Magic and Misperceptions by addisonj

Rating: PG13
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 02/09/2010
Last Updated: 23/01/2011
Status: Completed

A Harry Hermione version of a modern day Pride & Prejudice. Harry is the returning hero, a
distinguished Auror. Hermione is the Beauxbatons graduate, working in the Dept of Magical
Creatures. They meet at a Puddlemere United gala and misperceptions ensue. He assumes she's a
hero-chasing fangirl and she thinks he's a prejudiced snob. You know the ending. AU obviously.
R/L as well. COMPLETED!!




1. untitled
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Title: Magic and Misperceptions: A Harry Potter version of a Modern Pride & Prejudice
Author: AddisonJ Beta: DeeMichelle and Tears of Mercury

*Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter, and I’m no Jane Austen, either.*

Volume 1 Chapter 1

“‘It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must
be in want of a wife.’”

“What is that, some Muggle novel you’re reading, Hermione?” Lavender Brown asked her flat mate,
the Muggle-born Hermione Granger.

Hermione was lying on the couch holding a copy of the Jane Austen novel. She had realized that
lying inert on the couch was safer than standing in the way of Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil as
they rushed about, preparing for the big party that night.

“It’s a famous Muggle novel about how women especially tend to assume that rich single men must
be on the prowl for a wife, and they themselves are probably the perfect wifey for them.”

Lavender’s eyes widened in comprehension. “Oh,” she giggled. “Do you think that applies to
Quidditch players, too?” She glanced at her best friend, Parvati, and they shared a look, then a
giggle.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m sure it can apply to Quidditch players as well. Are they
going to be at the party tonight, too?”

Lavender took Hermione’s rhetorical question as an invitation to have some quality girl talk.
She plopped down on the couch next to her new flat mate, assuming Hermione would move her legs to
accommodate Lavender’s arse (which she did, albeit grudgingly).

“Yes! Oliver Wood is supposed to attend! He’s delicious! Have you seen him? There’s a smashing
photo spread of him in *Witch Weekly*. Parvati! Go get that copy on my nightstand so we can
show Hermione. I’m sure she’ll reconsider attending if she could meet Oliver Wood!” Lavender turned
to look at Hermione to verify that the witch echoed her sentiments. She did not.

“Lavender, really! I don’t need to go! I’m absolutely knackered from work this week! I’d rather
just save my energy for when we go out to Seaumus’ tomorrow.”

Lavender rolled her eyes. “Hermione, stop being the self-proclaimed ‘bushy haired bookworm’.”
Lavender held her fingers in quotes and tried to imitate Hermione’s slight French accent. “I know
there’s a party girl deep down inside of you! All those years in France must have taught you an
appreciation for the finer things in life, and partying with Quidditch players is one of them!”

Hermione laughed and leaned back on the couch. She reflected on her weeks so far in this
household of boy-crazy Hogwarts women. Well, not all of them were boy crazy. Luna was quite sane
(smiling as she recognized that “Luna” and “sane” were not often used in the same sentence).
Hermione’s dorm mates at Beauxbatons were not as boy crazy as these Hogwarts girls, probably
because many of them were part Veela, and did not have to seek out boys; the boys came to them.

In such a world, Hermione knew her place. She was the self-proclaimed ‘bushy haired bookworm’
who was considered the greatest witch in a generation at Beauxbatons. She was the intellectual, not
the beauty. Once she realized her role, she found like-minded students at Beauxbatons with whom she
could discuss wizard philosophy, and she was content.

Hermione had enjoyed her years at Beauxbatons. Yet, part of her felt as if something was missing
because she did not attend Hogwarts. When she had received her acceptance letter from Albus
Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, she was ecstatic. It was then that she had learned that she
was a witch, and that Hogwarts was the magical school in Britain, probably the best in the world.
However, at the same time, Hermione’s French-born mother, Jeanne, had announced that the family was
moving to France to be near her aging parents. (As an only child—like Hermione—Jeanne felt it her
duty to care for her elderly parents). So, instead of studying magic at Hogwarts, Hermione had been
accepted into the French wizarding school at Beauxbatons.

However, Dumbledore had been exceptionally persistent, and quite disappointed that Hermione
chose Beauxbatons over Hogwarts. He had personally come to her home and had spoken with her
parents. He had assured them that Hermione could use his personal Floo network to go to France if
she had to rush back across the Channel for a family emergency. He had said that Hermione could do
a Side-Along Apparition with a professor if there were no Floo network in their French Muggle
world. All this information, all these terms (“Floo”? “Apparate”? “Disapparate?”) had been
gibberish to the Grangers, who were just learning about this magical world, while at the same time
dealing with a move to the continent, a cancer diagnosis for the grandmother, growing dementia in
the grandfather, and the fact that their only child would be attending a magical boarding school
run by a wizard with a beard longer than their daughter was tall.

Realizing that his persuasive abilities were falling on deaf ears, Dumbledore finally acquiesced
and contacted Beauxbatons’ headmistress, Olympe Maxime, requesting they give Miss Granger
admission.

Now, more than five years after the Second Voldemort War, Hermione found herself living in a new
Britain. A new magical world that was more tolerant of the Muggle-born, ‘blood traitors’ and
‘half-bloods.’ She felt safe moving back to London. Her work since graduation at the French
*Ministère de la Magie* consisted of ensuring the existing rights of magical creatures. She
was shocked, but not nearly as surprised as she had wanted to be, when she learned that magical
creatures in Britain had no rights. After writing a couple letters to the editor of the *Daily
Prophet* (Hermione had a subscription), the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, requested
that Hermione return to London and work with the Department for the Regulation and Control of
Magical Creatures to bring the sort of laws and tolerance found in France to Britain.

Hermione’s interest in magical creatures actually led her to her new best friend and flat mate,
Luna Lovegood. While in her second year, Hermione was assigned a pen pal from Hogwarts. The
recipient, Miss Luna Lovegood, was very different from the rational Miss Granger. Luna had filled
their first exchange with stories about mythical creatures like the Crumpled-Horned Snorkack and
the Blibbering Humdinger. Hermione had replied back in the language of a know-it-all that such
creatures do not exist and how does Luna enjoy Hogwarts? Luna had replied that she did like
Hogwarts, although she missed her father and had difficulty making friends since the other students
would tease her and hide her belongings. Hermione had written back that she had difficulty
adjusting at first as well, that she was teased not only for always raising her hand in class, but
answering in a French accent which was not perfect and betrayed her Englishness. Hermione had also
written of her aloneness in the Muggle world as well, and she had hoped the wizarding world would
be different. She had written how her first months at school were miserable: how she missed her
family, she felt like an outsider between her Muggle-ness and Englishness, and how she wished she
was at Hogwarts.

Then, she had told Luna of a day when she was particularly despairing: she had sat under an elm
tree close to the lake and cried and cried and cried. She had cried so much that she did not hear
the approach of Marguerite Saint Denis, the most popular girl in the first year at Beauxbatons.
Marguerite came from an old French wizarding family and had cousins in all years at Beauxbatons.
She was beautiful, rich, smart and athletic. Hermione had learned that day that Marguerite also had
a great capacity for empathy. The popular French girl took this socially awkward Muggle-born witch
under her wing, introduced her cousins, her friends, and found some equally intellectual students
where Hermione would find her place. The French witch had not only found Hermione compatriots, but
had also given Hermione instruction on how to be more socially acceptable, while still being true
to herself.

The French version of ‘lighten up’ and ‘think of the other person’s perspective’ was often heard
coming from Marguerite’s lips as advice to the bushy-haired bookworm.

Marguerite had also helped Hermione accept and exploit her strengths: her intellect, her drive,
her curiosity, and to not feed her insecurities regarding her looks. For, with a school full of
French girls and part-veelas like the sisters Delacour, it would have been quite easy for a girl
with buck teeth and frizzy hair to feel ugly. And, Hermione had. But Marguerite would complement
Hermione’s pert nose and sprinkle of freckles across her cheekbones, and find hairstyles that
suited the thickness of Hermione’s mane.

In Hermione’s letters to Luna, she had wished Luna could find a Marguerite to help her through
her years at Hogwarts. Hermione had then volunteered to be a Marguerite to her. A friendship
between such unusual witches had been born; a friendship that may not have blossomed if they had
attended the same school.

When the too-good-to-be-true offer to bring rights to magical creatures of Britain was presented
to the young Miss Granger, she had jumped at the opportunity. And when her English friend Luna
Lovegood had learned that her pen pal was actually moving back to London, she had offered Hermione
a spot in her rented home, soon to be vacated by the newly engaged Miss Padma Patil.

Two Gryffindors and two Ravenclaws had occupied the house in London: Lavender Brown, Parvati
Patil, Luna Lovegood and Padma Patil. (Hermione often wondered how the two silliest girls in the
house could possibly be Sorted into a Hogwarts house known for bravery). Upon Padma’s marriage to
Neville Longbottom, her room had been offered to Hermione, who gratefully accepted. However, being
the pragmatist that she was, Hermione had not wanted the occupancy finalized until she had met Luna
and the rest of the housemates to ensure this would be a beneficial experience for them all.

Hermione had her own flat in Muggle Paris. She had been used to independence and Muggle
conveniences like the internet. Moving to London meant living with three near-strangers in a house
not too far from Diagon Alley, deep in wizarding London. That in mind, Hermione liked the concept
of having ready-made friends. She had lost touch with the few friends she had in her Muggle
childhood (they were really more like acquaintances than friends anyway), and had wanted to have a
ready-made social life. (She and her long time Beauxbatons beau, Laurent DesBois, had decided that
the move to London was a good time to finally end their pleasant albeit not fulfilling
relationship, and she had wanted the distraction of a household of witches). She had also been
trying to avoid the continued romantic attentions of a certain Bulgarian Quidditch champion who
seemed to like bushy-haired intellectual girls who were younger than he is.

Speaking of Quidditch…

“Viktor Krum won’t be at this party, will he?” Hermione asked suddenly, returning her focus to
her giggling housemate.

Lavender’s eyes went quite round, and she glanced at Parvati, who commenced the giggling for
both of them.

“Oooh! I forgot! Viktor fancies you! He likes the smart girls. He was after that Ravenclaw
during the Triwizard Tournament,” Lavender giggled.

“Oi! Lavender! I heard a rumor that Ron and Harry were back in town!” Parvati nearly screamed at
her best friend.

Lavender nearly dropped her magazine in the excitement. “No! Ron! They’ve been gone for ages!
Some sort of top secret Auror mission in Australia!”

“Well, rumor is they’re back! Top secret news, but they might be there tonight, or tomorrow at
Seamus’,” Parvati said hurriedly. The two girls looked at each other, clasped hands and squealed,
all the while jumping up and down. Hermione pinched her brow. *These really were the silliest of
girls.*

“Lavender! Wear your pink skirt, the one with the white polka dots. And that green jumper is
lovely.”

“No, Ron looks dreadful next to the pink. Terrible with his hair. How about the peach colored
one?”

“No, aqua. Definitely aqua.”

“Cerulean,” Hermione added with a smug look on her face. She did not anticipate their
response.

Lavender and Parvati paused, looked at Hermione, looked at each other and nodded with huge
grins. They immediately pulled the protesting bookworm to her feet.

“You would look marvelous in cerulean, Hermione!” Parvati declared as she led the unwilling
victim to her massive closet.

“No, really, I’m fine as I am,” Hermione protested.

“You thought we wouldn’t know what that word means, didn’t you?” teased Lavender, “but we take
our colors quite seriously. You’re definitely an autumn and would look majestic in cerulean!”

Before Hermione could protest, they pulled off her *Vive Beauxbatons* sweatshirt and pulled
a tight fitted cerulean gown over her head. Lavender pulled up Hermione’s curly locks into a simple
but elegant chignon with a couple of bedazzled hairclips, and Parvati found some dressy but
comfortable black pumps for Hermione to wear.

“Ta da! Luna, come see! We’ve got Hermione dressed up quicker than she’d do it herself!”

Luna glided into Parvati’s room and surveyed the results. She gave a low whistle. “Hermione, you
look lovely! The cerulean compliments your skin tone so well.”

Hermione just shook her head in disbelief. “How can all of you understand the word cerulean? Was
color vocabulary on the O.W.L.s here?”

Luna’s laugh was like bells. “Silly Hermione,” she said.

“My butt looks huge in this,” Hermione responded, looking sideways in the floor length
mirror.

“You look lovely, dear,” the mirror said. Hermione grimaced.

“I really hate talking mirrors sometimes. I think this one is in league with you lot,” Hermione
responded. “Look at my panty lines!”

“Then strip off your knickers!” Parvati called, and made a motion to do it herself, but
Hermione’s wand was at the ready.

“Come any closer and I’ll hex you!” she threatened, only slightly in jest. “Viktor Krum hasn’t
touched my knickers and neither will you!”

“Thong! Put a thong on then!” Lavender suggested.

“Isn’t there a charm to erase those lines?”

“Of course there is!” Parvati did a couple of quick flicks of her wand and Hermione’s arse was
smooth in the gown. “Perfect!”

“Now, makeup.”

“No, now look at the time, Parvati! We have to get ready, too. Especially if Ronniekins is
there!”

“Oooh!”

The two Gryffindors went back to their frantic wardrobe hopping. Gowns in a rainbow of colors
descended on their beds as they ‘yeah’ or ‘nayed’ various outfits. Hermione and Luna stood to the
side, watching.

“Luna, dear, if I’m going to this gig then you must, too,” Hermione finally interrupted their
silence. “I need someone sane.”

“For you, dear Hermione. It’d be lovely to see our classmates, and you can meet more of them as
well. I must tell you that everyone is quite impressed with you so far. I’ve only heard wonderful
things about how much people enjoy your company. We all wish you had attended Hogwarts so we would
have known of you earlier.”

Hermione smiled and thought of being Muggle-born during the Second Voldemort War and shook her
head, not verbally expressing her thoughts. She had heard that Luna had been kidnapped and locked
in the Malfoy dungeon with Dean Thomas during the war, and it was something Luna did not mention,
so neither did she. “It would have been nice to know you as a classmate, dear Luna,” Hermione did
say out loud. “Come, let’s get a lovely frock for you, and we need to do our makeup or it really
will look like we only spent five minutes getting ready.”

The two friends smiled and proceeded to raid Luna’s closet.

*Next chapter: enter the dark, brooding Harry Potter before ‘an assembly such as this’ (Jane
Austen) aka the Puddlemere United gala.*

*A/N: I got this plot bunny last winter while watching the excellent recent BBC version of
Emma. I couldn’t figure out how to turn Emma into magical HP London, so I turned to another
favorite Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice. It’s my first multi-chapter HP fic and only my second
multi-chapter fic ever, so please review!* *I have the first draft completed (it’s about 18
chapters) and hope to post weekly, depending on my beta’s schedule.*



2. 2
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Magic and Misperceptions Chapter 2: The Golden Duo Get Ready for a Party

By AddisonJ

Betas: DeeMichelle and Tears of Mercury

*Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I just play in his world. And I’m not Jane Austen,
either.*

*A/N: this is a short chapter to introduce our Darcy and Bingley.*

*Thanks for such a great response to chapter 1!*

*****

“Ron, you know I hate these events.”

“Harry, we haven’t been back in Britain in over a year! And Puddlemere United has a good chance
at the League Cup this year.”

“Since when did you root for Puddlemere United?”

“Well, with the Chudley Cannons out of the running, I couldn’t possibly root for the Montrose
Magpies.”

