Hermione understood, but she made sure to tell him that if playing Quidditch for a living would make him happy, then he should go for it and tell the press where to shove their quills. Harry replied that he felt comforted, but still wanted to wait a while before he made up his mind. Hermione didn't really see why, but she let the subject drop. There was no point getting into a fight with Harry through the post.

In between Harry's letters, Hermione tended to find herself staring aimlessly at her ceiling, doing as Harry had asked during their last few moments together and pretending that they had had more time to say their goodbyes. Sometimes, she went one better, and cut out the goodbyes completely, replacing them with much happier scenes, in which she pretended that her parents had never taken her away from him and that they could still be together. She remembered those tender, comfortable moments in the tent, and pretended that there had been more, and that there would be more in the future, even though she knew that that was completely impossible.

Impossible or not, her imagination was what sustained her as the autumn months rolled by and, eventually, the snow began to fall. Hermione, against her will, began to feel more and more depressed as Christmas drifted closer and closer. She missed Harry and her friends more than ever as she thought of past Christmases at Hogwarts and imagined what Christmas must be like at The Burrow. Depressed, she took to lying on her bed for hours with assorted photographs in her hands, burning the faces of the ones she loved into her mind for fear that she might forget them as time went on.

It must be said that, despite appearances, Hermione did love her parents. She had spent the first eleven years of her life – which she only had because of them, after all – in their care, and they were wonderful parents when you looked past their slight over-protectiveness. Hermione knew that they were only trying to keep her safe, and she appreciated their concern, but she couldn't help but resent them for taking away just about everything and everyone she had come to hold dear.

Resent them or not, she couldn't help but listen as, late at night on a snowy Christmas Eve, her mother's voice called to her from outside her bedroom door, on which Hermione had made sure to put as many locking charms and spells as she knew, effectively making her room impenetrable. At the time, a particularly unhappy Hermione was enjoying her new favourite activity of lying on her bed and looking at the same old photographs – she only had a precious few – while feeling very lonely. As such, she didn't feel all that compelled to answer her mother when her voice floated into the silence of Hermione's room.

"Hermione?" it said softly, almost tentatively, getting Hermione's attention but not eliciting a response.

"Hermione?" it repeated, then continued, in a very gentle, motherly sort of tone, "Come on, baby, let me in. It's Christmas," the voice added, almost pleadingly.

Hermione's resolve cracked a little at that. Her mother hadn't called her 'baby' in years. Making a quick decision, she called back, "Dad's not with you, is he?"

There was a moment of surprised silence from outside the door – her mother obviously wasn't used to hearing Hermione speak anymore – before the voice replied, "No, he's not."

Hermione sighed quietly, wondering if this was really the best thing to do. "All right," she said, removing the locking charms with an almost flippant wave of her wand. "Come in."

There was a similar moment of surprised silence, before the doorknob turned slowly, almost tentatively, as though Emma expected something to jump out at her and rip her limb from limb. When nothing did, the door drifted open with an almost inaudible creak of unused hinges, and Emma Granger was finally admitted to the domestic fortress that her daughter had built for herself. She stood in the doorway for a moment, as though still expecting some sort of magical monster to leap out at her, claws and nine-inch fangs bared and gleaming for but a terrifying moment before it tore her to shreds. The only sort of 'monster' that came at her, however, was nothing but a purring Crookshanks, who twined himself around her legs as his version of a greeting. She reached down to pat the cat for a moment before she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her with the same strangled wail of hinges that were no longer used to being moved. Settling herself on the end of Hermione's bed, she seemed unsure of what to say or do, and chose to break the ice with a simple "Hey".

"Hey," Hermione replied softly, not looking away from the picture in her hands, one that had been taken at the Victory Ball that had been held soon after the 'Battle at Hogwarts', as it had now come to be called by the public. "Merry Christmas," she added, just because it felt like the right thing to say.

"Well, thank you, dear, but you don't look all that merry," her mother replied, a little sadly.

"I guess not," Hermione agreed, her voice still soft and almost monotonous. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize," her mother told her. "You don't have to."

"OK," Hermione replied, with a very small shrug of her shoulders.

Silence settled over the two for a moment, Hermione still absorbed in the photograph and Emma not really knowing what to say. She and her daughter had almost become estranged over the course of the past few months.

"What have you got there?" she asked after a moment, going with the most obvious topic of conversation.

"Just a picture," Hermione replied.

"May I see?" her mother asked, desperate for something to keep the conversation going.

Hermione handed the picture over without a word. Her mother accepted it and looked it over for a moment, smiling slightly as she watched the picture versions of Hermione and a handsome young man glide smoothly around what she supposed was a dance floor somewhere, so absorbed in their steps that they obviously hadn't realized that someone was taking their picture. She blinked, a little surprised, when, at what seemed to be the end of the dance, Hermione's dance partner took her hand in his and planted a light kiss on the back, making her laugh a little and making him smile at her. Then, with the same smoothness that they had displayed as they moved across the floor, the two slipped back into the same pattern, the dance that they would be repeating for eternity.

"You look like you're having a good time," Emma commented, handing the picture back to Hermione, who finally cracked a small smile, which didn't quite reach her eyes.

"I was," she replied.

"Who's the boy?" Emma asked, feigning cluelessness. In truth, she was quite sure that she knew who Hermione's dance partner was.

Hermione's smile became a degree or two warmer, her miserable mood starting to lighten. "That's Harry," she said, verifying her mother's presumptions.

Emma, while she had already known who the boy was, was still a tad surprised. "That's Harry?" she asked. "I thought he was just a little thing, with clothes that were always too big for him and glasses that always had to be taped together. That's what I gathered from your letters, anyway."

Hermione chuckled softly. "He used to be, Mum," she said. "He took a turn for the better once Ron's mum started stuffing him full of everything she knew how to cook," she added.

Emma chuckled as well, then grinned slyly at her daughter. "He's gotten to be quite handsome, hasn't he?" she asked.

A very light pink tinge appeared on Hermione's cheeks. "I suppose," she replied. "He's certainly a lot healthier-looking than he was when I first met him, anyway."

Her mother's sly grin became a small, warm smile as she asked, her voice dropped a little in case Hermione's father happened to be passing by, "Were you two… together?"

Hermione didn't reply right away, instead taking her wand from the nightstand and casting a quick Silencing Charm over the room. "There," she said. "You don't have to whisper, Mum. You could drop a bomb in here and nobody would hear it except for us."

"All right," said Emma, looking slightly surprised. "You didn't answer my question," she added. "You don't need to be shy, dear. I know we haven't been all that close lately, but I'm still your mother," she reminded Hermione, a lopsided sort of grin on her lips. "And believe it or not, I, unlike your father, actually understand that it's possible for you to be interested in boys," she said, speaking in an exaggerated whisper, as though she was telling Hermione the biggest secret in the world.

This elicited another small smile from Hermione. "I was getting to the answer, Mum," she said, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, Harry and I were together, for a while," she told her mother, the same shade of light pink tingeing her cheeks again. "Before… before I left," she added, tactfully avoiding saying anything that might sound like 'sulking', as her father had put it so often. She didn't blame her mother for taking her away from the magical world as much as she blamed her father, and she didn't think that her mother needed someone to lash out at her or make her feel bad right then, anyway. It was Christmas Eve, after all. After a moment's pause, she added, "Well, I guess we're still together, actually, seeing as neither of us broke it off with the other… We're kind of in a long-distance relationship, I suppose."

"Is it as hard as everyone says it is?" her mother asked, sounding like she felt bad for her daughter.

Hermione sighed. "It's probably harder," she said. "But not in the way you're probably thinking."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm assuming that you think that long-distance relationships are hard because it's hard to avoid drifting apart, right?" Hermione asked.

Her mother nodded.

"Exactly," said Hermione. "Harry and I aren't drifting apart – far from it – but it's just the being apart that makes it all so hard."

"Do you ever hear from him?" her mother asked.

Hermione was hesitant to answer. "Are you going to put bars on my window if I say yes?"

Emma shook her head. "Of course not, dear," she assured her daughter. "I don't have a problem with you at least getting some news from your friends every once in a while," she said. "It's your father who thinks they're all part of some sort of demonic cult or something, not me."

Hermione managed a small chuckle. "Well, they're not. And yes, Harry writes to me as often as he can, and I write back as soon as I can. It's the only way we can have any kind of contact with each other, after all," she pointed out. "But it's not the same as actually talking to him, of course," she added sadly, turning her attention back to her photograph. She sighed. "I miss him," she said, stating the obvious. "Well, and everyone else, of course," she added.

"But mostly him," her mother added, nodding.

Hermione was glad that someone understood, even though she didn't say it out loud.

"How did you and Harry end up together, anyway?" Emma enquired.

"Oh, it was pretty simple, really," said Hermione. "I already told you a little bit about how we spent the year hiding in a tent in different forests, right?"

Her mother nodded.