Harry Potter smiled and shook his head. They had only returned to London from Auror duties in
Asia the day before. They were jetlagged and exhausted after a particularly draining raid that
ended months of surveillance in Hong Kong and Macau, coming months after training recruits in
Sydney and Perth. The Men-Who-Defeated-Voldemort toured the world training Aurors on the techniques
that defeated the greatest Dark wizard of the century. After their own Auror training (their
honorary N.E.W.T.s results were sufficient for admission to the Auror training academy), they
became trainers themselves.

Ron took a long, hard look at his friend. Harry had never liked the limelight. He was a humble,
solitary bloke who liked nothing better than to be on his broomstick flying through the air. All
these ceremonies, events, awards, the notoriety and the press were as appealing to Harry as a date
to Madam Puddifoot’s for Ron. Or for Harry, for that matter.

Ron relished the spotlight. As the youngest boy in a family of six sons, all quite successful in
their own right, Ron enjoyed getting attention, even if was primarily as the best friend of the
Chosen One. But he had performed admirably in the war, having Harry focus on the Horcruxes instead
of the Deathly Hallows, saving Luna and Dean from Malfoy’s, and destroying a Horcrux among other
things. Helping keep his best friend alive in seven years earned him the right to bask in the
notoriety. And it was a good balance to Harry, to have someone who actually liked to socialize, who
liked to flirt and chat and be admired. Harry would rather stay home with some butterbeer and that
Muggle television-thingy. Ron wanted to enjoy every perk of being friends with the Chosen One and
half of the Golden Duo.

And they were finally back in Britain! The first thing they did was visit his parents at the
Burrow, the Weasley’s ramshackle home in Ottery St. Catchpole. His mother of course gave them a
huge hug and wept tears of joy. Then Harry went to see his godson, Teddy Lupin, who still lived
with his grandmother, Andromeda Tonks. Now that Harry was back in Britain, he wanted to spend more
time with the boy. He felt that he had been quite negligent in the past few years, with his
constant traveling. Orphaned so soon, rather like Harry, Teddy deserved some stability and some
family. And Harry felt guilty for putting so much responsibility to an older woman who was still
mourning her granddaughter’s death.

“Ron, I’d rather just stay home. We’ve only just arrived back—”

Ron cut short his friend’s whining and smiled as he handed him a bottle of Pepperup Potion.
“That’s why we have magic, Harry,” he said, smirking.

Harry laughed. He could always count on Ron seeing the lighter side of life. “Okay, you
convinced me. But one too many of those ridiculous fangirls and I’m Apparating back to Grimmauld
Place.”

“Harry, Harry, Harry! You need to enjoy life more! There will be lots of pretty women there and
you need a distraction.”

“Quidditch groupies, really, Ron? Is that what we need?”

“Would you prefer Auror groupies?

“Aren’t they one in the same? And does it really matter?” replied Ron with a grin. Harry
answered with a growing smile, and Ron patted his friend on the back. “Come along. It can’t be that
bad. We defeated You-Know-Who. Surely facing a room full of beautiful women isn’t much worse.”

“Why does everyone compare everything to defeating Voldemort?” asked Harry, pulling at his black
hair. “Does that become the new bar for whatever I do? Surely if I defeated Lord Voldemort I can do
such-and-such? I defeated Voldemort so surely I can give an interview for the *Daily Prophet*?
I defeated the Dark Lord so surely I can handle this raid on those Death Eaters in Canada. I
defeated You-Know-Who so surely I can learn to ski. I defeated Voldemort so I can—” Harry started
counting on his fingers at this point “—raise the dead, save cats from getting caught in trees, pay
for a round of drinks, learn Chinese, and face the wrath of one Molly Weasley.” Ron smirked at the
last one.

“Don’t forget my sister, mate,” Ron added. Harry shuddered.

“Hate to face Ginny’s wrath as well. Is she coming tonight, too?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“Well, at least I’ll have someone to dance with if you insist that I dance.”

“Insist? Of course I insist!” Ron clapped Harry on the back. “Why deprive the lovely ladies of
the classic rhythm-less styling of one Harry Potter?”

“I faced Lord Voldemort so surely I can dance at a party?”

“Could not say it better myself, Harry.” Ron teased. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“With a friend like you, why would I need enemies?”

“We could always pay a visit to the Dursleys…” Ron began.

Harry shuddered at the thought of his Muggle relatives. “No, not that. Anything but that.”

“At least you can use magic against them now,” Ron reminded Harry.

A crooked smile crept on Harry’s face. “About time…” he said, grinning. “All right, how do we
dress for this shindig?”

Harry found some well-cut black trousers and a fitted blue shirt. He was tying his black dress
shoes when Ron returned, clad in a green and white striped shirt, black jeans and black blazer.
Harry appraised his friend’s wardrobe choice and nodded.

Ron’s sister, Ginny, Apparated to the front of Grimmauld Place shortly thereafter. She was
wearing a pale pink dress with a full tulle and feather skirt, tight tube-like top and a white fur
wrap. “Harry!” she cried and gave him a big hug and kiss. “It’s been too long! Mum said you stopped
by the Burrow when I was at work! You should have come by and seen me!”

Harry flashed a smile in return. “I knew we’d see you soon, and don’t you look lovely.”

Ginny did a little twirl and smiled deeply at her former boyfriend. “Harry,” she said as she
held onto his arm with a slight caress, “we didn’t hear enough from you while you were gone.”

Ron cleared his throat at this point. “Uh, hmph. Sister dear. What about me? I’m standing right
here?”

Ginny smiled, gave Harry an apologetic glance, and hugged her brother. “My two favorite men! How
lucky I am to have such handsome dates to the Puddlemere United event. All the girls will be quite
quite jealous.”

Harry started to feel a little knot in his gut. As much as he liked Ginny, sometimes she simply
made him quite uneasy. He often got the impression that Ginny still harbored romantic feelings for
him, which made him decidedly uncomfortable. They had dated sixth year, and tried dating after the
war, but it wasn’t the same. Without the threat of Voldemort and the possibility of dying at any
moment, the passion was gone. Harry had determined that his feelings for Ginny were based on fear
of certain death. That threat erased, the feelings evaporated. He had assumed the same happened to
her. Maybe he was wrong.

Ron glanced between his best friend and his sister. He, like most of his family, wanted Harry to
be an official part of the Weasley clan. The most practical way seemed to be for Harry and Ginny to
marry. It seemed like quite the possibility right after the War, but then they broke it off. Ron
didn’t know the details. Harry didn’t share, and Ron was afraid to ask. But, now that they were
back in Britain for good, maybe, just maybe there was a chance at rekindling what they had before.
One could wish …

“Right. Ready? Let’s go! I have a feeling this will be a wonderful evening to change all our
lives!”

Harry and Ginny both groaned.

“Harry, let’s get him out of here so Ron can embarrass himself publicly, not just at home.”

And so their evening began.

***

*Next chapter: they meet! You know how well that goes…*

*Please read and review!*



3. 3
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Magic and Misperceptions Chapter 3: The Puddlemere United Celebration

By: AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns Harry Potter. I am not Jane Austen either, but some dialogue
between Ron and Harry is taken from her excellent* Pride and Prejudice*.*

*A/N: Many thanks for all the reviews this fic has received. It has certainly received more
attention than anything I’ve written before and I hope it meets your expectations!*

***

“Oh Merlin! I have never seen so many dressed up women in my life! It looks like free samples at
the makeup counter at Harrods!” Hermione exclaimed when they arrived at the venue and saw the
number of young women, many of them in tight dress robes and high heels. “Did they just walk up and
down Diagon Alley and only hand out invitations to pretty witches? It’s nearly a harem in
here!”

Her housemates paused in their steps as well and surveyed the competition. Parvati let out a low
whistle. “Shite,” she started. “How will we find Oliver Wood in this mess?”

“Look for the biggest and loudest contingent of groupies,” Luna thoughtfully suggested. “Come
along; let’s get some drinks to start with. Maybe this will all look better after a Butterbeer. Or
two.”

The four housemates made their way to the bar and queued for the Butterbeer, looking about for
familiar faces. They soon spotted Cho, Dean, Susan, Neville and Padma.

“A bit crowded in here, eh?” Neville commented to Hermione. Hermione liked the quiet but strong
Neville Longbottom. Luna had told Hermione that before the War, Neville was quite bumbling, but his
heroic action of killing Nagini, the final Horcrux and sealing Voldemort’s fate, rose him into the
ranks of the rest of the heroes of Hogwarts. The ensuing attention and adoration boosted his ego so
much that he was finally able to tell his grandmother that he did not want to be an Auror, but a
herbologist, and to tell Padma Patil that he had always fancied her. Their wedding was shortly
before Hermione’s arrival in Britain. Although she had only met them fairly recently, Hermione
discovered that she enjoyed spending time with the shy Neville and his clever Ravenclaw wife. She
spent almost as much time with them as Luna.

“Yes, and there are quite a few young ladies here, Neville. Pity you’re not single anymore or
you’d have quite the pick tonight,” Hermione teased gently. Padma overheard and gave Hermione a
gentle punch to the shoulder. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself! Don’t encourage my husband to wander, you French hussy!” Padma teased.

Hermione laughed heartily. One thing she certainly had never been called before was a ‘French
hussy.’

“You must have me confused with someone who’s actually pretty,” Hermione replied in playful
honesty.

Luna shook her head, overhearing the conversation. “Hermione, you don’t see yourself as others
do. You’re lovely.”

Hermione shook her head in response. “Luna, I love you dearly, but you have rose- colored
glasses.” Luna seemed to be confused and looked at the Butterbeer in her hand. Before she could
object, Hermione quickly interjected, “No, not literally! That’s a Muggle term for being too
optimistic.”

“And what is wrong with being too optimistic? That’s the way to be. It makes life so much easier
and happier, don’t you think?” Luna asked in her trademark fanciful style.

Hermione just smiled and shook her head. “Truer words have not been said. You’re right, of
course. I should try not to be so snarky.” She turned to face Padma. “And I will begin immediately.
You both look wonderful tonight. Marriage agrees with you both. I’m being quite honest and not
snarky at all.”

The Longbottoms accepted the complement with smiles. “Thank you, Hermione. I heartily recommend
it. Now, if only we could find someone for you…” Padma started. Hermione raised her hands in
defense, as if an actual physical attack were about to take place.

“Oh no! Not me! I’m enjoying my independence too much and work is too busy right now. I can’t
handle my new job and find a man right now, thank you very much.”

Luna looked at her dear friend with a warm smile and glowing eyes. “Hermione, when you find the
right one, I’m sure everything will fall into place.” She looked at Neville and Padma who
nodded.

“Can we change the subject? What’s the occasion again? Puddlemere win the Cup?”

“They’re playing an exhibition match against the Bigonville Bombers next week. They already
defeated the Karasjok Kites yesterday and wanted to celebrate.”

“By inviting every single witch in England?” Hermione queried.

“I think with Cho here, Scotland is included as well,” Padma joked.

Just then, there was a commotion in the entryway. The group looked toward the entrance and saw
the Golden Duo enter, with a gorgeous red-haired woman in a pink ensemble Hermione was sure would
meet Lav and Pav’s approval.

The two men could not look more different. Not only in coloring (one dark, the other ginger),
but also in demeanor. The ginger-haired’s face lit up when he scanned the room. He recognized some
faces and waved greetings and some “‘ello’s!”. His companion, however, scowled when he faced the
large crowded room. He appeared to want to back out the way he came in, but his gorgeous date had a
firm grip on his arm and proceeded to escort him inside toward the Quidditch team who were drinking
in their private section of the venue.

Hermione eyed the Golden Duo; she was excited to see them in person. She had kept track of the
rise of Voldemort and the War while she was at Beauxbatons. Both of the young men’s faces were
instantly recognizable: the ginger-haired man must be Ron Weasley and she did not need to see the
scar on his forehead to recognize the famous Harry Potter. The family resemblance between the
red-haired ones indicated that the woman was likely Ron’s sister, Ginny, who was also part of the
War. And, by the way she was holding onto Harry Potter’s arm, there appeared to be a bit of
personal history there as well.

Hermione had always wanted to meet the Duo, to thank them for stopping the spread of evil and
intolerance in both her home and her adopted countries. One day … she knew her flatmates were all
classmates of theirs, and it would be inevitable that they would meet. If not tonight, another
time.

“Oi! Oliver! We were hoping to see you! Well done, man. You and the team. So when do we get
season tickets now that we’re back for good?” The ginger-haired man joked as he greeted the
one-time Gryffindor Quidditch team captain.

A handsome young man approached the duo and gave them hugs. “Weasley! You’re back! Harry! Ginny!
Good to see you all! Let me introduce you to the team!”

Introductions were made, alcohol distributed and consumed, friendships reestablished.

***

For Harry, the party reminded him of everything he hated about life in Britain: the stares, the
forced whispers when he and Ron walked by. He hated feeling as if he were on exhibit in a zoo. He
helped defeat Voldemort; surely he deserved some peace and privacy, and could finally have a normal
life? He was twenty-five years old and had no idea what normalcy was anymore. The Weasleys were
normalcy, but were they really? The Burrow was loud, raucous, and now with Ginny seeming to harbor
romantic feelings for him, increasingly uncomfortable there. And Fred’s death still hung in the
air. Everywhere, death hung in the air; Harry could feel the ghosts of the past lingering in the
alleys and shadows, following them as they moved. That didn’t happen in Asia. It didn’t happen in
North America. In Britain, however, Harry was haunted.

In response, he did what was second nature to him. He sealed himself tight into an
expressionless, hard façade. A façade that only a few could even approach. He was comfortable with
it; that’s how he survived the potential of being murdered throughout his school years. That’s how
he survived the Dursleys for his first eleven years. And that was what Harry was doing at
twenty-five, forming a hard shell around himself so that no one could enter.

***

Nature called for Hermione and she found herself queuing for the ladies’ toilet with Lavender
and Parvati. They had already consumed a few glasses of wine and were enjoying the scenery of the
young male athletes. Hermoine was amazed that the girls’ giggling could even increase from its
usual levels.

“Mmmm…. Yummy! Look at Clark in those Quidditch corduroy trousers! They’re tight in all the
right places,” Parvati whispered quite loudly to her housemates. Her ‘whisper’ was loud enough for
other young ladies in the queue to smile and nod as well. It was also loud enough for Harry Potter
to hear on the other side of an open window where he was standing, hoping to get some fresh air and
to clear his head. He recognized Parvati’s voice immediately, and correctly guessed that Lavender
would be the next voice he heard.

“Ooooh! Yum! I’m surprised there’s room for his wand in those trousers,” Lavender added quite
rudely.

Despite herself, Hermione let out a laugh. “Lav, you’re quite rude!” she responded.

Harry’s eyebrows arched. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he did not recognize that last voice.
It was in English, but accented like someone who had spent time on the Continent, a bit like Fleur
Delacour. He glanced quickly inside and saw dark curly hair piled on top of an unknown young
woman’s head. Just as quickly, he hid back into the shadows.

“Oooh, and did you see that Ron and Harry are here? Lav, want to rekindle a bit of that sixth
year fun with Ronniekins?” Parvati mocked. Lavender grimaced and Hermione cocked an eyebrow,
waiting for explanation, which Parvati immediately provided. “Lavender and Ronniekins snogged their
way through sixth year at Hogwarts. I don’t think there was a single broom cupboard they left
undiscovered!” The Hogwarts witches giggled at the memories and Hermione rolled her eyes.

“How about Harry then? He looks handsome tonight,” Lavender suggested.