"And I told you about how Ron left Harry and me for a while, right?"

Her mother nodded again.

"Well, during those few weeks, Harry and I did some serious thinking together about the bonds of friendship and how important they were to each of us, because we both wanted to make sure that the other wasn't going to 'pull a Ron', as we put it, and just leave the other to survive on their own. I guess that days and days of dissecting our friendship must have brought us quite a bit closer, not to mention shown us that there was a lot we didn't know about each other, because we ended up having entire half hours when we would just sit there and tell each other everything about our lives; all about our pasts, the stupid things we did as kids, our first experiences with magic… even all of our secrets," she said. "Of course, they were just silly little things at first; things we just hadn't told anyone because it hadn't come up in conversation, things like 'I once drank an entire glass of Butterbeer and ate six sprout-flavoured Every-Flavour Beans at the same time and ended up puking in the bathroom sink' – no, Mum, that wasn't me," she added, seeing her mother's surprised expression, "-but after a while, we started telling each other things that we'd actually kept secret on purpose; things like our fears, our doubts, our dreams… and, of course, our deepest feelings."

"Ah," Emma said understandingly. "I see where this is going."

Hermione chuckled. "I thought so. To make a long story short, we both decided that there was no point in hiding anything from each other anymore, because it was very possible that one or both of us might not live to see another week, and it was time to just come clean and get it over with before it was too late. So, we both ended up confessing that we'd had feelings for the other for a long time – many years, actually – and just hadn't said anything because we were both sure that the other didn't feel the same way, and neither of us wanted to make the other feel awkward by coming clean about our feelings. We both valued our friendship too much to risk losing it over a silly crush." Pausing, she smiled. "Well, what we both thought was just a silly crush, anyway. We both just pushed whatever we were starting to feel away, telling ourselves that it was just a fit of hormones and would pass in a little while. We didn't want to face the truth, I guess," she said.

"Because Harry thought that you liked Ron and you thought that Harry liked Ginny," her mother added, surprising Hermione. Emma must have noticed her daughter's stunned expression, because she added, "I did read your letters, you know."

Hermione still looked a little taken aback. "I know you did, but… Well, I just didn't think that you had practically memorized them."

Her mother chuckled. "I didn't memorize anything, dear. It was just so obvious that it would have been impossible for me to forget."

Hermione blushed a little. "Was it really that obvious?"

Emma shrugged. "It was obvious to me, anyway, but I guess I've got an unfair advantage, being your mother and all," she said, grinning. "I'm pretty sure only a few other people might have been able to notice, if anyone did at all."

Hermione chuckled slightly. "Actually, it seems that a lot of people used to think that Harry and I were together, until we told them that we weren't."

Her mother looked a little confused.

"Before we actually were together," Hermione explained quickly. "When we were a bit younger."

"Oh," said Emma, nodding.

"Anyway," Hermione continued, "you're right about the Harry and me being afraid to face the truth and tell the other how we felt because we both thought that the other fancied someone else. Like I said, we both just tried to shrug whatever we were feeling off as nothing but a crush, but I guess it became pretty obvious, through the years, that a silly crush wouldn't have lasted so long or been anywhere near as strong as we both realized our feelings for each other were. So, eventually, we both came clean about what we were feeling, and learned that the other felt the same way, and… I guess things just went from there," she finished, shrugging.

Her mother nodded but didn't respond. There was silence for a few moments, before Emma quietly asked her daughter, "You love this Harry boy, don't you?" It had a question mark at the end, but was less of a question than it was a realization.

Hermione sighed, feeling sad again. "Yes," she replied softly. "Very much."

"Does he love you too?"

"I think he does," said Hermione. "That's what he's been telling me for months, anyway, and I've always believed him."

Emma sighed and looked at her knees. Hermione wondered what was wrong, and meant to ask, but was cut off by a sharp tap on her window. Getting up to see what it was, her eyes widened in surprise and she quickly pulled the window open, letting in a blast of cold air and surprising her mother.

"What on Earth are you doing, Hermione?" her mother asked. "It's freezing!"

"I know," said Hermione, closing the window again with one hand as she held something in the other. "That's why I had to let this little one in," she explained, returning to the bed and showing her mother the tiny, shivering ball of feathers that stood in her cupped hands, huddling against her curled fingers as it tried to warm up.

Her mother blinked, seeming stunned.

"It's a post owl, Mum," said Hermione.

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

A/N again: Hehe, cliffie! Hope you liked it! Next chapter should be up in a few days.

A/N: Sorry, I know it's been awhile since I updated anything here on PK, but I've had a lot going on for a little while now, and anything not related to school or other various previous commitments sort of got pushed to the side. Not to mention that I have complete and total writer's block (more like writer's CONCRETE WALL) on this and every other story on which I'd been working, and didn't want to get to the end of my pre-written chapters without having more in progress. Nevertheless, I thought that it was just about time to keep this story going, and so, without further ado, I present Chapter 3 of Pretend!

___

Recap:

Her mother sighed and looked at her knees. Hermione wondered what was wrong, and meant to ask, but was cut off by a sharp tap on her window. Getting up to see what it was, her eyes widened in surprise and she quickly pulled the window open, letting in a blast of cold air and surprising her mother.

"What on Earth are you doing, Hermione?" her mother asked. "It's freezing!"

"I know," said Hermione, closing the window again with one hand as she held something in the other. "That's why I had to let this little one in," she explained, returning to the bed and showing her mother the tiny, shivering ball of feathers that stood in her cupped hands, huddling against her curled fingers as it tried to warm up.

Her mother blinked, seeming stunned.

"It's a post owl, Mum," said Hermione.

~*~

"I wonder who it's from, though; Harry hasn't got one anymore…" she said, more to herself than to her mother, as she gently pulled a small envelope from the tiny owl's beak. Setting the little bird down, she cast a mild Heating Charm on it to keep it warm, then opened the envelope and pulled out a small piece of paper. Studying the handwriting, she was surprised to see that the note was written in Harry's familiar, slightly slanted script.

"Who's it from?" her mother enquired, looking curiously at the cute little owl that was happily snuggling against her leg. It was really a tiny thing, barely bigger than Pigwidgeon, with cream-coloured feathers that sported speckles of brown, a completely brown head, and two white patches on its little body – one around its eyes and another on its chest.

"Harry," Hermione answered vaguely, her attention focused on the note in her hands. Emma watched as she read through it a few times, her brow slightly furrowed as though she was confused by something.

"What does it say?" she asked. "Or is it personal?" she added quickly. Hermione shook her head and read the note aloud:

"Dear Hermione,

Merry Christmas! I hope this gets to you before Christmas is over – I don't know how well this owl can fly while it's snowing. He's for you, by the way. I thought that he'd make it easier for us to write to each other. You're right; Muggle post is just a hassle. Anyway, he crashed into the kitchen window here at The Burrow a few weeks ago, and we've been taking care of him since then, because he doesn't seem to belong to anybody. We haven't named him, though; we wanted to leave that for you to decide. Hope you like him!

Oh, good news! I made up my mind about the team, and I've decided that I'm going to do what you said and tell the press where to shove their quills-"

Emma laughed.

"-because you're right, playing Quidditch for a living would make me happy, even if I'll have to deal with tons of media attention. I'd rather have to hide from the cameras while doing what I love than get away from them by being miserable. Thank Heaven he finally realized that," Hermione added, rolling her eyes. Emma nodded and Hermione continued.

"Practice starts in early January. It’s a good thing I’ve got my Apparation license now; the Magpies’ practice pitch is a good distance from The Burrow. It seems the captain of the Magpies is like Wood all over again; the team will practice unless somebody gets hit by lightning.

Anyway, Arthur has been collecting Muggle movies lately – they're his new fixation, since he's had a fair few nasty accidents when it comes to cars and motorcycles – and there was a certain line in one of them that I thought might interest you:

'Soon it won't be just pretend,

Soon a happy ending.'

I hope that gives you something to think about for a little while. Don't give up hope, sweetheart. We'll get our happy ending soon, I promise. Just hold on a little longer, OK?

Have a merry Christmas!

Love, Harry"

"That's a nice letter," said Emma.

"Yes," Hermione agreed, "but I don't understand what he's trying to say with that quote and all this 'happy ending' business. He knows we can't be together anymore; I don't understand what he's trying to make me think about with that line from that movie…"

Her mother looked a little confused as well, but she looked much calmer than her daughter did. "Who knows?" she asked, in an optimistic sort of tone. "Maybe he's planning something."

"Planning something?" Hermione repeated.

"Maybe," said her mother. "All this 'happy ending' business makes me wonder if he's coming up with some way to get the two of you together again."

"But that's not possible," Hermione reminded her. "I mean, there's no way to convince Dad that the magical world is safe for me, Voldemort or no Voldemort, and I don't think that Harry's going to have any more luck than you and I have had."

Her mother shrugged. "Who knows?" she repeated. "Maybe he'll find some way to sway your father into letting you go. He knows a lot more about the magical world than I do, after all. Maybe he'll find some way to convince your dad that it's perfectly safe for you to stay in… well, in your world, I suppose," she finished, looking slightly down again and staring at her knees.

"Mum?" Hermione asked gently. "Is something wrong?"

Emma's gaze snapped up as quickly as it had fallen. "Oh, no, dear, everything's fine, it's just… Well, sometimes I wonder if I'm being a bad mother, keeping you away from that world…"

"Mum, you're not a bad mother, I'll be fine here…" Hermione tried to reassure her mother, but trailed off as she saw that nothing she said was going to ease the older woman's conscience much.

"I know you'll be fine, dear, you'd be fine just about anywhere, but you won't be happy," her mother explained. "I know you won't be happy unless you're able to be with… well, I don't want to say 'your kind', but…"

Hermione smiled understandingly. "They are 'my kind', Mum. Just like the people of this world are your kind."

"Exactly," her mother replied. "The magical world is your world and this one is mine, and your father's as well," she added. "And I think I know what I'm talking about when I say that neither of us would be all that happy if you suddenly dragged us off into the magical world and forced us to leave our lives behind."

"Probably not," Hermione agreed.

Her mother nodded. "And now it's just gotten about a million times harder to live with myself, knowing that I'm taking you away from a very handsome young man, who I know you're completely infatuated with and who I believe feels the same way about you," she continued, sounding rather dejected for Christmas Eve.

Hermione was at a loss for words as she put a hand on her mother's shoulder and said, "Mum, I…"

Emma sighed and lightly patted her daughter's hand. "It's all right, dear, you don't have to say anything," she assured Hermione.

"I know, Mum, but I'm not just going to sit here and let you be miserable," Hermione pointed out. "It's Christmas," she added, using her mother's words against her.

Emma chuckled softly. "Oh, Hermione, you're getting good at your mother's game."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Emma chuckled again but didn't reply, her gaze drifting back down to her knees and the little ball of feathers next to them, who looked up at her with big, curious eyes and let out a soft, contented hoot, obviously glad to be back inside and around people again.

Hermione cast around for something, anything, to ease her mother's conscience. "Mum, listen to me," she started. "I'm not going to say that I've appreciated being away from my world, because I haven't," she said truthfully.

"I know," said Emma.

"And I'm not going to tell you that a day has gone by in which I haven't wished to be back there, because it hasn't," Hermione continued. There was no point in sugar-coating things, she figured.

"I'm not surprised," said Emma.

"And I'm most definitely not going to say that it hasn't hurt me inside, being away from the man I love, because it has," said Hermione.

"I'd feel the same way, dear, I'm sure of it," Emma replied.

"But I am going to say that I know that you were just trying to do the right thing, taking me away from a world that you thought was unsafe," Hermione told her mother. "Maybe it wasn't the best idea, and maybe a few people have gotten hurt because of it, but I know that you didn't do it to cause anyone any harm. You and Dad have always been protective of me, and even if I can't completely understand why, I can at least gather that despite that protectiveness, you never kept me away from anything unless you felt that I would be in danger if you didn't."

Her mother nodded.

"I know it can be hard for you to understand my life away from this world," Hermione continued sympathetically. "You and Dad never believed in witches and wizards and things that go bump in the night, after all. And I know that it's hard for you to believe me, after you found out that I've… well, conveniently neglected to tell you a lot about my life in the magical world before now," she admitted, a little sheepishly. "So I can understand why you would be reluctant to just let me keep living my life in a world that, at least from your perspective, is out to get your daughter."

Emma nodded again.

"I guess what I'm trying to say, Mum, is that I can understand why you and Dad decided to take me away from the magical world," said Hermione. "Or I think I can understand, anyway. And like I said, I'm not going to say that I'm not upset or hurt, and I'm not going to say that I haven't resented you at times over these past few months, but I want you to know that I think I'll do all right here, even if I don't quite feel like I belong some of the time," she said, trying to sound as positive as she could.

Her mother looked slightly less miserable. "Thank you, dear," she said softly, smiling a little wanly. "That means a lot to me." She took a breath, gently pushed the tiny owl away from her legs and stood up, smoothing out her jeans as she did so. "It's good to know that you're willing to make an effort to adapt here, even if you'd really rather be somewhere else." She paused before adding, "I'll try to talk to your father, though."

Hermione could have sworn that she heard her mother add "Again" under her breath. "Thanks, Mum," she said, although she had a feeling that both of them knew that no amount of talking was going to change Rick Granger's mind. Getting up, she gave her mother a spur-of-the-moment hug. Emma smiled a genuine smile this time, and hugged her back.

"Merry Christmas, Hermione," she said when she let her daughter go again.

"Merry Christmas, Mum," Hermione replied. "It's been nice talking to you again," she added truthfully.

"The feeling's mutual, dear," her mother said with a small smile as she walked the few steps to the door and pulled it open. "Believe me, it's mutual. Sleep well," she added as she stepped into the hallway and shut the door quietly, leaving her daughter standing in the middle of her bedroom.

"Well, that was strange," Hermione said to no one in particular, picking up her wand and putting the locking charms back on her door. "I've never seen Mum like that before."

Crookshanks purred in response and twined around her legs, while the tiny owl on her bed let out another soft, happy hoot, reminding Hermione of his presence. Smiling slightly, she sat back down on her bed and picked the little ball of feathers up again. He sat calmly in her cupped hands, his big, curious eyes looking up at her.

"Oh, you are cute," said Hermione, patting his soft, downy head. "Thank you, Harry," she added in a murmur, knowing full well that he couldn't hear her. She leaned back against her pillows once more and let the little owl wander around on her abdomen. "Hm," she thought aloud, watching the tiny bird look around the room as he stood on her belly, "what am I going to call you?"

The owl didn't answer, of course, choosing to perch on one of his new owner's bent knees instead. A loud, rumbling purr from the floor alerted Hermione to the fact that Crookshanks was quite interested in this new arrival. Glancing at the floor, she saw Crookshanks crouching at her bedside, his tail twitching as he prepared to pounce on the miniature owl.

"Crookshanks, don't you dare-" Hermione started warningly, but it was too late. Crookshanks leapt at the little ball of feathers, who immediately let out a frightened hoot and flapped up to the ceiling, where he hovered out of the cat's reach. Crookshanks hissed and leapt again, but couldn’t quite reach his target and failed to sink his claws into the owl before landing with a thump on the bedspread, where he was immediately seized by his owner.

"Bad Crookshanks," she scolded the cat, who continued to eye the little owl hungrily. The owl, for his part, seemed to get over the shock of having a cat pounce at him, and amused himself by diving at Crookshanks from the ceiling, hooting happily. Crookshanks hissed and batted at him, but couldn't hit his mark. Hermione observed this with mixed annoyance and amusement for a few moments, before finally carrying a very peeved and embarrassed Crookshanks back to his bed and catching the feathered dive-bomber in one hand. The little owl hooted triumphantly, his head protruding over Hermione's fist, while Crookshanks looked grumpy. Chuckling to herself, Hermione carried her owl back to her bed and set him down again.

"You've just given me an idea, you little daredevil," she said to the ball of feathers on her bedspread, smiling and patting the soft brown head. "I'm going to call you Sirius."

___

A/N #2: I know it's short, but don't worry, the next one is positively monstrous!

Any and all comments are welcome!

A/N: Hello! I know it's been a really (REALLY) long time since I've updated "Pretend", and I apologize for that. I was actually thinking of deleting the story, because I get such a case of writer's block whenever I look at the unfinished last chapters, but I thought that I should at least post a little of what I have in order to show you all that I DID hear your requests for more "Pretend".

This chapter was written quite a while ago, actually, so please excuse any punctuation/grammar mistakes that you may have corrected in previous reviews.

So, here we go! In this chapter, we see a bit of what Harry and Hermione are going through at home, as well as the conversations they have in their letters between Christmas and Valentine's Day. Enjoy, and please remember to review when you've finished!

-Kelsey

~*~

From Christmas on, life became a little bit easier for Harry and Hermione, as they now had a way of communicating with one another without risking discovery by Hermione's father. Hermione was very glad to be free of the burden of having to Summon her mail while leaning out of her bedroom window. She had already had a few near-misses with the neighbours (she was pretty sure that at least one of them had seen a flying letter in the early hours of the morning, but had just passed it off as 'seeing things' from being too tired), and she did not want to risk breaking the laws of a world in which she was no longer allowed to live.