“Oi!” Parvati exclaimed. “I still remember that dreadful Yule Ball date with him fourth year! It
was just horrible. Sorry, Lav, but Ron was dreadful for Padma as well.” Parvati’s eyes suddenly
became distant. “Harry had a crush on Cho that year, but Cho went with Cedric Diggory to the ball.
Poor Cho. Poor Cedric. She never recovered from his death. Have you noticed, she still has this
sadness about her? Remember how vivacious she was before? And Harry. He never did well with girls,
did he? He just dated Ginny on and off, but it all seemed too incestuous. I mean she’s Ron’s
sister! He spends all his holidays with the Weasleys.”

“Harry can be sweet, but he’s just been so … angry the past few years. Remember first year? So
sweet and shy. Then he just got angrier and angrier year by year,” Lavender said.

*You’d be angry too if someone was trying to kill you every year,* both Harry and Hermione
thought at the same time.

“And Cedric! He was the best of the best! So handsome, so strong, and brave, funny and sweet.
Hermione, ooooh! He was *perfection*! We all were a bit in love with him.” Lavender and
Parvati sighed in unison.

On the other side of the wall, Harry rubbed his scarred forehead as his stomach clenched.
*Kill the spare!* echoing in his brain. Cedric was the best of them. What did Dumbledore say?
Good, kind and brave. That was Cedric. Why was he in Hufflepuff and not Gryffindor? Or even
Ravenclaw, Cedric was smarter than people realized. Cedric was the first of his friends to die. Who
else was murdered? Sirius, Snape, Tonks, Remus, Dobby, Collin, Fred, Moody, Hedwig. So many had
died, and Harry felt each loss every day. Every day was a reminder of someone who was gone. And
now, at this supposed celebration, these silly witches were reminding him of one of the best to
die, and how superior that Hufflepuff was to him.

He fisted his hands and rubbed his temples, pulling at his already messy hair. Gods, why was he
back in Britain? Maybe he could request to be transferred back to Hong Kong. There were fewer
ghosts there. He swiftly exited the scene before he could hear anymore. Before he could see
Hermione’s face twist in sadness and anger, and hear her whisper, “Poor Harry. He must have
ghosts.”

Once Hermione exited the toilets, she sought out Luna and Padma, anxious for a change of
discussion.

Luna was chatting with Ron and quickly motioned Hermione to join them. As she arrived by her
best friend’s side, Hermione was surprised and pleased to see Harry standing by his best friend.
Yet he had a scowl on his face, quite in contrast to the wide smiles of both Luna and Ron.

“Hermione! Ron, this is the girl I told you about. Hermione Granger of Beauxbatons. She and I
were pen pals while I was at Hogwarts!” Luna’s voice lilted through the air, full of happiness to
be shared.

“You never told me you had a pen pal, Luna,” Ron pressed.

“Hermione was my rock. When I was blue, I would owl her, tell her my secrets, and she somehow
made everything all right.” Luna’s eyes sought Hermione’s as she gave her a smile full of love and
compassion.

Hermione blushed at the sentiment. She was uncomfortable with praise, especially in front of a
true hero.

“No, you Luna were kind enough to write to a homesick English girl in France,” she replied.

“Hermione Granger, it is a pleasure to meet you!” Ron reached out and shook her small hand in
both of his. “Anyone who looked after our Luna is already a friend of ours.”

Hermione returned the smile and shook his hand equally heartily. “It’s such a pleasure to meet
you, Ron. It truly is.” *Don’t be a fangirl*, Hermione thought sharply to herself.

Ron motioned to Harry by his side, “And this Harry Potter.” No other introduction was
necessary.

Harry recognized the girl at once. If the accent was not a giveaway, the thick dark curly hair
pinned up on the nape of her neck proved it. She was pretty in kind of an ordinary way, and he
would have found her attractive if he wasn’t so damn angry. Her smile, her curves, the twinkle in
her eye and the intelligence behind them. Harry’s eyes appraised her dress. *Damn fine color on
her*, he thought. *Tight in all the rights places and loose enough in others so she doesn’t
look like the other Quidditch tarts.* With that thought, his scowl deepened to the point that
Luna and Ron were wondering if he was channeling Professor Snape.

Hermione noticed how Harry scanned her, then scowled and offered a limp handshake. “How do you
do,” he mumbled as he quickly withdrew his hand from hers as if fearing contamination.

Hermione was incensed by his rudeness toward her. Why? What had she done, other than shake his
hand? She could think of no reason. They had never met, she was sure she had no sort of reputation
preceding her. Nothing made sense unless… was the Chosen One secretly prejudiced against Muggles?
No, that made no sense whatsoever! Unless, did being a Horcrux for the Dark Lord change Harry’s
personality? It was a ridiculous idea that Harry Potter would be prejudiced against Muggles, but
Hermione could think of no other reason for this behavior. She started to assess Harry under a new
light and vowed to be quite cognoscente of his actions from now on. On the outside, Hermione smiled
and shook Harry’s hand. Inside, she decided that she would observe, analyze and wait to see if his
actions would prove a terrible hypothesis. She hoped not.

Luna and Ron exchanged glances, confused and concerned by Harry’s actions toward Hermione. Luna
opened her mouth to say something, but Ron shook his head and pulled her onto the dance floor,
saying “Dance, Luna?” The blonde witch nodded and they left to dance.

Hermione moved slightly so that she stood in front of Harry, almost goading him to react to her.
She tried to meet his eyes, which he kept downcast, staring at everything and everyone but the
witch in front of him. Hermione enjoyed increasing the tension, her hands clasped behind her as she
gently rocked on the balls of her feet, waiting for him to make the first move, her head slightly
tilted to one side.

“Mr. Potter …” she broke the silence, “dance?”

“Yes,” he replied swiftly and grabbed the arm of Padma, who was the witch closest to him other
than Hermione. Padma let out a small cry as Harry nearly dragged her onto the dance floor.

Hermione watched these actions open-mouthed, an expression duplicated on the faces of both
Neville and Seamus as well.

“What was that about?” Neville asked.

“I have absolutely no idea. Does he usually react so when introduced to strange young women?”
Hermione joked uneasily. The men smiled warily and shook their heads, glad she was attempting to
make light of Harry’s rudeness. Inside, she was horrified. Her hero was repulsed by her! She fought
her hurt, her insecurity, to put on a brace face. She was afraid her earlier fears about Harry’s
possible prejudices were being answered.

“Honestly, Harry doesn’t do that. Well, except for just now. With you,” Neville added without
much explanation.

“Hey there, ‘Mione, let’s dance! We’ll show Harry what he’s missing!” Seamus exclaimed. When
Hermione threw her head back and laughed a bit louder than necessary in response, the Irishman
grabbed her by the elbow and led her onto the crowded dance floor.

News of Harry’s slight seemed to spread throughout the Hogwarts classmates, and they appeared
united in their resolve to make it up to Hermione in every way they could. Hermione was never
without a drink in her hand, an offer to dance, or a laugh when needed. For that, and everything
they did, Hermione was truly grateful, and made sure to express it in her smile, her laugh, her
joy. And every one of their actions made her happier that she had decided to return to Britain.

In a rare quiet moment, Hermione was sipping water (having switched from Butterbeer), enjoying
watching the antics of the increasingly inebriated Quidditch players, their fangirls, and her new
Hogwarts friends. Hermione could pick out instances where the Muggle term ‘beer goggles’ appeared
to be at work, and she smiled to herself. What started out as a very public snub by the Chosen One
was working in her favor. Harry’s actions were concerning though and she had a feeling more was
happening below the surface, when she heard Ron and Harry speaking not too far from her.
*(*Author’s note: Ron and Harry’s conversation here is paraphrasing Bingley and Darcy’s
conversation in P&P Chpt 3)*

“Come, Harry, you should dance! I hate to see you standing all awkwardly by yourself, scowling
like Snape,” Ron said.

Harry just scowled some more. “I shall not. You know how I hate all this. And I hate to dance
unless I know the partner. Your sister is taken,” he nodded toward Ginny who was dancing with Dean
Thomas, “and there is no one else I care to dance with.”

Ron laughed and clapped Harry on the back. “Really, Harry! I have not seen so many beautiful
girls in one place! There are so many pretty ones.”

“You are dancing with the prettiest of them all,” Harry responded.

Ron’s eyes grew warm as he glanced at Luna, who appeared to feel his glance and return it, her
eyes equally warm. “Yes, but her housemates are here as well. Look, there’s one behind you.”

Hermione froze, knowing full well that they were talking about her. She kept her face
expressionless as she strained to hear the response.

“She is tolerable, but not pretty enough for me. She’s not my type,” Harry sniffed. Hermione
tried hard not to frown as Harry continued. “You should return to Luna and her smiles, and don’t
waste your time with me.”

“Harry! What is it? What’s wrong? You haven’t been this peeved since Umbridge fifth year.”

Harry just shook his head in response. “I can’t talk about it, Ron. I’m just tired. We just
arrived from Singapore yesterday, and it’s hard being back after so long. So many things have
changed yet so many things are the same,” he replied brusquely.

“So, it’s not Miss Granger in particular?” Ron queried, eyebrow raised.

Harry half-smiled; his best friend knew him well. They bumped shoulders.

“You prat,” Ron joked. “Well, tell me when you’re less peeved. Luna loves her, so I do too, and
you should as well.”

“Luna is a very good judge of character. Perhaps I should reconsider my earlier actions,” mused
Harry, putting on the Potter charm again. Ron just laughed, shook his head and went to rejoin
Luna.

Hermione watched Harry’s face change from a charming grin to a hard line, and she suppressed a
shudder. Her fears were coming true. She would certainly be keeping an eye on Harry Potter.

***

Later that night, Luna and Hermione sat on their sofa in their dressing gowns, cups of chamomile
tea in their hands. They enjoyed the comfortable silence of close friends who don’t need to fill
every moment with talk.

“Luna,” Hermione began, “did you enjoy yourself?” She raised an eyebrow at her best friend, who
looked dreamier than usual.

“Oh yes,” Luna breathed a response and took a sip of tea.

Hermione suppressed a chuckle. She took another sip of tea and tried to retain an innocent
expression. “Ron Weasley looked quite nice tonight,” she said, awaiting a reaction.

Luna’s eyes grew wide at Ron’s name and she took a sip of tea before she mumbled a “hmmm?” in
reply.

“And he seemed quite taken with you. You danced nearly every dance together.”

Luna sipped her tea and made “hmmmm” sounds in response.

Hermione tried not to laugh; she had to school her expression to remain neutral as she wondered
how Luna would respond without that damn mug covering her mouth. If only she could get rid of that
mug…. Hermione cleared her throat instead. “So, will you be seeing Ron again soon?” *That’s it. A
yes or no question. Luna needs to actually articulate a response now!*

“Mmfyef.”

Hermione leaned forward. “Did you say something, Luna? I couldn’t quite hear you.”

“Yes. Yes, of course, Hermione. At Seamus’ pub tomorrow. We’ll all be there. Did you forget?”
Luna asked.

Hermione smirked. Luna was quite clever behind that seemingly ditzy exterior. That’s what
Hermione loved about her: the intelligence behind the façade. And it was all genuine, not
subterfuge to trap the unsuspecting who would only judge a book by its cover.

Hermione tried another approach. “Ron did seem quite taken with you. Did you date at
Hogwarts?”

Luna shook her head. “Ronald? He actually dated Lavender for a while.”

“Really? Where is she, anyway?”

“Lavender and Parvati went clubbing with some of the guys.”

“Guys?”

“Oliver Wood and his teammates.”

“Ah.”

“No, Ronald and Harry did not join them. They said they were jetlagged and wanted an early
night. We’ll see them tomorrow.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t ask about Ron and Harry.” When Luna looked directly at
Hermione, the brunette gave in. “Okay, okay, I was thinking it.”

Another silence followed, this time broken by Luna. “I wonder what’s wrong with Harry?” she
asked.

Hermione stared. “Was that not his normal behavior?” She had hoped her voice did not sound as
sharp as she thought it did. *Did Luna notice?* The blonde witch noticed.

“Oh, no. Harry’s actually a lovely man. Always treated me well. Stood up for me when I was
teased.”

“Harry Potter? The same man I met a few hours ago?”

“Yes, the very same. He’s a bit shy, I think lonely. And sad. He lost so many in the war. He
really has had a rough life. First, those dreadful relatives who raised him in a cupboard, then
nearly being killed every year at Hogwarts, then having everyone important to him die, then nearly
dying himself. Now he’s uncomfortable with all the hangers-on he attracts since he’s a celebrity,
and lots of them were out tonight. Poor Harry.”

“Poor Harry? Yes, he’s had a dreadful life. But he’s lucky to be alive! So many are not, and he
should appreciate each day and make the most of it, instead of making other people’s lives
miserable!”

Luna widened her eyes at Hermione’s rant. “You think he’s trying to make *your* life
miserable?”

Hermione nearly punched a sofa cushion in aggravation. “No! Yes! I mean, I don’t like the way he
treated me!”

“I know; Ronald and I are so surprised he wouldn’t dance with you.”

“I later heard him tell Ron that I wasn’t pretty enough.”

“Pah! I’m surprised to hear that! It just doesn’t sound like Harry.”

“I heard it with my own ears. Never mind!” Hermione swooshed her hand to emphasize her words. “I
don’t really care what Mr. Harry Potter thinks of me or my looks. I’ve survived for twenty-six
years without his personal appraisal of me and I can survive another twenty-six plus without it as
well. With that, I bid you goodnight.” Hermione stood up and gave her friend a hug.

Luna returned the sentiment. “Good night, Hermione. Pleasant dreams. Watch out for the
Cellacons. They feast on bad dreams.”

Hermione nodded absently; she had been warned about the Cellacons on a nightly basis, and hoped
that they would have no reason to feast on her dreams that night.

***

At Grimmauld Place, Harry, Ginny and Ron were drinking mugs of tea and discussing the gala as
well.

“Oi! That was a singular evening! What pretty girls! What pleasant company! Excellent to see
Oliver Wood and his teammates again. Hasn’t changed a bit. And our fellow Gryffindors? Excellent
all around!” Ron commented.

“One ‘pretty girl’ in particular seems to have caught your eye,” Harry hinted, eyebrow
raised.

Ron feigned confusion. “Oh! There were so many girls there …”

“One in particular you managed to dance with nearly the entire night. Did that escape your
notice?” Ginny asked her brother as Harry chuckled.

“Oh, you mean Luna!”

“Yes, I mean Luna!” Harry copied Ron’s tone.

Ron’s eyes went soft. “She’s an angel,” he said, then changed to a deeper voice. “I mean, humpf,
yes, she looked rather pretty tonight.”

Ginny and Harry exchanged looks.

“By ‘rather pretty’ you mean you want to see her again and again and again?” Ginny queried.

Ron fussed with his collar in response. “Well, we do have the party at Seamus’ pub tomorrow
night.” Ron caught Harry’s look of dread. “Now, Harry, the old gang will be there! Seamus, Dean,
Neville …”

“I hate these functions! I hate going out and dressing up and making small talk with people who
are only interested in being around a supposed ‘hero.’ It hasn’t changed. That’s why I enjoyed Asia
so much! I was just Auror Potter there. Here I feel like there are Rita Skeeters everywhere. Mind
you, I bet that the front page of the *Daily Prophet* tomorrow won’t be Oliver’s Quidditch
success but that the three of us showed up for the party! Ridiculous!” Harry ranted, pacing the
floor while he pulled at his hair in frustration. He then threw himself into a seat and rubbed his
head.

“I have to agree, Harry. The girls there were just dreadful, hanging on to you two! They all
looked like tarts; I have no idea how you can stand it!” Ginny looked sympathetic and moved to rub
Harry’s arm in sympathy. Harry frowned, and then quickly moved his features to be expressionless as
he deftly moved his arm out of her reach.

“I’ve always liked Luna, however. She’s much smarter than people give her credit for, and she’s
genuine. She always supported me,” Harry said.

A shadow passed over Ron’s once genial face. “Are you referring to when I didn’t believe you
hadn’t put your name in the goblet? Or when I abandoned you during the Horcrux hunt?”

“No, no!” Harry quickly responded and leaned forward in his chair, meeting Ron’s eyes as Ginny
moved to comfort her brother. “We’ve been over that a hundred times! You’re my best friend in the
whole world! I trust you more than anyone! It’s always been just the two of us!”

“But I should have done more fifth year, when the *Daily Prophet* put out that tripe about
you being insane for saying You-Know-Who came back. I knew you were hurting after Cedric died, but
I didn’t do enough. I should have done something, written a letter to the editor or something.”

“Well, Luna contacted her father at the *Quibbler* and he was able to write an editorial.
That helped.”

“Boys! Let’s not dwell on it! Ron, you saved Harry’s life on more than one occasion! Let’s call
it even and get back to the topic. The dance!” Ginny played peacemaker and rubbed her brother’s
shoulders to release the tension building therein.

“You’re right of course, Ginny. I’ll shut my yob. Let me think more about the girls …”

“And one girl in particular …”

“Right! That’s what I was going to ask! What’s wrong with you and that French girl? Luna’s new
flatmate. Why’d you snub her like that? Luna’s been telling me how wonderful she is and you just
decide to publicly insult her,” Ron queried.

Harry felt uncomfortable under Ron’s gaze. He shifted a bit as Ginny decided to answer for
him.

“She’s got dreadful hair! Totally out of control. I wonder if she knows about Sleekeazy’s. I
could send her a bottle.”

“No! It’s not her hair! It’s just—argh! I can’t put it into words! She just hit a raw
nerve!”

“She said ‘nice to meet you.’ Since when is a standard greeting hitting a raw nerve?” Ron asked
caustically.

“No! I might have overheard something I shouldn’t have, and she … she’s just another one of
those dreadful Quidditch fangirls or hero fangirls. I just don’t like her.”

“I did hear she dated Viktor Krum,” Ginny added. Harry looked up quickly upon that news.

“Really? Hmph.” He frowned. “I’m not surprised. She’s probably aiming for Oliver next.”

“I could set her up with someone to get her off your trail if you think she’s your next
stalker,” Ginny teased. “Alan likes brunettes. And Cody would love that French accent …”

“Oh for God’s sake, listen to you two! Harry, you’re just being a prat! I thought she was
lovely. And Ginny, you didn’t even meet her! I, for one, actually had a conversation with her and
she’s wonderful. Very smart. Graduated top of her class at Beauxbatons. Considered the brightest
witch of her age. Would have given Padma a run at Hogwarts if she had gone here.”

“Well, why didn’t she? She’s English, isn’t she?” Harry queried.

“Some sort of family emergency with the French side. Her mum’s French. Whatever. Old news. Time
for bed. Ginny, want me to take you back to the Burrow?” Ron asked.

“I can just Floo from here. G’night, Harry.”

“‘Night, Ginny,” Harry called as Ginny took the Floo powder from above the fireplace and
announced the Burrow as she disappeared. He was grateful the beautiful witch did not try to kiss
him goodnight.

“Really Harry,” Ron started as soon as his sister left, “can you at least try to be nice to this
French girl? She’s Luna’s best friend and I’d like to see more of Luna.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Ron, I’m not even sure how Luna feels about you. I honestly did not see
her treat you any differently than any other bloke there.” Ron’s face looked pained, so Harry
continued. “All right, I can try to get to know this girl and maybe she’ll have insight into how
Luna feels about you.”

Ron’s features immediately reflected the sudden burst of joy in his heart.

“Right, mate! Excellent! Well, let’s get some rest. It’ll be a long night tomorrow. Seamus has
the best parties! Wonderful being back in England, eh?”

“Yes, quite,” Harry replied snarkily as he retired to his bedroom where he lay on his bed and
tried not to think about witty girls with curly caramel colored hair and fine chocolate brown
eyes.

***

*Next chapter: the Lucas social gathering, or Hermione and Harry get more opportunities to
bicker.*

*A/N: Please read and review!*



4. 4
----

Magic and Misperceptions Chapter 4: Seamus’ Pub

By AddisonJ

For my awesome beta, DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer:*

The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling, Jane Austen,
and their publishers.

*Author Note: conversation with Hermione and Harry in pub is paraphrase of Jane Austen Chpt 11
P&P when Elizabeth and Darcy discuss laughter and laughing at others. From Chpt 6 of P&P is
the conversation about eavesdropping and dancing (changed to singing in this story) with Sir Lucas,
Lizzy, Charlotte and Darcy; and, the conversation between Darcy and Caroline about a pair of fine
eyes.*

*****

The Hogwarts alumni made a habit of meeting at least once a month (once a week was preferable)
at Seamus’ pub. It had an actual name, the Golden Snitch, but everyone just called it Seamus’ pub.
The street address wasn’t needed either. People would say, meet you at Seamus’ pub. Or, meet you at
that quill shop or ice cream parlor by Seamus’ pub. It worked out well for everyone.

The place was bustling by the time Parvati, Luna, Lavender and Hermione arrived. The three
Hogwarts alumnae greeted nearly everyone by name, and Hermione was happy that she at least
recognized about a dozen faces. The atmosphere was much better than the prior night at the
Puddlemere gala when it was full of anonymous people trying to latch onto someone less anonymous
than themselves. This was just full of people who knew each other, who liked each other. Even Harry
Potter could not find as much fault here.

Ron and Luna found each other of course. Hermione joined Padma and Neville to chat about the
prior night and comment on the goings on.

“Hermione,” Padma drew the Beauxbatons witch to one side, trying to gain some privacy in the
noisy crowd, “I notice that Ron is quite taken with Luna.”

“Yes, he is.” Hermione smiled. “Isn’t that lovely? They look so good together, and she is so
happy with him.”

Padma frowned slightly. “Really, is she? I can’t really tell.”

It was Hermione’s turn to frown. “Really? It seems obvious to me. I mean, Luna is her own unique
person, but the fact that she’s actually spending so much time with him, and is so amenable, and
she’s smiling …”

“Yes, but doesn’t she do that for everyone?”

“Well …” Hermione began to have doubts, which she instantly shook off. If it was obvious to her,
surely it was obvious to everyone else. Yet Padma still had a look of concern on her face, which
Hermione felt forced to address. “Look,” she began, “do you want her to wear her heart on her
sleeve like Pav or Lav? Is that what a woman needs to do so you or Ron or anyone else is aware of
her affections?”

“Hermione, don’t get cross. I’m just saying …”

“Padma, I know you mean well, but surely Ron is mature enough to tell the difference between
true affection and hero worship, and to tell if a mature woman is showing affection versus a
fangirl. Well, if he can’t, he doesn’t deserve her.”

Padma paused and viewed Hermione critically before answering. She hadn’t known her as long as
Luna had, but Padma considered herself a fairly good judge of a person’s character, and loved her
as a dear friend. But Hermione was showing traits of her characteristic arrogance – an arrogance
developed from years of being told she was the greatest witch of her age, an arrogance (or
prejudice) developed not consciously, but developed nonetheless to the point that she was good at
hearing both sides at first, but once her mind was made up, she became quite stubborn in her
resolve. Padma loved Hermione as a true friend; she was certain her friend would have been in
Ravenclaw with her and Luna if she had attended Hogwarts, but the stubborn and somewhat arrogant
streak was something Padma would wish lessened in her dear friend.

“Hermione, calm down. I’m just making an observation and stating my opinion. I’m looking out for
Luna; that is all. I know Ron and I know Luna, and I know that, although Ron has dated quite a bit,
he really doesn’t know women as well as he thinks, and he and Harry are quite used to girls
throwing themselves at them; Lavender being quite typical in that regard. I’m not sure he would
recognize if an intelligent, mature, normal woman like Luna was falling for him.”

Hermione smirked. “Would you consider Luna normal?” They laughed. “No worries, I know what you
mean! And I’m sorry I snapped. I just—Luna is my friend. I don’t even want to think that her heart
may be broken.”

Padma patted Hermione’s shoulder. “I know. I’m just lucky that Neville and I found each other
when we did. Now,” Padma paused and scanned the room full of happy Hogwarts alumni, “we need to
find someone for you!”

Hermione groaned. “No, please! I just arrived a few weeks ago. I’m busy with work, I don’t need
any distractions!”

“Distractions? I’m not saying you need to fall in love, and have little wizards and witches
right away. Wouldn’t you like to have someone to show you around town?”

“Padma, you forget that I am English! I used to live in London.”

“But you’ve been gone so long! A lot has changed since the war. And it’s a lovely excuse to meet
a young wizard. Hmmm …” Padma scanned the crowd. “What is your type? I heard about Viktor Krum. You
prefer the athletic, Quidditch sort? Or because of Viktor do you want nothing to do with
athletes?”

“Hmmm, could I just have an athlete’s body and a scholar’s mind?” Hermione answered in a flirty
tone.

Padma laughed. “Oh, picky, are we?”

“Well, since you insist I find someone, I only want the best, of course.” Hermione laughed.

“Hmmm …” Padma scanned the crowd. “Maybe Ernie Macmillan? He was a prefect. Or maybe you want
someone in the Slug Club? That’d be Cormac McLaggen or Blaise Zabini. Other than Harry Potter, of
course …”

Hermione scowled at Harry’s name. “No please. Not Potter. Even if he was the last man on earth
…”

Padma cocked her head to the side and looked at Hermione again. “I have no idea why Harry acted
that way to you last night. He’s always been kind to my sister and me. I mean, he is a bit shy and
standoffish, but once you get to know him ….”

“I doubt I will have that pleasure.”

“No, I dare say probably not at this rate. ‘Tis a pity. Not only because your best friend is
becoming quite friendly with his best friend, but he really is a good person. I think the two of
you have quite a bit in common.”

Hermione nearly spat out her butterbeer. “We have things in common? What, arrogance?
Prejudice?”

“Arrogance and prejudice? Harry? Never! He is quite impulsive sometimes. But very loyal to his
friends.”

“‘To his friends’, Padma. Do you hear yourself? For those of us on the outskirts, we remain the
enemy.”

“Hermione, I simply cannot talk to you when you’re so stubborn. You’re both stubborn. But you’re
both loyal and bright and true friends. Pity you don’t get along.”

Hermione laughed into her beer. “Right. ‘Tis a pity. Meanwhile, point me towards these
remarkable young men you mentioned earlier …”

Across the room, Harry was observing Hermione talk to Padma. She was so … comfortable in her own
skin. Unbeknown to Hermione, he had been watching her since he first entered the pub. She was busy
talking amongst friends, socializing. He noticed that she didn’t just go straight to the most
popular, most notorious people, but spoke with people from Luna’s circle, then friends of theirs.
She seemed to be cordial with but avoid socializing with Parvati and Lavender’s silly set.
Interesting. Maybe he was wrong in his earlier appraisal of her? She had very bright, very
intelligent eyes. She didn’t scan the room for better prospects, once she was in conversation with
someone, she really focused on them and didn’t glance about the room for someone more noteworthy to
speak with. He approved of how close she seemed to Padma and Neville, two really good people who
Harry approved of. They lacked artifice; they were genuine, and always supportive of him. He
appreciated their friendship and companionship. He was glad to see that Hermione must have a
similar view of them. Not showy people, but true and genuine and loyal. And what is more important
than those factors in friendship?

Harry frowned when he saw Padma steer Hermione towards a group of men that included Dean,
Cormac, Ernie, and Justin Finch-Fletchley. Cormac in particular seemed quite interested in speaking
with Hermione and leaned close to her, invading her personal space. He watched Hermione respond by
leaning further from him and talking to Ernie. She even placed her hand on her face in a move
almost designed to block Cormac from her view, or at least block his breath from her face. Harry
felt this urge to move closer, in case she was in need of assistance.

*In need of assistance?* *She’s with Padma, and the rest of the blokes would take care of
her, too, in case Cormac got out of hand,* Harry thought to himself. *What’s wrong with*
*you?*

Harry was moving towards Hermione when his path was blocked by a very bored looking Ginny.
“Harry, can you be a dear and get me a white wine? I can’t make it to the bar. It’s so busy here!
And Ron is too busy chatting with Luna to pay me any mind,” Ginny drawled prettily in Harry’s
direction.

Harry sighed. He could tell when Ginny was flirting, but he considered her a friend even before
their ill-fated romance years ago. And, he was a gentleman. The lady would like a drink, and he
would procure it for her. He gave her a wan smile as he proceeded to the bar, making sure to take
the path closest to the group containing the sole Beauxbatons graduate.

“—and then she hexed him with canaries! Canaries!” Cormac was telling a story to the amused
group.

“Better than bat bogeys. Those are just dreadful!” Hermione laughed in response

“Girls and their hexes. They’re so—” Cormac almost completed that sentence but saw Hermione’s
raised eyebrow, daring him to insult her gender. “—so interesting! A-hem.” Cormac’s mates laughed
at his obvious sidestepping.

“At least our hexes tend not to lead to blood,” Hermione responded. “Unless they lead to
emasculation, and even then we try not to have the recipient bleed, do we, Padma?” Hermione asked
her friend casually as the men squirmed. Harry tried not to chuckle too loudly since he was
eavesdropping, but Hermione noticed. She leaned into her friend so that her mouth was quite close
to Padma’s ear.

“Don’t look, but Potter appears to be eavesdropping,” Hermione whispered. “Let’s pretend we’re
actually talking about him.”

“No, Hermione, don’t do that! Harry’s quite sensitive about being laughed at,” Padma responded
quickly, concern etched in her features.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Really? Hmmm. ‘Tis a pity, since laughing at oneself is a welcome
trait in my humble opinion.”

“Are you two talking about us?” Cormac interrupted the girls.

“Are your ears burning?” Hermione smiled her reply.

Cormac seemed consider that an invitation; he touched her elbow, and Hermione tried not to
flinch.

“Have you seen what Seamus did to the back room? Let me show you,” he said as he started to lead
her away from the group.

Harry instantly made sure that his wand was at hand (of course it was) as he watched Hermione
exchange glances with Padma.

“Cormac! How generous, but Seamus showed us that earlier. Lovely, isn’t it? So much more space
there. But here he is now! Maybe he can tell us what other redecorating he’s considering?” Hermione
turned to Seamus who was heading their way with handfuls of butterbeers.

“Oi! Seamus! Hand us one of those, will ya, mate?”

“Hang on! Pass these ‘round while I talk to these gits. Gentlemen,” Seamus paused, “and ladies,”
he nodded to Padma and Hermione, “we need some music. Padma, can you play a few tunes on the piano,
and we need you lot to sing some school songs!”

Padma acquiesced and moved to the piano in the corner of the pub where there was a small stage
(actually, a large table). Hermione was happy to be a non-participant as Padma played a few notes
and Seamus shouted for quiet.

“All right you lot! And now for the musical portion of our program. We’re going to play the
Hogwarts school song and you’re all going to sing! Ready, Padma?”

Padma nodded.

“Now, follow along!” Cormac moved to write the words of the song in the air with his wand like
subtitles as the pub rang out in a loud collection of voices, some off-key, some right on key, but
all enthusiastic.

Hermione leaned back and smiled. Once again, she missed the fact that she had chosen Beauxbatons
over Hogwarts. No mistake, she loved her years at Beauxbatons. It was there she first learned about
magic. However, when she saw the enthusiasm and camaraderie of these Hogwartians … She knew part of
their enthusiasm was due to surviving the war; there was greater *joie de vivre* (to use a
French phrase) with them because they survived, many others did not, and the prevalent feeling that
they needed to take advantage of each and every day. She hated the cause, but liked their
enthusiasm. Hermione, the calm, collected, reasonable one, liked being around these enthusiastic
Hogwartians.