Little Sirius arrived back at The Burrow just a few days after he had left. Harry was surprised but pleased to find the little ball of feathers tapping at his window, a letter in his beak. Harry quickly let the owl inside (it was still very cold out) and took the letter from him, allowing the bird to perch on his shoulder and snuggle against his cheek for warmth. Harry felt a slight pang of loss as the little animal's soft feathers made contact with his face. Hedwig had snuggled against him just like that when she had been his post owl. Pushing the thought aside, he read:

26 December

Dear Harry,

Happy belated Christmas! I would have sent this earlier, but I didn't want to risk sending such a little owl into such a big snowstorm. Thank you so much for him, by the way. He's going to make life a lot easier for both of us, I think. I've named him Sirius, since he's such a brave little thing. Would you believe he attacked Crookshanks?

A smile crept onto Harry's face. As a matter of fact, he certainly did believe that the little owl, now named Sirius, had attacked Crookshanks. He had watched Sirius and Pigwidgeon squabble with each other whenever Pigwidgeon was given post to carry, and he knew that Sirius, despite his size, was most definitely not afraid of picking fights. Even though he had still been recovering from his sudden meeting with The Burrow's kitchen window, he had been very eager to carry letters for the people who had rescued him. The brave little bird had given Pig a good pecking whenever someone had approached with a letter – such a good pecking, in fact, that Harry had eventually had to move Sirius into his room to keep the two owls from nipping at each other all the time.

I hope you don't mind my using Sirius' name. I just thought it was good for such a little daredevil.

I must say that your letter on Christmas Eve was very confusing. It was nice to hear about your joining the Magpies, but I was rather perplexed by that quote. Harry, as much as I love you and wish that we could be together again, I know as well as you do that wishing isn't enough. I can't go back to the magical world, no matter how much I'd like to, and I highly doubt that we could even be together in the Muggle world, with my dad around…

Harry smiled, despite feeling a bit guilty for making Hermione sad. She may not be able to understand now, but he knew that there would come a time when she would be able to see what he meant when he said that their relationship would, someday, stop having to be just pretend. And, hopefully, that time would come very soon.

I miss you, love, and I wish that I could believe you when you say that we'll get our happy ending soon, but I find that very hard to do. As far as I can tell, there's just too much in the way, between my dad, distance, and Merlin knows what else… Well, I've got faith in you. If you say that we're going to get our happy ending somehow, I guess I've just got to wait and see.

Things aren't so bad here, of course. I guess I've been making it sound worse than it is. My mum and I are talking again, thank Heaven. My dad has decided that he doesn't want to talk to me until I stop 'sulking' in my room.

Harry sighed and shook his head. He had never really met Rick Granger, at least not for any length of time, but even his momentary encounters with the man had been enough to show him where Hermione had gotten her stubbornness. He refused to be persuaded to change his mind, wouldn't see the other side of the story, and most certainly would not give in to his daughter's pleas, no matter how much she had cried and begged him to try to see things her way.

I wish he could try to be a bit more understanding. Mum says that she's doing her best to try to make him see the other side of the situation, but he's always been stubborn. It'll take a while for her to make any progress. As for me, I've gotten used to being holed up in my room with Crookshanks and Sirius, so I'm doing all right. I hope everything's all right at The Burrow. Tell the Weasleys hello for me, would you?

Write soon!

Love,

Hermione

xo

Harry folded up the letter, laid it carefully on his windowsill and, with Sirius still riding on his shoulder, quickly went to fetch the small bag of Daydream Charms that Fred and George had asked him to send to Hermione with his next letter. They wouldn't disclose all of the details about these particular Charms, except that they had been designed especially for Hermione and would, in their words, 'give her a taste of home'. Harry was unsure of what they meant by that, and he was a bit wary of sending the Charms to Hermione (the last thing he wanted was to make her even more homesick; she was already plenty upset), but he trusted that the twins knew what they were doing. Fred and George had always had a good amount of tact, and he believed that they would never do anything that would upset Hermione.

Returning to his room, he found a quill, some ink and some parchment, then made his way downstairs. Sitting at the kitchen table with Sirius gently nipping at his ear – much like Hedwig had once done to show her affection, he thought with another small pang of loss – he picked up the quill and wrote:

29 December

Dear Hermione,

It's perfectly fine that you used Sirius' name. In fact, before we agreed to let you name him, the Weasleys and I were thinking of doing just that. Everyone here says hello, and wants me to tell you that we all miss you very much. Fred and George told me to send along this bag of Daydream Charms. I guess you could call it a belated Christmas present. They said that they designed these Charms especially for you, to remind you of all of us. I hope you like them.

Everything's going just fine here at The Burrow. Arthur's happy with his expanding collection of movies, Fred and George's shop is doing wonderfully, Ginny stayed at school to study for her N.E.W.Ts (she's doing very well this year), and – you won't believe it – Ron and Luna have started dating!

Harry smiled and rolled his eyes. He hadn't heard the end of it for days now, ever since Christmas Eve. Ron, bless him, appeared to have secured a spot on cloud nine, and would not stop jabbering about it. Harry found it sweet (and he had to admit that he had done the same thing a few times after Ron had returned to him and Hermione in the tent. He had just been so happy to have finally gotten the weight of his hidden feelings off of his chest that he couldn't seem to keep his mouth shut), but there was a limit to how much he could hear about Luna's imaginary beasts and Dirigible Plums without hurting Ron's feelings by being overcome by a fit of laughter to rival the one that had claimed Hermione when she had caught a glimpse of the nightgown-wearing Archie, who liked a healthy breeze round his… ah… privates. And it seemed that, despite their short courtship, there were some pretty strong feelings between Ron and Luna that he risked hurting.

They might sound like a strange pair, but they're getting along beautifully. I think Ron's in love with her, but it might be a little early to say for sure. In any case, he's practically been bouncing everywhere since Christmas Eve (he and Luna got caught under the mistletoe by the twins, and it seems things went from there). It's good to see him looking so happy. He's been a bit down for a while now. He really misses having you around. Everybody does.

Quidditch practice with the Magpies starts in the first week of January, no matter how cold it is. In the coach's words, we can all either put Heating Charms on our sorry arses or go home if we're going to whine about the weather.

Harry chuckled slightly. The Magpies' coach was like a second Oliver Wood, though taller and with a lot more muscle than Harry's first Quidditch captain. He had the same complex plans (the kind that sometimes managed to overestimate the team's abilities a little bit), the same devotion to the game (a devotion that sometimes bordered on obsession), and, according to Harry's new team-mates, the same boring pep talks before matches (the kind that usually just made the players more nervous instead of reassuring them). Harry didn't care, though. He was itching to get back on his Firebolt and back up in the air, whether said air was freezing cold or not, and the fact that he would be playing for the most famous and successful team in the world made things even better.

He was, however, still a bit nervous. Sure, he had played well when he had been a part of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but this was certainly not the same as a match at school. He was going to play the game professionally, in front of the entire wizarding world, and he was going to get paid for it this time around. This wasn't just an extra-curricular team now, after all. It was his job, and that meant that he risked more than just being ridiculed by his schoolmates for a few weeks if he screwed up.

It's easy to see that the he and the rest of the Magpies didn't get to be the best without working for it. I just hope I don't get laughed off the pitch.

It's good to know that you and your mum are talking again. I hope you're not so lonely now. Your dad will come around sometime, sweetheart. Nobody can stay stubborn forever. I think he cares more about his daughter than he cares about being right; he just needs to realize that. I'm glad to hear that you're doing all right, even if you've only got a few people (well, a person and two animals) to talk to. Though I guess you've got two people to talk to, if you count me.

He paused after that. There was one last part of the letter to which he needed to reply, but he didn't quite know how to do so. He wasn't exactly a master of words, and it would be just his luck to end up letting the cat out of the bag long before it was time to do so. There was still a while to wait before he felt that his plan would be ready for execution, and even longer before he felt that he would be able to tell Hermione. The last thing he needed was to drive her out of her mind before all of his preparations were done.

No, he thought, frowning slightly. The very last thing that he needed was to tell Hermione his plan and then have to tell her, later on, that it would be impossible to execute. He knew that that was a possibility, no matter how much it upset him to just think about it, and he wasn't about to make Hermione's life more miserable than it already was by giving her hope and then taking it away.

After dipping his quill into the ink a few more times than necessary as he thought, he finally let some of the ink drip off before writing:

As for my Christmas letter, I don't want to give too much away… But let's just say that sometimes things can still happen, despite all of the obstacles that may stand in the way. Thanks for having faith in me, love. I'll make this happen for us somehow, I promise. Just keep holding on for a little while longer, OK?

All the best from the Weasleys and me!

Love,

Harry

After a moment's thought, he added, with a small grin on his face:

PS: What do you want for Valentine's Day? And don't say 'nothing' or I'll tell Sirius to bite you until you write something else!

He folded up the letter and carried it back to his room, where he rummaged around for an envelope and something that he could use to tie the little bag of Charms to Sirius' leg. He found an envelope and slipped the letter into it, but could not seem to find anything that could serve as a tie, so he settled for persuading Sirius to just grasp the bag in his claws and giving him a firm order to not drop it (he really hoped that the owl understood), before opening his window again and letting the bird out into the chilly air.