Hermione was so deep in thought that she failed to notice her name was being called from the
‘stage.’ “Hermione! Frenchie! You can’t just stand there!” called Seamus. “Let’s hear something
from our Beauxbatons witch! What can you show us, luv?”

Hermione sighed and shook her head. Knowing Seamus as well as she did, she was not surprised
that she was singled out. Public humiliation was always a possibility when one was in the company
of a certain Mr. Finnigan.

As the crowd cheered her on, Hermione walked up to Padma who still sat at the piano. She
whispered something to the dark haired witch who shook her head, then, reconsidering, whispered
something else, which resulted in another shake of Padma’s head. Hermione appeared to sigh heavily,
then proceed to the stage.

“Excuse me!” she called out, to the loud crowd. Seamus, seeing Hermione needed assistance, stood
on the stage and whistled loudly. “Shut it!” he yelled, then nodded for Hermione to continue. She
mouthed “thanks” to him.

“Okay, so, I’ve been ‘volunteered’—” she glared at Seamus, who chuckled, “—to sing for you.
Since I’m terribly outnumbered here—”

“That’s right!” someone called out.

“Stuff it!” Seamus responded.

Hermione paused until there was silence again. “Since I’m outnumbered, I’ve chosen something
quite short, but one of the few songs I know by heart. It’s a lullaby my French mother sang to me
as a child, when I had trouble sleeping. Sorry, but Padma doesn’t know the tune, so I’ll need to do
this a cappella. It’s called, ‘*Petite Bebe*’.”

Harry watched as Hermione looked at the crowd, took a deep breath, closed her eyes and sang. She
had the voice of an angel! Her voice was true in pitch, strong and steady, yet quiet, and full of
hidden passion and feelings. He felt it strike him directly in his heart. The lullaby was a love
song to a child, but Harry wished that passion and feeling were directly towards him.

Nearly as quickly as it was begun, Hermione finished her song to applause and yells. She
mimicked a quick curtsey and attempted to jump off the stage, but both Seamus and Cormac stopped
her. “Oh no, no, no. Blimey, girl, you sing like an angel! You’ve got to do another!” Cormac
said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Must I?” The crowd roared its approval. She bit her lower lip in
contemplation, then her eyes lit up. “Then you’ll sing with me! We’ll sing rounds. You know
*Frere Jacques*?”

“In English, Frenchie! Don’t forget you’re back in Britain!” someone called out to several
laughs.

Hermione laughed as well. “I’m English!” she yelled back in perfect BBC clipped tones, then
switched to her normal voice . “All right, whatever gets you lot to sing! Now, we need to divide
this room into thirds. You there, in the Hufflepuff scarf!” Hermione pointed to a blonde woman in
black and yellow. “From your right onwards to the wall is group one. And you, in the red and blue
stripes.” She pointed to a young man with dark hair. “From you to the opposite wall is group three.
You in the middle are group two. Now, we’ll all practice singing together, then I’ll break down the
groups.”

Hermione proceeded to instruct the pub on the verses of the song, and when to start singing,
then acted as conductor while she lead them into first a group sing, then rounds. After a few
tries, they successfully sang three rounds of ‘Father John’, and cheered themselves for a job well
done.

There were no complaints when Hermione exited the stage this time, and Seamus gave her a pat on
the back and a wink as she went by before he found another recipient for public humiliation. Luna
ran up and gave her a hug.

“You did that so well!” she smiled.

Hermione smiled back. “I was assistant choral director at Beauxbatons for the third years. I
just pictured you as fourteen year olds and it all came back to me.”

Ron joined the laughter, then felt himself being pulled up to the stage by Seamus. “Cuddly
Cannons fight song, Weasley!” Seamus demanded.

“That’s Chudley Cannons, you git,” laughed Ron and he obliged.

Hermione watched Luna watch Ron as he had the pub singing of the joy of the orange clad
Quidditch team. *How could anyone doubt Luna’s feelings towards Ron*? Hermione asked herself.
She failed to notice a messy-haired wizard staring at her intensely.

Once Ron had finished, Seamus insisted on the Kenmare Krestels fight song, and Oliver Wood and
some of his team mates entered the pub just in time for the Puddlemere United song.

Hermione was not a big Quidditch fan, but being part of the wizarding world meant embracing
Quidditch. So she did. She attended the matches and rooted for whichever team her friends played
for. She was dreading the World Cup if Britain played France; she would be torn between which team
to root for. And Bulgaria, well, Viktor was in the past, but he was still a good friend she wrote
to often. He had her support as well.

“Luna, your beau has quite a voice,” Hermione yelled to her friend over the singing.

Luna glowed. “Yes, Ronald has a strong set of lungs, hasn’t he? He needn’t worry about the
Wrackspurts affecting his brains, he’s singing much too loud for them and they hate so much
noise.”

“Hmm, yes. My thoughts exactly,” Hermione responded.

*(A/N: paraphrasing Jane Austen in next part of conversation: Pride & Prejudice Chapter 6,
Elizabeth, Charlotte, Sir William Lucas, Darcy and Caroline.)*

Then she noticed that Harry Potter was standing rather close to them. She leaned closer to Luna
so that she could speak to her alone. “Why is Mr. Potter listening to our conversation?” she asked
rhetorically.

“That is a question that only Harry can answer.”

When they continued their conversation and Harry continued to hover, unspeaking, Hermione felt
provoked to respond.

“Potter, since you undoubtedly overheard, what do you think of me teasing Luna about Mr.
Weasley’s singing voice?”

“Harry! Singing is wonderful! There’s nothing like it to unite people,” Seamus joined the
conversation.

“Certainly, since *all* sorts of people are under the impression that they can sing,” Harry
responded bitingly.

Hermione immediately bristled. *Does he mean Muggles?*

Harry winced. *What the hell was he saying?* He was trying to be witty but failed
miserably. From the expression on Hermione’s face, she must have taken it the wrong way. Before he
could try to explain himself—if he could even think of an explanation for such a stupid
remark—Seamus interrupted.

“Hermione! Why aren’t you dancing? Harry, let me present our lovely Beauxbatons witch as your
partner. Even you can’t refuse to dance with such a beauty.” Seamus posed to place Hermione’s hand
in Harry’s when she nearly leapt back, to Harry’s discomfort.

“Oh no, Seamus! You must not think I am here looking for a dance partner!” Hermione exclaimed,
feeling flush spread over her cheeks.

Harry bowed his head slightly. “Hermione, may I have the pleasure—”

“No, I’d rather not dance tonight. Rather peaked from yesterday. Will just go over and get some
water.”

“Let me get that for you,” Harry offered.

”No, really! I’m quite capable of doing it myself!”

“I fully realize that, but I would like to help,” Harry started, then moved his way through the
crowd towards the bar.

Hermione was flushed. She was crimson and confused. Why was Harry Potter being so attentive to
her today when he publicly snubbed her the day before? Maybe he’s trying to trick her into
complacency for some prank or another? She knew Ron’s brothers founded Weasleys Wizard Wheezes.
Perhaps this is all part of a way to humiliate the Muggle-born?

Ernie Macmillan was happy to take Harry’s place and chat with Hermione whilst Harry was absent.
She enjoyed Ernie’s company and they discussed his recent trip to Paris, comparing the differences
between magic on the continent and in Britain.

*(A/N: paraphrase of Chapt 6 of P&P, Caroline and Darcy)*

“I can guess the subject of your daydream,” Ginny was suddenly beside Harry as he stared at the
dance floor, hoping not to see Hermione dancing with anyone else.

“I think not,” he responded curtly.

“You are thinking how horrible it all is. How you’d rather be off on a broom somewhere with your
own thoughts.”

Harry looked at Ginny. She was a good friend before she was an ex-girlfriend.

“Yes, you know I’d prefer to be on a broom than anywhere else. But that’s not what I was
thinking about. I was thinking of some lovely brown eyes.”

Ginny preened, then, as Harry’s eyes drifted away from her, she realized with much
disappointment that she was not the subject of his reverie. “Oh,” she breathed.

She followed Harry’s eyes, which now settled on Hermione, the bookworm’s head bent back as she
laughed at something Ernie said. Both Harry and Ginny’s eyes narrowed, for different reasons.

“Oh, you’ll have lovely bushy haired children then,” the red-head intoned, her voice filled with
sarcasm.

Harry realizing the discomfort his words caused his friend, said, “Ginny, retract your claws.
Why do girls go from admiration to marriage to babies in a heartbeat? I’m merely looking. I’m not
out for a relationship. I’ll probably be sent back to Asia again before too long.”

“Oh no!” Ginny’s remorse was genuine. Harry and Ron had only just arrived back and already he
was speaking as if this was just a stopover until the next adventure.

Harry looked at her with sympathy and gently touched her arm. “Don’t worry. Probably not so
soon, but I just want it understood that I’m not looking for romantic entanglements.” He looked
directly at Ginny who nodded. He then proceeded to deliver the water Hermione mentioned several
minutes prior.

He arrived back at the group just in time to see Ernie whisper something into Hermione’s ear,
see her laugh, and respond, “Okay, Friday it is,” and watch Ernie walk away, giving Harry a smiling
nod as he left.

Hermione accepted the bottle of water and took a long drink. Harry could not contain his
curiosity. ”What was that about then?” he had hoped he didn’t sound too curt or possessive, but
Hermione’s ensuing frown indicated that he probably did.

“Ernie wanted to see some of Muggle London. We’re meeting after work,” she replied.

“Do you need an escort? It’s been a while since you’ve been here, right?”

“No, I know London quite well, actually. I always traveled by Tube before we moved to France. I
would just hop on the train to get into town.”

“Oh.” They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Hermione started to prefer the sullen version of
Harry to this new, uncomfortable version. If he could just *snub* her, they wouldn’t be in
this situation.

Harry shifted his feet awkwardly. As much as he despised her yesterday, today he wanted to get
to know Hermione, to make up for snubbing her the day before, but nothing seemed to be going right.
So, he went with the first thing that popped into his head:

“So, you used to date Viktor Krum?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. *What an awkward question! Where the bezerk did that come
from?* “Um, yeah. That’s old news now.”

Harry’s heart did a little flip when she mentioned it was over.

“So, is that your type then? Quidditch players?” He needed to know if his first impression of
her, that of being a fan girl crazy Quidditch tart like Parvati or Lavender, was accurate.

Hermione wrinkled her nose again, once again considering her preference for yesterday’s sullen,
rude Harry Potter instead of this socially awkward, nosy version.

“No …” she said in a drawn out voice, trying to determine his motive. “If I had a type, it would
probably be someone as bookish as I am. I only watch Quidditch to see friends play. And it’s
dreadful dating a celebrity! The papers on the continent are as bad as the *Daily Prophe*t!
The whole time Viktor and I were seeing each other, the papers seemed to take it personally that
this Bulgarian star was dating a very ordinary looking *Englishwoman*. They were hoping for a
supermodel and got me instead. Took Viktor’s preference for me personally, it was all rather
ridiculous. I’ll not go through that again!” she declared

Outside, he trained his face to be expressionless, but inside he was in turmoil. She doesn’t go
for athletes or celebrities. He was doomed! But why would he care? He trained his face to scowling
to mask his inner thoughts.

Hermione actually relaxed a bit when she saw Harry’s scowl. She had wondered if she spoke too
much, she had barely said five words to him before, and then she was prattling on for several
minutes. Seeing the familiar scowling expression on the Chosen One’s face calmed her down and made
things right in the world. Then she thought, O*h shite! Did I just insult him? After all, he is a
celebrity. But that’s assuming that he would want to date me? Ridiculous!* She actually shook
her head, which seemed to amuse Harry.

“What? You’re changing your mind?” he asked.

Hermione’s eyes snapped to Harry’s. Was he actually flirting with her? “No, I just—oh look!
Parvati and Lavender are going on stage!”

Her two housemates, clinging to each other in their in their inebriation, managed to get up on
the stage and called for attention.

“We’ve got a ditty for you! Ladies, you know the words! Join in!” Lavender called out, then she
and Parvati proceeded to sing a lewd song about Quidditch pants.

Harry frowned as he watched Hermione laugh at her housemate’s antics. She even joined in the
singing of the chorus! He was appalled. His first impression of her was clearly correct. Maybe she
did have some better qualities, such as her close friendship with Padma and Neville and Luna, but
she also had the unpleasantness of Lav and Pav. Harry scowled, and moved away from the singing
witch.

Hermione clapped her hands at laughed at the end of the song, and was about to speak to Harry
again, but he seemed to disappear into the crowd. She was surprised by her feelings of
disappointment.

The night concluded for Hermione with Ernie walking her home and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
It was very sweet. She liked Ernie. He was interesting, worldly, and intelligent. She didn’t feel
romantic about him and didn’t think he felt that way about her, but he could be a good friend.

Inside their home, Hermione was preparing the hangover potions her housemates would be requiring
when Luna arrived, floating into the living room with a smile on her lips. She sat prettily on the
sofa and sighed. Hermione took the invitation to sit beside her.

“Spill. Tell me everything. Did he kiss you?” asked Hermione.

The blonde witch smiled and pulled on her radish earrings. “Lovely. He’s wonderful. So sweet, so
attentive. He makes me happy.”

Hermione pulled her friend into a big hug. “I’m so happy for you! And he’s treating you
well?”

“Oh yes, Hermione. He even suggested we go hunting for Blibbering Humdingers.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Really? That sounds serious.”

Luna smiled and hugged a pillow. “Oh, I don’t know, but I’m so happy. I might be falling in
love!”

Hermione gave another hug. “I’m so happy for you! And he feels the same way?”

“I think so. It’s all happening so fast! We’re going out tomorrow.”

“Already! Three times in three days! This is serious!”

Luna smiled. “I hope so.”

***

Back at Grimmauld Place, Harry, Ginny and Ron were discussing the night’s events as well.

“Her hair? Is it not the color of moonlight? Her smile! Pearls! Her teeth are pearls!” Ron was
lying on the sofa, dreamily tossing an orange in the air while discussing the many luminous
attributes of Luna Lovegood.

Harry smiled from the chair opposite while Ginny scowled. “Ron, Ronnikins, you’re deliriously in
love, aren’t you?” he asked his best friend.

“Ugh! You’re just making a fool of yourself, brother dear. I’m not sure she’s in your league!”
Ginny frowned.

Ron ignored his sister. “Harry, have you ever felt this way? No, I doubt it. It’s wonderful!
Everything is wonderful! Life is wonderful! I love life!”

“How much of this is alcohol induced and how much of this is real, Ron?” Ginny asked.

Ron sat up to respond. “No, it’s real. It’s the real thing. I’m sure of it! We’re going out to
Diagon Alley tomorrow. Taking her to Florean Fortescue’s for ice cream.”

“Tomorrow? You’re seeing her again tomorrow! Won’t you get sick of each other?” Ginny frowned as
Ron’s face went misty again.

“No, how could I get sick of an angel?” Ron smiled dreamily. Ginny scowled and Harry
laughed.

“Ginny, we won’t get a commonsense word out of him for a while. I’ll tuck him in tonight. See
you later.”

“What are you doing tomorrow, Harry?”

“I’m going to see Teddy. It’s been far too long.” Harry smiled at the thought of seeing his
godson. “He loved the toys I brought him from Asia.”

Ginny smiled back. “You’re a good godfather, Harry.”