~*~

It had been a few days since Hermione had received Harry's letter, and she had finally decided that it was time to reply, lest Harry think that Sirius had gotten lost or hurt on the way to her house. The owl was perfectly fine, of course, especially after he had been given a few days of rest by a worried Hermione, and he sat on the corner of her desk as she wrote, his big eyes following the tip of her quill as it moved back and forth across the parchment. If Hermione had been paying any attention to him, she probably would have laughed. He looked completely fascinated. But she didn't even give the little creature on the corner of her desk a moment's glance as she wrote, being too busy with her letter to notice much at all.

3 January

Dear Harry,

Sorry it took so long for me to write back, but Sirius seemed completely exhausted for a few days after he brought your letter to me, and I was afraid he was sick, so I didn't want to risk sending him out again before he got his energy back.

It had been pretty frightening, Hermione remembered as she wrote, to watch little Sirius – who was usually so full of life and eager to fly around at high speed (not to mention itching for another fight with Crookshanks, who had taken to sulking in his basket whenever Sirius was around, his pride obviously quite wounded after his defeat) – sit still and doze off the moment he cleared the edge of her windowsill and dropped the bag of Charms onto her desk. She had been very worried about him for a day or two, watching him sleep most of the time, but he had seemed to recover after a few days of napping, and was now back to his old, hyperactive self.

He seems to be better now, though. I think he was just tired. Maybe we ought to give him a break between letters. I mean, he is just a little thing, after all, and it's a long way for him to fly so often. Besides, he'd still be faster than Muggle post, even if we waited a day or two between letters.

Tell Gred and Forge that I said thanks a million times for those Daydream Charms of theirs. I was so sure that I was really back at The Burrow with all of you that I cried when the first Charm wore off (happy tears, Harry, don't worry).

And very happy tears they had been. Fred and George had certainly known what they were doing when they had made those Charms. They had recreated Hermione's home-away-from-home so utterly perfectly that, for just a second or two, she had honestly believed that the past few months had been nothing but a dream, and that she had never really had to leave her friends or the world she loved. If she ever got to go back to the magical world, she had decided, she would offer to advertise Fred and George's shop every chance she got.

I'm using them as sparingly as I can, for fear of running out of them too fast, but it's hard to resist the temptation to just use all of them at once and escape in a week-long daydream.

She had been very tempted to do just that quite a few times, but had always reminded herself that her parents would probably be pretty worried if they checked on her and found her in what would most likely appear, to them, to be some sort of coma.

It's so good to hear that everything's going well at The Burrow. You're right; I couldn't believe that Ron and Luna are dating! I had to read your letter a few times to make sure that I had really seen what I thought I'd seen. Do you really think Ron's in love with her? Luna's a nice person, and I think she'd be good for Ron, especially when it comes to cooling that temper of his. I don't think anything can really get on Luna's nerves, so they would balance each other nicely. Tell Ron that I miss him too, would you?

How is Quidditch practice going so far? I know you're never going to get laughed off of a Quidditch pitch, Harry, so I'm assuming that the coach had to pick his eyes up off of the ground when he saw you play for the first time. You know you're good, sweetheart, and any Quidditch team would be honoured to have you play for them. I hope you don't freeze to your Firebolt during practice! Are there any matches in the wintertime?

She sighed. Oh, how she missed watching the youngest Seeker in a century enjoy his favourite sport. She would be happy to go out and sit in the January cold – perhaps even bearing another banner with 'Potter for President' written on it in flashing letters – if it meant that she got to sit in the stands and witness that look of triumph on Harry's face when the Snitch was finally trapped in his grasp at the end of a game, its little wings beating lethargically as it made a feeble attempt to escape. It would be worth a few frozen fingers, she thought, to be able to cheer him on again, just like old times.

Of course I count you on my list of people who I can talk with, silly. Though I wish we could actually talk to each other instead of writing letters all the time. I miss hearing your voice. At least I've got the Charms to tide me over for a little while.

I think my mum might be starting to wear my dad down a little bit. I can hear them through the walls sometimes, and he sounds less stubborn lately. He's still not quite ready to talk to me, she added honestly, remembering the awkward atmosphere that had hung between her and her father throughout the past few days, but I think it's mostly because he feels a tad guilty now, instead of angry with me. I guess all I can do is wait and see what will happen.

Finally, she addressed the bit of his letter that had been nagging at the back of her mind for days now, even keeping her up for a little while at night. She had been hoping for a bit of an explanation, something to help her figure out what he was up to, but all she had gotten was more of the same secretiveness that he had displayed in his letter on Christmas Eve. She didn't know whether to be worried or eager to find out what he was planning.

You're driving me mad with all this suspense. What exactly am I 'holding on' for? How much shameless begging is it going to take for you to tell me what's going on? I've got plenty of faith in you, love, but it would be nice to know exactly where all of that faith is going.

What do I want for Valentine's Day? Don't you think it's a little bit early to be thinking about that? But, for fear of having Sirius detach one or more of my fingers, I'll try to think of something. Chocolates? Roses? To be back in our world and in your arms, where I belong? Anything along those lines would be great, I suppose.

Reading the paragraph back to herself, Hermione couldn't help but roll her eyes at the tone of her own words. She usually wouldn't write something so… sappy, but this was Harry, after all. Her Harry, who she loved more than anyone, and who she missed terribly.

I think I'll stop there, love, she wrote with a sigh. All this talk of Valentine's Day is making me miss you more.

Lots of love,

Hermione

xo

Folding the letter carefully, she slipped it into an envelope and held it out to Sirius, who took it in his beak and hopped up onto the windowsill, waiting for her to open the window for him. She did, shivering slightly as a blast of cold air from outside hit her. She closed the window again the moment Sirius' tail feathers had cleared the windowsill, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. After watching the little owl grow smaller and smaller in the grey sky, until he eventually disappeared, Hermione stepped back from her desk and looked around her room. It was pretty gloomy, lit only by the feeble light outside. It was also quiet, except for Crookshanks' soft purring from his basket in the corner. He didn't seem to be bothered by the cold, and was probably rather relieved by Sirius' departure. Crookshanks didn't like not feeling like the boss of Hermione's room. He was so content now that the owl was gone, he didn't even seem to notice how gloomy the weather was.

Then again, Hermione thought, rolling her eyes, as long as it doesn't disturb his naps, it doesn't bother him in the least.

Speaking of naps, she found herself in the mood for one as well (she figured it had something to do with it looking a lot later in the day than it really was), but didn't think that letting herself doze would be the best idea. She knew that she wouldn't sleep a wink that night if she allowed herself to drift off so early in the day.

The bag of Daydream Charms on the corner of her nightstand caught her eye. She had told herself that she wasn't going to use them all up in the space of a few days, but… Well, what the heck? It wasn't like she had anything better to do.

Settling herself onto her bed, she reached for the Charms and extracted one from the bag, before opening the nightstand drawer and retrieving her wand. She touched it to the Charm and murmured a word. The effect was instantaneous; she immediately felt very calm and sleepy.

Oh, just this once, she thought happily as she started to drift off into her magically induced daydream. Just this once and – she paused to yawn, the Charm's effects seeming even stronger when she was already tired – and then I'll save them, like I said.

~*~

Harry was in a wonderful mood when he stepped into The Burrow, despite having had to walk through the snow to get to the door. He had just been to practice, something that he was beginning to enjoy more and more. It was amazing to play on a team with people who had played Quidditch for a living much longer than he had. There were so many things he could learn by watching them, from new, far more complicated manoeuvres (the Sloth-Grip Roll seemed to be just as boring as a sloth now, after he had seen some professional techniques) to how to show off a little for a crowd (though this was not something that the captain had them practice). He learned that there was more to being a Seeker than just catching a Snitch. There was also, it seemed, a requirement to make the fans happy, seeing as they would, according to his team-mates, be watching him very often, because he was the one who decided how long the game would last. He learned that he, as the player who spent most of his time watching the match instead of actually being a part of it, was expected to find some way to amuse the spectators if the game got a little slow for their liking, whether by turning loop-the-loops or by allowing himself to be pursued by a Bludger. He had come to realize that he, as the Seeker, was the fan-appointed king of the Quidditch pitch, and he would be loved or hated depending on how much of a crowd-pleaser he could be.

It turned out that he had the potential to be a very good crowd-pleaser. He was especially good at evading Bludgers, even the faster, fiercer ones that were used during practice. However, he often elicited some curious looks from his teammates when he finally outran a Bludger and came to a stop with a huge, silly grin on his face. Well, it wasn't his fault that every time he escaped the Bludgers, he couldn't help thinking of Draco Malfoy lying sprawled and winded on the Quidditch pitch after losing a race for the Snitch. It also wasn't his fault that he couldn't help thinking of Gilderoy Lockhart, who was still practicing his joined-up writing at St. Mungo's and reading through his constant fan mail, probably wondering what he had done to make so many women love him so much.