A shadow passed over his eyes. “I wish I could do more. I wish I could be here for him, like
Sirius was here for me. I wish Remus and Tonks were still here. I wish they were all still
here.”

Ginny went to give Harry a tight hug, but he just patted her back absentmindedly. He suddenly
realized where he was and with whom, so he just gave her a wan smile and gently pushed her away.
“I’ll be fine. Thanks, but I’m fine. We’re all fine. We’re still here and we need to appreciate
that.”

Ginny, thinking of Fred and the rest, blinked back some tears and they shared a hug.

“Good night, Ginny,” Harry whispered into her ear as he walked her to the fireplace. “I’ll take
care of Ron.”

“I’m just worried that he’s falling so fast, that she won’t return his affections,” Ginny
whispered once she determined that Ron was out of earshot.

“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

“But remember that girl in Singapore I heard about…”

“I was there, Ginny. I took care of that one and I’ll take care of this as well. Who knows,
maybe Luna feels the same way?”

Ginny frowned. “Hmmm. I don’t like the crowd she hangs out with. They’re all so flighty and
shallow.”

Harry thought about his conflicting impressions of Hermione Granger. He could only grunt a
response, neither confirmation nor denial. He kissed the top of her head, ignoring her silent
request for a deeper kiss, and waved goodbye as she Flooed back to the Burrow.



***

*A/N: Next Chapter: Enter Wickham!*

*This is the last chapter that will follow closely to P&P. Hermione is a working girl, the
next chapter will be at the Ministry and be a bit about her work there. But I’m going to keep the
essence of P&P, of course.*

*BTW, updates will not be as frequent as Chapters 1-3, but more like weekly, if possible. Real
Life of both me and my other working mom beta is happening, but we are committed to this
fic!*

*And Please Read and Review!!!*



5. 5
----

Magic and Misperceptions Chapter Five: The Ministry

By addisonj

Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.

For my Beta, DeeMichelle

***





“Good morning, Miss Granger!”

“Good morning, Carl. How was your weekend?”

“Very good, and yours?”

“Good. Fine. Saw some friends.”

“Did you read that Harry Potter is back?”

“Yes, I met him at the Puddlemere United event Friday.”

“Good man. He saved us all!”

“Yes, Carl. And we’re all grateful. See you later!”

“See you, Miss Granger! Ah, Mr. Perkins! Good morning!”

Hermione smiled. She enjoyed working at the Ministry of Magic. Her day always started with a
conversation with Carl, who was happy to keep her informed about all the goings in and out. As soon
as he realised that Hermione did not have all the connections most of the other Ministry employees
had, he took the former Beauxbatons student under his wing and proceeded to let her know what’s
what. She appreciated that.

As the lift doors were about to close, her co-worker, Amos Diggory hopped on. “Good morning,
Granger!”

“Good morning, Diggory. How was your weekend?” Hermione liked Diggory. He was a long time
employee in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and was quite kind
to her as well.

“Capital! The wife and I went to the new exhibit at the art museum. Some wonderful stuff
there.”

“That sounds interesting. Maybe I’ll catch it this weekend.”

“And how was your weekend, Hermione?”

“Nice. Met up with some friends. Had a quiet day yesterday. Went for a long walk in Hyde
Park.”

“Muggle London again, Granger? You like going there?”

“Yes, it’s where I’m from. It’s nice to be back after my years in France.”

They exchanged more pleasantries as they made their way to their offices in the Magical
Creatures department on the fourth floor. Once she was settled in her office, Hermione sat down at
her desk and began to strategize how best to accomplish everything she needed to do that week.

Hermione was a bit upset when they had first told her that she would be working out of the
Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Her goal was to give *rights* to
magical creatures, not *control* them. But Shacklebolt convinced her that changes as big as
she envisioned would take time, and would need to be done with the cooperation of the Magical
Creatures department in particular.

Hermione liked her coworkers personally. Many were long time employees like Diggory who could
measure their seniority in decades. There was very little change in the department. Nothing to
rush, no changes to laws. Hermione was going to change that. She had hoped to be in the Department
of International Magical Cooperation or the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The Regulation
and Control of Magical Creatures was like the dead letter office of the Ministry, and the Centaur
Liaison office was the dead letter office within the dead letter office.

She was busy (of course) when the head of the department, Scamander, stopped by, with
Shacklebolt right behind. It was rare that the Minister of Magic appeared in their department. He
was almost always found in the more glamorous departments like Law Enforcement or International
Magical Cooperation.

“Granger! Excellent! You’re here! Shacklebolt is headed to the continent for a few days so I
said we could present your proposal to him now. You’re ready, aren’t you?”

Hermione tried not to sputter her response. Her career may well ride on this proposal regarding
how Britain could implement the types of civil rights laws for magical creatures found in France.
She had been working on it for weeks. The meeting was scheduled for Friday and Scamander just
decided she could present it *now*? Scamander himself was quite personable but very
scatterbrained, rather like Luna. Since Scamander realised that Hermione was always well-prepared,
he seemed to be overconfident in her abilities.

Shacklebolt looked at Hermione with a twinkle in his eye, no doubt understanding her temporary
muteness.

“Uh, of course, Scamander! Let me put this presentation together and I’ll be right there. We’ll
meet in the conference room?”

“Let’s meet in the conference room next to my offices. I have another meeting following and
that’d be easiest in case we go over time. See you there, Granger.” Shacklebolt gave Hermione a
knowing smile. She tried not to groan as she gathered her paperwork.

Her presentation started with the current situation for magical creatures in Britain, the Being
division (house-elves, werewolves, goblins; she didn’t want to approach beasts like centaurs yet)
and compare it to laws throughout the world. She had a matrix about different rights they had in
different countries: which ones paid house-elves, which ones allowed goblins to use wands, which
ones allowed werewolves to work and provided accommodations, Wolfsbane, and other care for them
during the full moon. The matrix itself was strong evidence that Britain was far behind the rest of
the world in rights for these creatures.

Next was the part that needed Ministry cooperation: what to do with this information? She had
several suggestions, one being a public relations blitz in all media to start public support for
reforms. She was hoping to have some prominent people on board to lend support. Along with the
publicity approach, she wanted to start pushing some laws through the Wizengamot. Start with small
things like beefing up support services for werewolves or providing assistance to house-elves in
abusive situations and relocation assistance. Once these little laws were in place, it would create
a body of laws to build up to acceptance of magical beings in all walks of life. It was a very
long-term project, would easily take years, but Hermione was working on the unspoken assumption
that she was not planning to leave Britain again. And she knew she had to do it *now*, with a
Minister of Magic like Shacklebolt who would provide total support for such radical change, and
realising the mood of the country after the war was open to such change.

The presentation was going well. Shacklebolt would nod occasionally and give Hermione the
understanding that he grasped her message and approved. He was about to say something when he
noticed some activity outside the conference room door. With some flick of magic, he opened the
door and called to the person outside.

“Harry! Just the person I wanted to see! You know Scamander. Have you met Hermione Granger? Our
new Beauxbatons addition. She’s going to shake up our magical creatures laws!”

Hermione opened and closed her mouth in nervousness. *What was Harry Potter doing here? And
why is Shacklebolt inviting him into our meeting? Isn’t he an Auror? She didn’t need an Auror, she
needed someone in legislature!*

Harry seemed equally surprised. He was early for his meeting with Shacklebolt, but he knew that
the former Auror tended to be prompt, so he wanted to be just a couple minutes early. Shacklebolt
was a busy man who rarely had one-on-one meetings with junior staff. *She must be pretty
important and he must have a lot of confidence in her,* thought Harry. He ignored Hermione’s
stare and sat himself in a vacant seat near Shacklebolt.

“Miss Granger and I met at the Puddlemere gala on Friday. ‘Ello,” he nodded toward Hermione in
greeting. “Hiya, Scamander. What’s all this about?” As Harry settled in his chair, he stared at
matrix of magical being laws throughout the world and the multiple pronged strategy for Britain. He
let out a low whistle. “Well, now. Ambitious, are we?”

Hermione bristled. She didn’t need Harry Potter as a fly in her ointment. She was on a roll;
Shacklebolt agreed with her, and she was afraid that Potter would spoil it. But she was ready to
defend her case.

“It’s necessary. As you can see, Britain lags behind other countries in magical being rights.
Now’s the time to change that. Now’s the time that purebloods have less say in the legislature.
Now’s the time, because after the war, people are more open to change; they realise the disastrous
results of the type of discrimination that occurred before and during the war. That discrimination
was Riddle. Now’s the time to change.

“And I’ll be the first to admit this is ambitious. That’s why we need to build support from
*all* areas of the Ministry and *all* areas of wizard society. From the public relations
to legislature to law enforcement. It’s a big effort. That’s why we need support from key areas.
And we’ll start with some small wins. Instead of going right out and saying that werewolves should
be treated like everyone else and have the same rights, we start with standardised support services
that provide care and Wolfsbane during the full moon. Once that’s accomplished, we say that
werewolves are allowed the right to work and provide workplace flexibility so they can be out two
to three days per month. Once that’s accomplished, people will be more amenable to seeing and
legislating that werewolves are equals. Same approach with house-elves and goblins.” Hermione was
on a roll. Her listeners were nodding, feeling her passion for the topic. She was surprised when
Potter interrupted.

“You’ll want to pay and clothe house-elves next?” Harry said.

Hermione strived to maintain her composure.

“House-elves should be given the choice. I know most want to work for free. I know they don’t
want clothes. They’re happy to serve wizarding families. However, what if they’re abused? They have
no recourse at all. I’m not expecting a revolution here, just some basic rights. The right to have
the choice: the choice to be paid, the choice to look for one’s own employment. The choice to not
be a slave.”

Shacklebolt watched the two young people and smiled. They were both passionate in their beliefs
and articulate in relaying them. He knew what he wanted to do next.

“Harry! Hermione proposed having public faces—celebrities if you will—speak out in support of
these proposals. Interested?”

Hermione died inside. She was certain she was about to be served a public humiliation from Mr.
Potter, and possibly the end of her oh-so-short career at the Ministry.

Harry noted her slumped shoulders and smiled. He looked from Hermione to Scamander to
Shacklebolt. Time seemed to stop, waiting for his response. He said the words slowly for maximum
impact. “Of course.”

Hermione exhaled, a traitor smile escaping her lips. “Good.”

“Excellent!” Shacklebolt jumped up and clapped Harry on the back. “I’m out of time but you all
can discuss this later. Hermione, you have the Ministry’s full support. It’s time we got out of the
Middle Ages. What’s next, ballpoint pens instead of quills?” He paused for the chuckles of his
audience. “Good. Come along, Harry. I want to hear about Asia. Is Ron Weasley joining us? Hermione,
Scamander, before you leave, make sure you get some time with Montgomery and Algonquin. I want them
on board, too. I’ll owl them requesting they give you their full cooperation. Right, away then.”
Kinglsey casually named the heads of the Departments of Law Enforcement and International
Cooperation as he shooed Hermione and her boss to leave.

Hermione tried to stay professional and hide her grin, but inside she was doing a ‘happy happy
joy joy’ dance. Everything she could have asked for was happening. She forced her smile to an
average length as she exited with Scamander.

“Hermione! Well done! This is the most exciting thing to happen to us since a centaur almost
used our liaison office!”

Inside, Shacklebolt decided to follow a hunch.

“Potter! Welcome back! Tell me, what do you think of Granger?”

Harry raised an eyebrow for a moment, not sure if the question referred to her professional or
personal nature.

“If her proposal comes through, that would be brilliant! I wish she had been around for Remus
and Dobby. She’s definitely the champion of the underdog, isn’t she?”

Kinglsey nodded. “We’re lucky to have her. The French ministry didn’t want to let her go.
Brightest witch of her age, and she did it all in a second language!”

“Lucky for her magical commands are in Latin.”

Kinglsey laughed. “Yes, but she really is amazing. She’ll probably have my job in a few
years.”

Harry joined the laughter. “Shacklebolt, you can’t go anywhere. You’re the best Minister of
Magic we’ve had in my lifetime.”

“Thanks, but I wanted you to meet her. She’ll need your support. She didn’t go to Hogwarts; she
doesn’t have the connections the rest of us have.”

“She seems incredibly capable, however.”

“Yes, of course. But she already has an exceedingly ambitious agenda, as you noted. We don’t
need to put any more impediments in her way. Once we get to the legislature, the purebloods will
likely revolt. We want to help stack the deck in her favour.”

“You know you have my support, Shacklebolt.”

Shacklebolt paused in contemplation. “Have you considered being on the Wizengamot, Harry?” When
Harry blinked, Shacklebolt continued, “Potters have been members of the Wizengamot in the past. Why
are you looking at me as if I told you to fight a dragon?”

“Shacklebolt, I’ve only just returned—”

“You’ve been gone too long, Harry. Well, think about it. I know this is your first day back.
Welcome back! But once you’re settled, I want you to consider what I’ve said. You have a plethora
of open doors in front of you, Harry. You can take anything, do anything you wish.”

*But I can’t raise the dead*, Harry thought, and then banished that image from his brain.
Here he was whining about the past when the Minister of Magic himself is nearly promising him the
moon. He needed to snap out of it and get back on topic.

He looked at Shacklebolt and shook his hand. “Thanks, Shacklebolt. I’ll keep this in mind. I
appreciate it.”

***

Later that day, as Hermione joined Lavender for lunch in the cafeteria, she told her flatmate
the highlights of her morning.

“Shacklebolt himself said that? Lucky you! I don’t think he knows my name!” Lavender said. The
blonde was about to continue, but was distracted by a handsome, tall pale young man standing by the
cashier, looking for a seat. “Hermione, do you know Draco Malfoy? He works in Magical Games and
Sports. He was my year at Hogwarts. ‘Ello, Draco! Over here!”

The handsome man nodded in Lavender’s direction, then, meeting Hermione’s eye, his smile
widened. “Hello,” he said huskily, giving Hermione his pale, graceful hand. “Draco Malfoy. And you
are?”

“Hermione Granger. Pleased to meet you.”

His elegant head tipped to one side. “*Vous êtes Française*?”

“*Non*. No, my mother is. I just came from Beauxbatons and the French Ministry.”

“Ah. Lovely accent.”

“Thank you.”

As Draco was feasting on Hermione with his eyes, Harry entered the café, saw the back of
Hermione’s head, smiled, but then his eyes met Draco’s and he grew cold.

“Malfoy,” Harry said as he passed them.

“Potter,” Draco responded.

“Hi, Harry! Care to join us?” Lavender asked, ignoring the scorn between the two men.

“No, I’ll be elsewhere. See you, Lavender, Hermione.” Harry nodded at the girls and glared at
Draco.

“Well!” said Lavender as Harry passed. “He doesn’t care for you, does he? I knew you were
enemies at school, but still?”

Draco smiled and shook his head. “How well do you know Harry?” He looked at Hermione with
soulful eyes.

“Not very well,” she admitted. Draco gave a sad look.

“I tried. I know in the past I’ve been the worst. I was horrible to Harry and his friends. My
father was a Death Eater. I was told to kill Dumbledore. I admit it. But I reformed. Potter
can’t—he can’t seem to get past that.”

Lavender patted Draco’s arm. “You poor thing! Everyone deserves a second chance!”

Draco nodded sadly. “That’s what I hoped. Now with my father gone and my mother in exile, we’re
trying to make amends. We’ve donated thousands to the rebuilding and restitution charities. I don’t
know what else to do.” Draco hung his head and Lavender patted his back.

“Poor thing!” she said in the same voice a mother uses to comfort a hurt child.

Hermione looked at the situation with a more critical eye. Why was this perfect stranger telling
her so much? Something just seemed amiss.