To add to his enjoyment of Quidditch practice, there was the simple act of getting back on his trusty Firebolt and getting back up in the air once more. He hadn't realized how much he had missed the liberty of flying until he had been circling a Quidditch pitch once again, the sheer joy of being free flowing through his veins. For Harry, at least, there was no feeling as good as that in the whole world. The only thing he could compare it to was kissing Hermione for the first time, over and over and over again. Of course, he would never admit that to any of his team-mates if they enquired about the blissful look on his face as he flew. He knew full well that they would all laugh, punch him on the arm and call him a girl. Most of his team-mates knew about the situation between him and Hermione, and they were sympathetic, but he knew that the "guy-ness" that came out in all of them on the pitch would prevail if he pranced around jabbering about his girlfriend.

"Hello, Harry dear," a familiar, cheerful voice greeted him from the kitchen, shaking him from his thoughts. "How was practice?"

"It was great, Mrs. W- Molly, I mean," said Harry, correcting himself as he leaned against the doorframe. He shook his head and chuckled slightly. "Sorry, I guess I'm still getting used to that." Arthur and Molly had asked him to call them by their first names from the moment he had arrived at their home after the Battle at Hogwarts, reminding him of his adult status.

Molly set something on the counter and turned her head to smile understandingly at him. "That's all right, Harry, Luna's the same way," she assured him.

Harry wondered whether or not that was actually comforting.

"Now," she continued, in the sort of tone that Harry now recognized as an unfailing promise of food, "I've just made a batch of muffins, if you'd like one."

There was a warm, napkin-wrapped muffin in Harry's hand before he could even open his mouth to reply. "Thanks, Molly," he said, taking a bite to further show his gratitude. She seemed pleased.

"Would you like anything else, dear?" she asked, as she always did. "That team captain of yours is always keeping you out in the cold for so long; you must be hungry…"

Harry shook his head, as his mouth was full. "No thanks," he said when he had swallowed, "I'm fine. I did have an excellent breakfast, after all," he reminded her. She had already stuffed him full of bacon, eggs, toast and pumpkin juice that morning, before insisting on packing him a lunch to take to the pitch. He had ended up dividing the food among his team-mates, feeling as though he could go another week without eating, after the two or three whole pigs he had most likely ingested that morning.

"Well, all right," said Molly, sounding like she didn't quite believe him. "Any plans for the rest of the day?"

Harry shrugged, having just taken another bite of his muffin. It was chocolate chip – one of his favourites – and very good. "Not really," he said when his mouth was empty again. "I've got a letter that I want to write, but that's about all."

"To Hermione?"

"Yeah," Harry answered, taking another bite of the muffin.

"How is she these days?"

"She's doing fine," said Harry, swallowing quickly. "Feeling a little lonely, understandably, but doing all right. It seems that she's been getting along with her parents lately," he added.

"Has she?" asked Molly, sounding pleased.

"Yeah. She's still not talking to her father, but she doesn't think he's really angry with her anymore. More like guilty, she says."

"Well, that's an improvement," said Molly. "Here's hoping he comes around and starts talking to her again soon. It must be so hard to live in a house with someone who refuses to speak to you," she said, shaking her head.

"Definitely," Harry agreed, frowning slightly. "Of course I wouldn't tell her this in a letter, but I can't help but think that he ought to feel guilty."

"Now, Harry, I'm sure Mr. Granger thought that he was doing the right thing," said Molly.

"Well, yes, I suppose he did," Harry agreed, somewhat reluctantly. "But you weren't there to watch him sit there and blatantly ignore her while she cried and begged him to just listen to her," he said, shaking his head as he remembered the moment.

Molly looked sympathetic. "It must have been a difficult time for everyone, dear," she said. "But at least things are starting to get better."

Harry nodded. "Slowly but surely," he agreed. "I just want her to be happy," he added softly, more to himself than to Molly.

"I know," she said understandingly. "That's all any of us want for the ones we love, isn't it?"

Harry nodded again, taking another bite of the nearly-finished muffin in his hand. Molly patted his shoulder in a motherly sort of way and smiled.

"Now, go on and write Hermione a nice long letter to keep her spirits up," she said gently. "I'm sure she'll be glad to hear from you."

Harry gave her a smile and left the kitchen, heading to his bedroom to gather his parchment, quill, and ink, not to mention the hyperactive ball of feathers that had been bouncing around his room for more than five days now.

A few minutes later, he settled himself into a chair at the table downstairs and started his letter.

9 January

My dear, wonderful, beautiful Hermione, he wrote, making himself grin.

Quidditch is going spectacularly so far, hence my use of so many adjectives (I’m laughing). I just got back from practice a few minutes ago, and I thought that Sirius had had quite enough of a break, so I figured that I'd send him back to you. I meant to reply sooner, but the spell of nice weather we've been having has encouraged dear Coach to hold daily practices, usually lasting a good eight hours.

Things are still great here at The Burrow. Ron and Luna are going out more and more lately. I really think that the two of them are falling for each other. It's quite cute, actually. Last night at dinner, we all got treated to a detailed description of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack from Ron, who maintained a straight face the whole time. I think he's actually taking Luna's creatures seriously! Ron's my best mate and I'm plenty fond of Luna, but I don't think I could be around him for more than a few minutes without laughing if I found out that he seriously believed in Snorkacks and – I forget the exact name now – Bucktoothed Schnuzzlebumps or something like that. I try to be open-minded and everything (after all, I didn't believe in magic for eleven years, and look what happened), but some of Luna's creatures are just so ridiculous that I have a hard time believing that they could ever be real, even in the magical world. Well, the two of them are happy together, and I guess that's all that really matters, Schnuzzlebumps or not.

Life's going well for everyone here. Ginny's stressed about her N.E.W.Ts, but she seems to be enjoying herself at school as well. It seems she's struck up a relationship with a Hufflepuff boy in her year. I can't help but be a little jealous of her, and of Ron. It's as though everybody else gets to be with someone they love, except for the two of us.

Molly's been particularly happy lately, which is a change. She, like the rest of us, had been (and still is) pretty upset about you having to leave. She still misses you, of course, but she's been a bit more cheerful since Christmas. I think it has something to do with the fact that not only does she have Luna to invite to The Burrow for supper five days a week, she's also got an excuse to feed me up every chance she gets, with Quidditch and all. I pretend to think that she worries about me too much, but I suppose I can admit that I kind of like all the attention. It's sort of like having a mum, I think, even if I'm borrowing her from the Weasleys.

I've been working on setting up Grimmauld Place for human occupation lately. Kreacher has been taking better care of the place since we were there last year, but there are still a few infestations (and hauntings) that are out of his control, house-elf magic or not, so some of the Weasleys have been helping me clean the place up. It's not that I don't like being at The Burrow, but I think it might be time for me to have a place of my own. Playing for the Magpies pays pretty well, so I've got the resources to support myself, and even though the Weasleys are like family to me, I think I've been relying on their hospitality long enough. What do you think?

As for Quidditch, I haven't gotten laughed off the pitch so far, or laughed at at all. As far as I know, we won't start having actual matches until late January or early February, when we're scheduled to play the Ballycastle Bats. It's supposed to be a big game, first one of the new year and all that. I confess that I'm nervous. The Bats are the second-best team in the league, and from what I've heard, they don't plan to stay in second place for long. Not to mention that the match is probably going to be followed by most of the world, when you consider that it's the first of the season. I really hope I don't do anything stupid.

I guess you're right, Valentine's Day is a bit far off, but you are the one who told me that it's bad to procrastinate! Besides, I've got a few things to take care of before February rolls around… I wish I could tell you what you've got faith in, love, but that would ruin the surprise!

Is everything going well at your house? How are things going with your dad lately? Write soon.

Love always,

Harry

~*~

13 January

My beloved, handsome and somewhat evil Harry,

I can use lots of adjectives too! (I'm laughing.) It's great to hear that you're enjoying Quidditch so much. Of course you didn't get laughed off the pitch, silly. I told you, you're very good, and any team would be happy to have you. It's good to know that you're not being treated too much like a celebrity. Eight hours a day sounds like an awful lot, even for a team that's taking advantage of good weather… I hope the captain isn't pushing you and your teammates too hard. Well, even if he is, I trust that Molly will take excellent care of my favourite Seeker, at least until you move. I agree with you, love, you're old enough to be living on your own, especially since you've got the resources to do so, though it might be hard to move out of somewhere like the Weasleys' and into Grimmauld Place.

I wish I could be there to watch your first match with the Magpies. I miss watching you play, no matter how many times you nearly gave me heart failure. I wish I could at least get the Prophet, so I could see the headline that's sure to pop up after that match. And don't be daft; you're not going to do anything stupid. Even if you did, no one would notice, and even if they did, they would think it was just Harry Potter being brilliant and would name your mistake after you before documenting it as a new Quidditch manoeuvre. The Potter Plummet or something. (I'm laughing again. Hopefully, there won't be any plummeting involved in your match!)

It's good to know that everyone's in high spirits over at The Burrow. It's great that Ron's found someone who he can actually carry on a serious relationship (well, as serious as Schnuzzlebumps and Snorkacks get) with. I definitely understand why you're a little jealous of our friends, love. I'm a bit jealous as well, and I don't even have to be around the happy couples all the time. It seems like it should just be a given that when two people care for one another, they should be allowed to be together, but I guess that that's just wishful thinking.

Speaking of happy couples, you're still driving me insane! Can't you just give me a little hint? You know how much I hate not knowing what's going on.

Life's getting better here at home, slowly but surely. I lent Mum my copies of the Standard Book of Spells collection, because she says that she wants to read up on magic. I guess she's hoping to find more information to support her side of the argument. She and I are reading Hogwarts: A History together as well, and I have fun adding my own little notes as we go along. It's nice, kind of like reading picture books with my parents again. I've told her a lot about you and our adventures together, and she's taken everything very well. I could tell that my stories worried her at first, but after she realized that they all ended well, she relaxed quite a bit. I think she likes you a lot more now, after hearing about all of our little escapades and how you always tried to protect me. I'm really glad that my mum's making an effort to understand our world and our kind. I think I might not have put it in the best light by telling her about Voldemort before anything else. Dad and I aren't on speaking terms yet, but I've at least felt comfortable enough to venture outside of my bedroom to read in the living room with my mum. I hope that what she's learning from my books will help to finally get this argument over with.

Just a little hint? Please?

Love, hugs, and kisses (also known as shameless bribing),

Your (bewildered) Hermione

xo

~*~

21 January

My bewildered Hermione,

I'd love to give you a hint, but knowing you, you'll figure it out, which will ruin the surprise. My plan is not getting out of my genius mind (I might be exaggerating a bit; we all know who the genius of this relationship is!) until I'm absolutely sure that I know what I'm doing.

Well, then again, you'll probably find it completely foolish even when I do think I know what I'm doing, but… There are some things in life that are worth a bit of foolishness.

It's good to know that your mum is making progress. I'm glad that she wants to learn about our world, instead of just assuming that we're all carbon copies of Voldemort. Hope she can change your dad's mind.

Sorry this is so short, but I've got to run off to practice, just like every other morning. The captain is getting a little stressed about the match, even though it's almost a month away (it's been scheduled for Valentine's Day) and the team is already doing spectacularly. I guess this team's not the best in the league for nothing.

Less than a month left, my love…

Your (rushed) Harry

~*~

31 January

Dear Harry,

Good news and bad news. The good news is, it seems that my mum has finally convinced my Dad that our world isn't all bad. I think she showed him Hogwarts: A History in order to do it. A good education in a good school has always been important to him, after all. And you and Ron laughed at me for always keeping that book around!

The bad news is, I think that he feels rather ashamed of himself for judging us so quickly, so he's decided to just pretend like nothing ever happened, which means no discussions about whether or not I'm going to be allowed to return to our world. Plus, since he doesn't want to talk about it, I have no idea what his opinion of magic really is, so I don't know what would happen if I tried to ask him about coming back. On the upside, he and I are now able to carry on civilized conversations, though I can't help but be a little angry at him for talking to me like nothing happened, instead of just admitting that he was wrong.

Enclosed with this letter, you'll find a picture. I felt bad for not being able to go to your match on Valentine's Day (what a day to make you play Quidditch!), so I charmed my dad's camera to take magical photographs (it's an easier alternative to developing the pictures in a potion, but it's also a rather tricky charm) and had Mum take one of me, so you’ve got a Mini-Hermione to cheer you on. I hope you like it! Good luck with the match!

Less than a month left until what? This plan of yours comes into play? You're going to drive me insane before you get a chance to pull off whatever you're planning if you keep up with all this suspense! What am I waiting for? Why? Can't I please have a little hint?

Impatiently awaiting some sort of explanation,

Hermione

xo

~*~

10 February

My impatient Hermione,

That's great news! Well, except for the fact that it's probably going to be a little while before your dad wants to talk about our world with you. But still, I'm glad that things are more comfortable at your house now.

I love the picture, sweetheart. That was very thoughtful of you. You look a bit pale, though. Have you been feeling all right?

All right, in order to preserve my lovely girlfriend's sanity, I'm willing to give you one tiny hint:

I bet the sunset on Valentine's day will be breathtaking.

Lots and lots of love,

Harry

~*~

12 February

Harry-

I know I should be giving Sirius a break from delivering post, but I had to know…

What on Earth are you talking about?

I like sunsets and all, but what exactly has that got to do with us?

Well, I've still got faith in you. I'll be watching the sky on Valentine's Day, in hopes that that's what you want me to do…

I'm fine, don't worry. I just haven't been outside in a little while, that's all.

Play well! Remind the Bats that they shouldn't show their faces in the daytime!

Love,

Your very confused Hermione

xo

A/N: Hello again! I know it's been a very, very long time since I updated this story, and I apologize because I know that a lot of my readers were pretty invested in its outcome. I actually had this chapter prepared for a while, but I was waiting to finish the next one or two before I published this one. Since it doesn't seem like those next chapters will be written anytime in the near future, I decided to just go ahead and post this one. I think that it, at least, offers a bit more closure than the last chapter!

Enjoy!

~*~

Emma Granger was worried about her daughter.

Nothing had really happened that could have made her worry, but she couldn't help being a little concerned when she noticed Hermione glancing out the living room window every few minutes, as though she had developed a nervous tic. The two of them were seated on the living room couch with Hogwarts: A History spread across both laps, working through a section about various tapestries that hung on the walls of Hogwarts School. Usually, Emma was treated to many frightening and fascinating stories about the castle when she read with her daughter, but Hermione had not offered to elaborate on anything that the two of them had seen so far. That was no reason to fret, of course; it was perfectly possible that she just didn't have any stories to share. But Emma found herself worrying about her daughter anyway. It was unusual for Hermione to be so quiet and jumpy, especially while she read, and especially while she read Hogwarts: A History.

To add to her concern, Emma had noticed, when she had gotten out of bed to get a glass of water, that Hermione had been pacing around her room at the earliest hours of the morning. She hadn't asked her daughter about it, knowing that she would only get a "Nothing's wrong" or a "Don't worry" as a response, but she had lain awake for a good two or three hours listening to the steady creak of floorboards in Hermione's room. This was highly atypical; Hermione had never had any trouble sleeping before.

Lost in thought and worry, Emma didn't notice when Hermione closed the large book and stood up from the couch. She only realized that her daughter had moved when she heard her voice.

"I'd read more with you, Mum," said Hermione, sounding a little agitated, "but I've got a letter to write…"

"Go ahead, dear," said Emma, coming out of her reverie. As Hermione hurried up the stairs, Emma became more concerned. Hermione didn't usually lie to her either, but she knew that her daughter had no reason to be writing any letters. She had followed Hermione into her room earlier, when the two of them had gone to retrieve the book, and the little owl that Harry had sent on Christmas Eve had been nowhere to be seen.

Anxious and curious, Emma got up from the couch and looked out the window, trying to see what it was that had kept Hermione's attention for so long. There was nothing there; just the normal view of a neighbour's house. Emma looked left, right and up, but didn't see anything out of the ordinary. Just an empty street and a clear sky, which had turned a deep shade of pink as the sun started to set. She shrugged and, still concerned, made her way up the stairs, taking great care to be quiet as she stopped outside Hermione's door. It was slightly ajar, and Emma, in a fit of curiosity, pressed herself to the wall beside it and gently nudged it with her foot, causing it to swing open slowly. Suddenly, the hinges let out a shrill squeak, making her cringe. She heard a noise as Hermione jumped a little, startled, but her daughter didn't seem to notice or care that the door had been pushed open.

Edging away from the wall, Emma peeked into the room through the newly widened space between the door and the frame, and saw nothing out of the ordinary. Hermione was sitting at her desk, but was not writing the letter that she had used as an excuse to hurry upstairs. She was merely staring out the window at the setting sun. Not normal for Hermione, maybe, but not exactly a cause for concern either.

Emma was about to shrug and turn away when Hermione suddenly stood up and leaned over her desk, as though she was trying to see something in the distance through her window. Emma looked as well, but the angle from the door to the window kept her from seeing what Hermione could. She could, however, see Hermione reach for the windowsill and jerk the window open, moments before something small and feathery came flying into her room. Emma recognized it as the little owl that her daughter had received as a Christmas present.

"Hello, Sirius," Hermione said softly, patting the owl's brown, feathery head as it perched on her shoulder. She then proceeded to hold a hand in front of 'Sirius', seemingly by force of habit, probably expecting the bird to give her a letter. No such letter appeared.

"Haven't you got something to give me?" asked Hermione, looking puzzled. "Harry wouldn't just send you back here without anything…"

"I didn't," a male voice whispered. Emma and Hermione both jumped. No one but Hermione and Sirius was in her bedroom.