Draco noticed Hermione’s lack of attention. He sat up, and smoothed his hair back to its earlier
near perfection. Time for another tactic. “So, you met Potter?”

“Yes. Last weekend,” Hermione answered curtly.

“He was dreadful to Hermione! Totally snubbed her!” Lavender added eagerly. Draco raised an
eyebrow.

“Really? Any idea why?”

“None. I’d never met him. I don’t think I have any sort of reputation preceding me. I’m
absolutely clueless why he’d react that way.”

“Hmm.” Draco seemed to consider the situation and came to a conclusion. “Have dinner with
me!”

“What?”

“Have dinner with me. Tonight. We’ll sort out this Potter business together!”

Lavender looked thrilled while Hermione was surprised. It was also so unexpected...

“Uh, well …”

“Of course she can! You have nothing planned, do you?” Lavender answered for her temporarily
mute friend.

“Well, no …”

“Draco, I’ll have her ready after work. Or are you going somewhere fancy? Does she need to
change?”

“No, casual is fine. You’re fine the way you are, Hermione,” Draco said, his eyes glancing over
her form.

Hermione flushed. “Well, very well then. It’s been decided for me. I tend to work late,
however.”

“I’ll meet you in the lobby at 7pm. We’ll Floo from there.”

“Sounds good. Thanks.”

They continued their lunch and Hermione listened to the Hogwartians catch up on the gossip about
their classmates. Draco tried to engage her in conversation to tell some of her life story, but she
deftly moved the conversation back to topics he and Lavender shared.

Hermione took the opportunity to look at the comely man. He was certainly handsome, and seemed
to know it. He had fine, pale blonde hair, pale skin and startling grey eyes. Very fine bone
structure. He could easily be a model, with that face and body. He also had a bad boy vibe about
him, no matter how much he tried to play the victim, and oozed sex appeal. She seriously doubted he
was totally without fault.

Hermione suddenly noticed those steel grey eyes smiling back at her. She blinked and flushed,
embarrassed to have been caught in the act of staring.

“Tonight?” Draco asked in a terribly sexy tone.

“Dinner,” Hermione replied with a finality. “Only dinner. Someplace casual.”

“As you wish,” Draco responded with a smirk. Hermione wondered if Draco knew he was quoting her
favourite Muggle film, *The* *Princess Bride.*

After Draco left, Lavender was nearly beside herself chatting (much too loudly for Hermione)
about their visitor. “Draco Malfoy! He’s so handsome! He was on the wrong side during the war but
he’s reformed now. Lucky you! He only dates the prettiest girls.”

“Well now I’m certain we’re not on a date then,” Hermione replied icily. She wanted to stop
Lavender before she made fools of both of them. “I gotta run. I’ve got loads to do before
tonight.”

As they were putting their trays away, someone jostled Hermione’s shoulder. “Sorry!” she said
sharply, then looked up into some familiar green eyes. “Potter.”

“Granger,” Harry responded equally curtly. “Sorry. Rather a rush in here.”

“How did your meeting go with Shacklebolt?”

“Well. You may be seeing more of me,” Harry said with a smirk.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he mocked her tone. “You’ll find out soon enough. Good day, Granger.”

“And to you, Potter.”

Hermione was fuming. What was it about him that just set her off? It’s like he knew each of her
buttons and how to push them to cause a reaction in her. Unfortunately, it worked.

***

Dinner with Draco was fun. The man just oozed sex. If he ever left the employment of the
Ministry, he could easily begin again as a gigolo. He knew just what to do to make a witch feel
special. From the light pressure on the small of her back when he led her to the casual yet
comfortable restaurant, to the faint, lingering touches whenever their skin touched, to his way of
looking deep into her eyes, how he would make a witch feel like she was the centre of his world.
*He’s good*, thought Hermione. *He could write a guide on how to pick up witches, no, not
just witches, any heterosexual female or gay male.*

Hermione enjoyed it. She was well aware of her own attractiveness (or lack thereof) and could
avoid falling easily under Draco’s spell. Dating Viktor Krum and the ensuing public outcry that
their Quidditch hero would date such an ordinary looking girl kept Hermione’s ego sharply in check.
She knew that her personality was a great part of any attractiveness quotient for her. Strangers
would not pick her up in a bar, not until they evidenced Hermione’s personality and wit, then she
could see her attractiveness rise in their estimation. But not until then. So, when this incredibly
handsome and charming young wizard who barely knew her asked her on a date and then proceeded to
charm her into telling her life story, she knew something was up.

It was an enjoyable evening, however. They had a lovely simple dinner of hearty stew and good
rustic bread at a small café not too far, but not too crowded so they could have a small table with
privacy. He laughed at her jokes about her first years at Beauxbatons and learning the French way
of everything. It was not until pudding did he begin to tell her things.

He started innocuous enough. Casually mentioning he was surprised that someone like Harry Potter
could be curt with *her*. *Him*, he could understand. He was well aware, because as a
reformed Death Eater he expected some discrimination, even from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.
But Hermione, whatever could be amiss? She admitted she had no idea why Potter publicly snubbed her
that Friday.

“It was all so peculiar. I just said my name and held out my hand and he slighted me. Then again
when Ron Weasley suggested we dance he danced with Padma instead. I have no idea why he’d be so
rude. He seemed so angry, too.”

Draco appeared to be considering her words carefully, looking for clues. “He knew nothing about
you prior to the meeting?”

“No, I really doubt it. I mean, unless he’s really good friends with Luna, or Parvati or
Lavender. They’re my closest Hogwarts friends, my housemates. Unless Shacklebolt said something,
but I seriously doubt it, and I’m fairly confident that it would have been complementary. I haven’t
made any enemies, except maybe Harry.”

“How about someone who’s jealous of you? I know you’re the stronger sex, but I’ve also noticed
that girls can sabotage each other if there’s a man involved.”

Hermione laughed. “Gods, no! I’ve been living the life of a nun since I arrived!” She noticed
Draco arch his eyebrows on that bit of information. “No, I know what you’re talking about, but I’ve
been pretty cloistered. No scandals in France either, unless dating Viktor Krum is an issue, that’s
my only claim to fame and ended a while ago. Quite old news.”

“How about, no, it can’t be. I wouldn’t believe it. Yet, possibly …”

“For God’s sake, just tell me so I can say ‘no, that’s ridiculous’ and we can move on to the
next idea.”

“Maybe, I sincerely doubt it, but maybe Harry was upset because you’re Muggle-born.”

Pause.

“You’ve got to be kidding. How could he even tell that I’m not a pureblood?

Draco reached across the table and pulled a strand of Hermione’s chestnut hair.

“Bushy hair?”

“Purebloods are taught to notice such things. I should know. I’m sorry to admit, but that’s how
I was raised. I was one of the worst.”

“But didn’t part of Potter saving the Wizarding World involve fighting the forces that wanted to
eradicate Muggles and Muggle-born?”

“Yes, but that role was kind of thrust on him, wasn’t it? I heard he was nearly Sorted into
Slytherin. Maybe he has latent pureblood type tendencies …”

“But he’s a half-blood himself, isn’t he?”

“But that’s it. Those Muggles who raised him were dire. Simply horrible horrible people. Maybe
he has a concealed resentment of all Muggles after suffering at their hands for nearly half his
life.”

Hermione paused. It might make sense. She had read that he was beaten and bullied by Muggles
until Hogwarts. So he gets thrust into the role of Voldemort’s slayer, but really he has hidden
sympathies? Crazy, but it would explain his bizarre reaction to meeting her.

She then remembered how he didn’t defend her presentation to Shacklebolt that morning. He didn’t
say he supported her, and even joked about house-elves getting clothes. Maybe he thinks magical
beings need to stay in their place?

She shook her head. “Crazy. It’s a crazy idea.”

“Can you think of any other one?” Draco was holding her hand at this point and leaning towards
her. His lips were close enough for her to kiss …

*Snap out of it!*

Hermione moved back into her chair, sitting upright, and dabbed her napkin to her lips. “Well,
this gives me something to think about.”

Draco knew when he pressed too far. He also leaned back, his movements reflecting hers. “You’ve
got a bit of something right here.” He moved his finger to a nonexistent spot on her bottom
lip.

“Where?”

“Right here, I’ll just …” He moved his thumb across her bottom lip. She shivered, all talk about
Harry being a Muggle hater forgotten.

“Oh. Uh, all gone?”

His grey eyes seemed darker. “Yes.”

They planned to meet Saturday night for dinner as well.

***

“I’m not sure how I feel about Draco Malfoy, Hermione. I know he’s changed, I know he turned
witness against his father and the other Death Eaters. But still … something just doesn’t sit
right.”

Hermione and Luna were lying on the sofa in their home. Luna prepared a comfortable meal and
Hermione had just tidied up the dishes with a few flicks of her wand.

“Luna, you’re just upset that I can’t go out with you and Ron Saturday. We can meet Sunday
instead; it’s not that big a deal. And I’m not going to run off with Draco or anything! We’re just
going out this one time.”

Luna frowned. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

“Luna, I’m having fun. I’m keeping my eyes wide open with Draco. Something about him seems
fishy. Not fishy like a Rambling Echofish, but fishy as in fishy.”

“Yes, I understand. How about we do something on Sunday then?

“Sunday’s dinner at the Burrow with Ron’s family. Hey! Why don’t you come? Ginny and Harry will
be there! And Bill and Fleur.”

“Fleur! I forgot she married a Weasley. Would love to see her. She was two years ahead of me at
Beauxbatons. She was our champion. She was always kind to me.”

“It’s decided then. Molly—that’s Mrs Weasley, Ron’s mom, Mrs Weasley, not Fleur Weasley or
George’s wife or Percy’s wife, Mrs Weasley—Molly makes a wonderful meal. You’ll see Fleur again and
meet some more people. They’ll love you.”

The friends sat in companionable silence, Luna wondering for a moment if Hermione could be so
wrong about people, then chasing that thought away with the image of a handsome Quidditch-strong
man with red hair and freckles.

***

*A/N: Next chapter: Sunday at the Burrow.*

*Please read and review!!*

*BTW, I found a wonderful modern Pride & Prejudice fanfic over at fanfiction.net called
“Sometimes we can’t make it on our own” by dontstealmyvitaminies. Elizabeth is in a popular rock
band and Darcy is an enigmatic musician. I haven’t had a chance to finish it, but really enjoyed it
so far. Recommended.*

*http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4534118/1/Sometimes_you_cant_make_it_on_your_own*



6. 6
----

Magic and Misperceptions Chapter Six: At the Burrow

By addisonj

Beta: DeeMichelle

*(A/N: ‘Accomplished ladies’ discourse found in Chapt 8 of Pride and Prejudice, and ‘Don’t
laugh at Darcy’ from Chapt 11.)*

Disclaimer: : The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.

*****

“Mrs. Weasley, can I help you with the potatoes?”

“No, Hermione dear, why don’t you enjoy the outdoors. Clary will help in here.”

Clary, the Weasley house-elf, was a recent addition to the family. With the riches from
conquering Voldemort and the profits from the joke shop, the Weasley family had moved up in the
world. No more hand-me-downs; they now had—in addition to a house-elf—major renovations to the
Burrow. It was no longer rickety; it was still eclectic, but no longer dilapidated. New furniture,
clothing, and furnishings were apparent throughout the home. Evidence of Ron’s travels in Asia was
unmistakable in new Chinese vases and silken cushions.

“I’ll go see Fleur and Victoire,” Hermione said as she exited the kitchen. She found her fellow
old Beauxbatons student in the back garden enjoying the sunshine with a beautiful four year old
daughter bouncing in her pregnant lap, mother and daughter with matching white blond hair, blue
eyes, but daughter with the Weasley freckles.

“*Bonjour,* *mon amie et ma petite*!” Hermione called and sat down beside her on the
bench.

Fleur returned with a dazzling smile. “My dear! I am so glad you are here in England with me! We
must see each other often! Why didn’t you owl me sooner? I must find out from Ron that you are
here! He has no idea we are friends!” Fleur answered in French.

“It’s all my fault, but if you forgive me, I will make it up to you,” Hermione responded in
French as well. “We must make sure I don’t forget my French. And I must spend time with *Mlle
Victoire*, and the next,” Hermione nodded towards Fleur’s rounded belly, acknowledging the child
that was due in several months. “I can help when the next baby comes as well.”

“You’re a dear! Molly already has dibs on her grandchild of course, but her French is not equal
to yours.”

“Fleur, her job is not to be a French tutor to your children but to spoil them as only a
grandmother can. Speaking of, when is Angelina due?” Hermione nodded outdoors to where George and
his wife were playing Quidditch. “She doesn’t look or act like she’s expecting at all.”

Fleur cast her eyes towards the Quidditch pitch and nodded. “She’s quite a girl, Angelina. I
think she will be flying her broom until the baby pops out! What an athlete!”

“She seems to make George quite happy.”

Fleur smiled. “Yes, she does,” Fleur glanced about to see if they could be overhead, and lowered
her voice. “You know about Fred?”

Hermione lowered her head and nodded. She knew the story, and noticed that Fred’s clock in the
kitchen was pointed towards “Heaven”.

“Everyone knows that Angelina did not marry George to replace Fred. But, there is love there,
can you not see it?”

Hermione thought of the affectionate glances between the two, the warm flush that spread over
George’s features when he glanced at his wife’s face, then at her flat stomach, as if imagining the
future baby Weasley currently residing therein. When they were seated on the sofa, his hand stayed
pressed against her belly, with Angelina’s hand over it.

“Yes, I see it.”

“And I notice how Ron looks at Miss Lovegood. There is love in his eyes,” Fleur commented.
Hermione smiled broadly.

“Yes, isn’t it? I’m so happy for her. Aside from you and Padma of course, Luna is my dearest
friend. I can’t believe when she told me how much she was teased at school! She is someone who
certainly deserves happiness.”

“And I understand our Ronald Weasley was one of the ones who teased her the most.”

Hermione was shocked. “No! Ron? He’s absolutely smitten with her now.” Her brow suddenly
furrowed in thought. “Do you think his attentions to her now are some sort of act of contrition? Do
you think he even knows himself?”

“Hermione, you’re a smart witch. Is he acting like he’s doing this out of good will?”

Hermione laughed and shook her head as she plaited Victoire’s hair. “No, you’re right.”

Fleur looked out at the young couple, seated on a blanket under a tree by the orchard. “We got
married here, Bill and I, the day the Ministry fell to Voldemort. What a day!”

“Well, that makes it easy to remember for anniversaries,” Hermione commented wryly. Fleur
laughed.

“Yes! Well, I look at those two and I think of Bill and me. He wore his heart on his sleeve as
well, and I played close to the vest, too. I could not believe I was falling for Bill Weasley!”

“Bill is quite handsome and accomplished. Wait—what did you say about ‘keeping close to the
vest’? What do you mean by that?”

“I’m only saying that I hid my feelings, too, as Luna is doing.”

Hermione frowned in irritation. She did not realise that she was pulling Victoire’s hair a bit
too tightly until a small cry came for the girl. Hermione, genuinely upset, patted the little
girl’s hair and apologised profusely in French, lowering her head to the girl’s eye level to make
the apology as sincere as possible. She noticed Fleur’s persistent gaze.

“Sorry! It’s just that you’re the second person to say that. I don’t understand. I think it’s
obvious that Luna cares for him.”

“Oh she cares for him. She cares for me and you and Molly as well. Caring and loving are
different.”

“Should she be all fluttery like our housemates Lavender and Parvati then? And fall in and out
of love at a moment’s notice? Is that preferable?”