Emma watched as Hermione blinked, her eyes wide, and whispered, "Harry?"

"Yeah," the voice whispered back.

"What the bloody hell-?"

The voice chuckled, interrupting her. "Turn around, silly."

Hermione did, facing the one wall that Emma could not see. She could, however, see her daughter jump again and cover her mouth with one hand, stifling a yelp of surprise. A moment later, a familiar young man entered Emma's field of vision. He was smiling, and appeared to be holding a broomstick in one hand and a bouquet of roses in the other. He was also dressed strangely, in some sort of heavy black robe with a magpie on the back.

"Happy Valentine's Day," he said, his voice still hushed, holding the roses out for Hermione to take. She did, almost robotically, still looking stunned.

"Where did you-? How did you-?" she stammered, equally quietly.

Harry smiled, appearing to understand. "I put my Cloak on and let Sirius lead me here," he said, gesturing to the tiny owl on Hermione's shoulder, "and I Apparated in once I could see where I was going."

Hermione nodded slowly, seeming to let that sink in. "Did you win?"

It was Harry's turn to look confused. "Sorry?"

"You're still in your Quidditch robes. Did you win?"

"Oh, right," said Harry, looking down at himself. "Right. Yeah, we won."

Hermione seemed to be recovering from the shock of seeing Harry for the first time in months. "Due to a certain Seeker, no doubt?"

"Well," said Harry, blushing a bit, "the rest of the team worked hard as well."

Hermione smiled. She turned around and set the roses carefully on her desk, paused for a moment, then, suddenly, she threw her arms around Harry's neck and hugged him with such force that she nearly knocked him over. He smiled and wrapped his arms around her as well, still keeping a hold on the broomstick.

"I was waiting for that," he said, kissing her forehead.

"Oh, Harry," she said, her already hushed voice muffled by his robes, "you're here. You're really here."

"Yes, love, I'm here," he said, using his free hand to gently comb through her curls with his fingers. The two stayed like that for a moment or two, before Hermione suddenly pulled away from Harry and clapped both hands over her mouth, her eyes wide.

"Oh, no," she said, shaking her head worriedly.

"What?" asked Harry, setting the broomstick down on the floor.

"Oh, no," Hermione repeated, still shaking her head. She pulled her hands away from her mouth. "You can't be here."

"Hermione-"

"You can't stay; if my father came home and saw you, he'd-"

"Hermione-"

"You've got to go, you can't- mmph!" Hermione was cut off as Harry pulled her into his arms again and kissed her firmly, effectively silencing her frantic ramblings and making Emma blush a little as she watched. Their embrace lasted a few moments before Harry loosened his hold on Hermione and let her pull away slightly.

"Shh," he said soothingly. "Relax, 'Mione, nothing's going to happen to me. If we hurry up, anyway."

"Hurry up with what?"

Harry smiled somewhat nervously and ran a hand through his hair. "I was hoping to get to do this in a more romantic spot – you know, candles and roses and all that – but I'll make do…"

"Sorry?" said Hermione, looking bemused.

Harry reached out, took her hands in his, and asked, "Will you marry me?"

Hermione blinked. "What?" she asked weakly. Emma could sympathize; her own knees had just turned to jelly.

Harry reached into a pocket of his robes, extracted a small box and held it out to her. She took it, opened it, and gasped. Harry smiled.

"Hermione Jane Granger, will you marry me?" he asked again.

Hermione, looking stunned, sat down on her bed and stared down at the small box in her hands for a moment, before setting it down beside her. Emma could now see a diamond ring inside of it.

Harry sat down beside Hermione, looking a little anxious. "Hermione?" he prompted.

"Harry…" Hermione started shakily. "I-I'd love to-"

Harry smiled widely. "Brilliant!"

"-but-"

Harry's smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. His face fell. "But?" he repeated. "But what?"

"But… We can't, Harry," said Hermione, closing the box with a soft click. "We just can't. I mean, we'd be in terrible trouble…"

Harry's gaze dropped to his knees. He looked crushed. "Is that all you ever care about?" he asked softly. "Getting in trouble?"

"Harry, I-" Hermione tried, looking a little tearful.

Emma couldn't stand it anymore. Bursting through the door, she exclaimed, "For heaven's sake, Hermione, if you don't marry him, I will!"

Both Harry and Hermione jumped, very startled. Emma realized how loudly she had spoken, and was immediately grateful for the fact that her husband wasn't supposed to be home for another fifteen minutes. She could easily have spoiled the young couple's chance at happiness by alerting Rick to the fact that there was a wizard in the house.

"Mum!" Hermione exclaimed. "Mum, I can explain, I-"

Emma held up a hand to silence her daughter. "Hermione, do you love this boy?" she asked, gesturing to Harry.

"Yes, of course, but-"

Emma held up her hand again. "Haven't you been wishing that you could be with him ever since you came here?"

"Every day, but-"

"Then why are you throwing the chance to be with him – be with him forever, I might add – away?" Emma interrupted, folding her arms and adopting the same expression she had always used when giving Hermione a lecture.

Her daughter sighed and put her face in her hands, causing Harry, no matter how wounded he was, to put a comforting hand on her back.

"I want to be with Harry more than anything in the world, Mum, but we both know why I can't…" she said miserably.

"And why is that?" asked Emma.

"Because Dad will never, ever want to see me again if he finds out that I ran off with someone from a world that he's taken to pretending doesn't exist," said Hermione, "and no matter how much I love Harry and want to be able to be with him again," she said, removing her face from her hands and giving Harry a meaningful look as she did, "I don't want to do that if the price of my happiness is being estranged from my family for the rest of my life."

Emma sighed and shook her head, a small smile on her lips. Her Hermione. Always so logical, always so sensible. She walked over to her daughter, knelt down in front of her and brushed a stray tear from her cheek.

"Hermione, dear, do you honestly think I would let that happen?" she asked softly. "Do you really think that I would let your father be so pigheaded that he would never want to see his own daughter again because she found someone to love?"

The same small smile made its way onto Hermione's lips. "No," she said. "No, of course not."

"Clever girl," said Emma, giving her daughter a quick, tight hug as she stood up. She watched as Hermione turned, smiled, and put her arms around Harry, who gladly returned the gesture.

"In that case, Harry," murmured Hermione, "yes. With all my heart, yes. I'd be honoured to become your wife."

Emma watched, her smile widening, as Harry's face lit up and he seized Hermione around the waist, picking her up and spinning her around as she laughed. When he set her down again, he picked the small box up off the bed and slipped the ring onto Hermione's finger, grinning slightly goofily. Hermione beamed. Emma gave the two of them a few moments to enjoy what had just taken place, before she patted her daughter's shoulder to bring her back to the present.

"Go on then, get your things," she said. "Hurry up now, before your father comes home."

Something seemed to click in Hermione's head at that. "Oh, right…" she said quickly, before picking up her wand, which had been laying on her desk, and giving it a few smart flicks. Emma quickly moved out of the way and gawped as Hermione's bags flew out of her closet by themselves, her dresser drawers opened on their own, and all of her clothes began folding and packing themselves at lightning speed, while the remainder of her belongings hovered beside the rest of her luggage, waiting to place themselves on top. Magic certainly helped when it came to making one's escape, thought Emma.

A moment later, all of Hermione's things were packed, except for her coat, which she had pulled on, and the bouquet of roses, which she cradled in her arms. She smiled, a mixture of joy and sadness in her expression, and pulled her mother into a tight hug, taking care not to squash the flowers between them.

"Goodbye, Mum," she said softly. "Thank you," she added, even more softly.

"Goodbye, dear," Emma replied, willing herself not to cry. This was a happy occasion, after all. "Don't forget to write, OK?"

Hermione smiled as she loosened her hold on her mother and stepped back, picking up her bags with one hand. "OK."

Harry, who had shuffled his feet a little awkwardly throughout Hermione and Emma's goodbyes, now moved to retrieve his broomstick from the floor. Emma stopped him with a hand on his arm. He froze, looking surprised. He evidently hadn't expected anyone but Hermione to pay any attention to his presence.

"Take care of my little girl, won't you?" said Emma, losing her battle against her tears and wiping her eyes to clear them away.

Harry smiled and nodded. "Of course," he said.

Emma sniffled softly and nodded. "Well," she said, "you two had better go. Rick will be home any minute now."

Harry and Hermione nodded. Harry retrieved his broomstick and took Hermione's hand in his.

"We're expected at The Burrow, love," he said to her. She nodded. The two of them gave Emma one last, smiling look, before they both turned on the spot and disappeared with no more than a soft pop, leaving a tearful-but-happy Emma standing alone in the middle of her daughter's bedroom.

Moments later, the door opened and shut downstairs. Emma sighed with relief. Talk about cutting it close!

This should be interesting, she thought, making her way down the stairs to greet her husband.