Fleur reacted to the defensive tone of her friend. “*Mon amie*, don’t be upset. I’m sure
Ron knows that Luna cares deeply for him. That’s what matters. And we can see it as well, for what
it’s worth. Now, Harry, he likes to think he keeps his feelings hidden as well. But I can read him,
too. What? Why do you make that face?”

“What face?”

“Your eyebrows! Your eyes! You rolled your eyes! What are you hiding Hermione? Has he already
proposed to you?”

“What!” Hermione exclaimed so loudly that Fleur quickly did a silencing charm around them. “What
do you mean?” Hermione continued in a quieter tone. “Believe me, I’m the last person he would ever
propose to.” And she proceeded to tell Fleur about Harry’s insult at the Puddlemere United gala, as
well as at the pub, then his actions at the Ministry. Fleur just smiled which continued to irritate
Hermione.

“Now don’t be ridiculous and tell me that boys who like girls tend to tease them and pull their
pigtails. He actually doesn’t like me. At all. And I have no idea why. Other than I’m not ‘handsome
enough to tempt him’,” Hermione mimicked Harry’s low tone.

“Silly girl! You’re pretty enough.” (Hermione realised that was a compliment coming from Fleur
who was quite honest, and part-Veela).

“Isn’t he dating Ginny, though? She seems more his sort.”

“They dated in the past. I don’t know what happened.” Fleur moved her hands in a Gallic gesture
to indicate I-don’t-know. “Molly would like nothing more than for Harry to officially be part of
the family. I’m sure Ginny would like that as well. More than anything.”

“Well, she’s welcome to have him. Say, why are you even joking about him proposing? Is it
because it’s so obvious he feels totally the opposite towards me?”

“Opposite? No, not at all. I told you I can read Harry better than Harry can.” Even though there
was a silencing charm, Fleur glanced around, then covered Victoire’s ears. “He looks at you,” she
whispered. “When you’re not looking, he looks at you.”

“Oh! With a look of absolute disgust?”

“No! Hermione, your insecurity is insufferable! No, the look of a man towards a woman. He sees
you as a *woman,* Hermione. A *desirable* woman.”

Warmth spread over Hermione’s cheeks as Fleur’s direct gaze left no other interpretation to her
words. *Bloody hell!*

Hermione switched to German. She didn’t want Victoire to repeat anything that was being
said.

“I’m sure you are wrong.” Hermione said in German.

Fleur noticed the language change and Hermione glancing between the little girl and herself.

“Do you wish me to be wrong?”

What Hermione wished was that her friends were not so clever. She didn’t say that out loud. “I
wish that Luna and Ron find happiness together,” she said very carefully in English and she removed
the hands from covering Victoire’s ears.

Fleur smiled cunningly. “Have it your way,” she said in English. “But I’m never wrong.”

Just then, Ginny came bounding over to the young women. Her red hair was blowing in the breeze,
and a thin sheen of perspiration covered her skin. She looked amazing. The Quidditch uniform
perfectly fit her athletic form and she seemed to know it.

“Come join us!” The redhead smiled in their general direction, but looked at Hermione
specifically. “You do know how to play Quidditch, don’t you?” Her tone was slightly sarcastic, a
characteristic not lost on the Frenchwomen.

“You know I cannot play in my condition, Ginny,” Fleur answered in a slightly proud and
condescending tone. Hermione felt even more close to her friend at that moment.

“Hermione! Please!” Ginny gave her a smile that did not reach her eyes.

“Oh, I know how to play. I prefer to watch,” Hermione responded with a matching smile.

“What Hermione isn’t saying is that she’s afraid to fly,” Luna volunteered from the orchard, and
then chose to ignore Hermione’s glare.

Ginny laughed in amazement. “Afraid to fly? A witch afraid to fly? Amazing! Harry, did you ever
hear of such of thing!”

Harry swooped in on his broom, demonstrating his own superior flying skills. He saw a very proud
Ginny, an irritated Fleur and a very angry Hermione. He knew it was a delicate situation, but he
couldn’t believe what Ginny had yelled out.

“Afraid to fly? Really?” he said with a smile. Even Ron started to notice and walked over.

“Hermione, Luna never told me that! Really?” Ron asked.

“Yes, and Luna could have easily kept that information to herself. Fleur did,” Hermione grimaced
at the young blonde woman with the radish earrings who appeared oblivious to the angry stare.

“Hermione, it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Luna protested in her defence.

“Really Hermione, it’s not to be ashamed of,” Ginny echoed Luna’s words, but not the tone. Her
tone was said the opposite of her words. Hermione then turned to glare at Ginny.

Harry felt this sudden urge to protect the bushy-haired witch. “If you like, Hermione, I can
teach you …” his voice stopped abruptly as Ginny frowned and Hermione moved her hand in front of
her face, as if physically blocking a distasteful object.

“No, everyone’s tried. I have a fear of heights. Unless I can fly blindfolded, it’s not going to
happen,” Hermione answered, attempting to hide the irritation in her voice.

“Surely there’s a spell to cure that,” Ron tried to suggest helpfully.

“Hermione’s so smart, if there was a spell that worked, she would have found it,” Fleur replied
for her friend. “Don’t worry. We all tried at Beauxbatons. I would dare an Old Hogwartian to
accomplish what we could not at Beauxbatons.”

“Oh, a challenge?” Bill wandered into the conversation, walking with the masculine grace that
Hermione and Fleur both admired in him. His eyes met Hermione’s with a wise amusement. He liked
Hermione almost as much as his own wife, and he knew his feelings were echoed. Hermione was as
smart as Fleur, but half as beautiful. Still, her intelligence and personality were a winning
combination and he knew that one day she would make a wizard very happy.

Hermione’s angry glares and grimaces vanished when she met Bill’s gaze. She didn’t know him as
well as she’d like, but she knew how Fleur felt about him, and how well suited they were. Fleur had
very high standards and Bill managed to meet them all, scars and all. She had had some wonderful
conversations with him about some curse breaking he had done for Gringotts in Egypt, and they had
quite a heated discussion about the last Goblin Wars. He was someone whom she would allow into her
inner circle.

“Bill, you might be the only person I’d allow to teach me. You wouldn’t prank me—” Hermione
looked specifically at George who was now joining the conversation with Angelina, “—nor would you
make me feel the fool.” Now her eyes glanced quite quickly at Ginny and Harry, then glanced back to
Bill’s twinkling eyes quicker than most anyone noticed.

Harry noticed, and he felt anger well in his gut. He was trying to defend Hermione, but then he
had seen her eyes brighten when Bill approached, and her eyes darken just then when looking at
Ginny and him. *She actually assumed I would insult her**!* Harry thought angrily.

“Now let’s not tease Hermione,” Bill started, seeing the need to ease her anxiety, “She can’t be
proficient in all things.”

“What, her many accomplishments do not include flying?” Ginny asked.

“Her accomplishments include being the brightest witch of her age. Athleticism is not included
there,” Bill joked.

“Now if we took Angelina and Ginny’s athleticism, and paired with Hermione’s brains, we’d have a
woman of accomplishments,” George spoke. The women smirked.

“We’d have Fleur Weasley,” Bill replied. There was a loud smack as Bill kissed his wife full on
the mouth.

“No, you’re missing something crucial in this formula,” Hermione added. “Even without a tutorial
I can deduce that you’re missing the most important element of an accomplished woman.”

“And what would that be?” Harry took the bait.

Hermione smiled at her best friend. “The heart and soul of Luna Lovegood is missing. You can’t
be a true paradigm of femininity—or woman of accomplishments, as you say—with brains and brawn
alone. Love and compassion is necessary.”

“Supper!” Molly called from the kitchen, and the group headed in that direction.

As Hermione was about to follow Fleur and Bill inside, Harry grabbed her lightly by the wrist,
noting that she nearly grabbed her wand as he did so.

“Hermione,” Harry said, “if you ever want to learn to fly, I’d be happy to teach you. I assure
you I’m a good teacher and I promise I won’t prank you.”

Hermione looked at her adversary. She could actually feel the intensity of genuine emotion
flowing through the young man.

“Harry, I actually don’t mind not flying. I enjoy watching you all fly, well, you especially.
You look glorious, like a falcon. It’s rather thrilling.” Hermione suddenly blushed and ducked her
head, thinking she had said too much. But Harry looked thrilled.

“Thanks. It really is one of my most favourite things to do in the world. I just feel so
limitless there. It’s just me and the sky, the wind and a broom. I have so much freedom, I can go
anywhere. Up, down, sideways, here, there, and back again. It’s bloody brilliant!”

“I can feel your enthusiasm, but it’s precisely that … you have just yourself, a broom and the
sky which frighten me, because there’s nothing to stop you from crashing down off the broom through
the sky to the hard hard ground.”

Harry chuckled. “I promise you. One day we will go up and you will enjoy it.”

“Hmm, that sounds more like a demand than a promise.” Hermione was surprised to suddenly hear
the husky tone of her voice. Harry’s arched eyebrow indicated his own reaction.

“Perhaps it could be both.”

Harry was now standing directly before Hermione, close enough to count the freckles on her
nose.

She thought she heard him whisper her name. She thought his nose was suddenly slowly moving
towards her own, angling slightly to accommodate hers. She thought she stopped breathing; his scent
was already filling her nose. She knew that somewhere in the distance, Ron shouted, “Come along,
you two, or there will be nothing left for you to eat!”

Moment broken, if there was one. She blinked, returning to real life. She suddenly realised
where she was and whom she was with. “I—, we—“”

“Yes, let’s,” Harry stuttered as well.

“Right. Well.”

“Quite. Uh, yes. Um, after you.” He motioned for her to enter the house before him.

“Oh, um, thanks. Right.”

“Yes, right. Well.”

“Merlin’s beard, Harry! Did you just have a lobotomy?” George asked from the dining room
table.

“No.”

“No!”

“Well, this looks lovely. May I?” Hermione found an empty chair between George and Ginny. Ginny
frowned briefly; and Hermione suddenly realised that that chair was saved for Harry, but before she
could say or do anything, Harry took the empty chair across the table next to Fleur. Neither Ginny
nor Mrs Weasley looked pleased.

Hermione suddenly found herself chuckling, then escalating into true giggles. She couldn’t stop.
The reality of what had nearly happened in the garden hit her just then, and she couldn’t stop.

Harry looked puzzled, hurt, and a bit angry.

“You’re not laughing at Harry, are you?” Ginny asked with a hint of bitterness.

“No, but why do you ask?” Hermione responded, dabbing her cloth serviette to her eyes.

“Don’t laugh at Harry!” said Ginny. “Nobody laughs at Harry.”

“Mr Potter is not to be laughed at? I hope that’s not a habit because I love a laugh,” Hermione
responded, forcing an English upper crust accent. No one laughed, but Luna, Ron and George had a
twinkle in their eyes.

“But wouldn’t you agree*, Granger, that* the best men may be rendered ridiculous by a
person whose goal in life is to joke?” Harry asked bitingly.

Hermione winced. What a change from that near kiss moments before in the doorway! Maybe it was a
dream and this is the real Harry; rude and arrogant?

“Certainly, but I don’t ridicule what’s wise and good. Nonsense, frivolousness, I laugh at
those. But I’m sure you have nothing to worry about then since you’re probably lacking in those
areas?” Hermione raised an eyebrow in query.

“I’m not sure if anyone can be totally lacking in those areas, but I do try to avoid being the
butt of a joke.”

“So what don’t you lack? Vanity and pride?”

The tension was thick. The rest of the room followed the conversation back and forth, like a
tennis volley.

“Vanity is a weakness, but pride is acceptable, if there is reason for it.”

Arms folded, Hermione cocked her head to the side, contemplating the dark haired wizard as her
voice dripped with derision. “Potter, you have no faults. How fortunate for you.”

“No, I know that’s not true. I may have the fault of my temper. I cannot forget and forgive
others if they have acted against me. Once I have a bad opinion of someone, it will not change.
Ever.”

“That really is a fault!” Hermione responded. “You have chosen a fault I cannot laugh at. You,
Mr Potter, are quite safe from my laughter.”

The conversation was ended by Mrs Weasley calling the young people to stop talking and eat
supper. They commenced, and moved on to happier topics.

Harry Potter tried to avoid glancing in her direction. He did not prevail.



*****

*Next Chapter: Jane gets sick, or, Luna at St. Mungo’s*

*Please read and review!*

*A/N: BTW, if you’re interested in modern P&P fanfics, I found one of my favourites; this
one I did read all the way through and can recommend it in its entirety: “You, Me and the
Bourgeoisie” by orchardvines on fanfiction.net. It’s based on that Nic Cage film, ‘The Weatherman’,
where he has a second chance at life, in this case, the single Darcy is suddenly long-married to
Lizzy with kids. Hard to describe but really good.*

*http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5146182/1/*



7. 7
----

Magic and Misperceptions Chapter 7: The Ministry and St Mungo’s

*By addisonj*

*Beta: DeeMichelle!!*

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*(A/N: Ginny’s conversation about Hermione’s attire similar to P&P Chapt 8*.)

*******

Hermione Granger was excited.

She was thrilled. Her presentation to the Department of International Magical Cooperation was
flawless. Their reception perfect. They asked pertinent questions, tried to poke holes playing
devils’ advocate, but overall it was like preaching to the choir as Muggles would say. It helped
that Shacklebolt introduced her and said that the topic was timely and an indication of the vision
and mission of the new Ministry of Magic under his watch. It also helped that the French Minister
of Magic, Pierre Lacroix, sent an owl post to Ridley Algonquin, the head of the British Department
of International Magical Cooperation, stating his utmost confidence in Hermione and that the Brits
would get full cooperation from the French, as well as most of the continent (the Bulgarian
Ministry of Magic knew Hermione as The-Girl-Viktor-Krum-Dumped, so there was sympathy vote.)

On that high, Hermione and her boss, Scamander, prepared for a potentially less cooperative
audience, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which encompassed not only the Wizengamot, but
Aurors. The emphasis in this presentation would be changing wizarding laws to have more civil
rights for magical beings and then enforcing them.

The meeting began inauspiciously enough. Scamander, Hermione, and Amos Diggory attended,
assuming that more the merrier, representing a unified front from the Department of Magical
Creatures Regulation and Enforcement. Scamander and Diggory were ecstatic, they had never presented
to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement before (Hermione had noted what was obvious even to a
non-Ministry employee—the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was on top of the pecking order of
the Ministry at large. In France, it was the International Magical Cooperation, but in Britain it
was Law Enforcement. And within Law Enforcement, the Aurors were the stars. Which department was on
the bottom? Magical Creatures with the Centaur Liaison bureau dead last.)

That in mind, Hermione suggested that Scamander have some casual meetings with key players in
the Law Enforcement department, just to feel them out and see if there were concerns that could be
addressed prior to the meeting. She even kept a good luck charm that Luna pressed into her hand
that morning.

“Here, Hermione, take this. It’s a Wilding Hornfoot,” Luna said at breakfast, handing to
Hermione a small medallion.

“It’s lovely, Luna. Is it a charm?” asked Hermione.

“In a way. It’s for good luck. My mother did research on it while she was at Hogwarts.”

“Oh thank you, Luna! I absolutely need it today! My stomach is all aflutter as well!” Hermione
gave her dear friend a hug. “Wish me luck! Fingers crossed!”

“I don’t understand these Muggle terms, but yes, what you said.”

Hermione was headed out the door when her other flat mates, Lavender and Parvati, were headed
into the breakfast nook.

“Late night?” Hermione asked, noting the darkened circles under their eyes; eyes that winced as
the morning sun touched their faces.

“Ugh,” was the reply from each while blindly groping for the coffee maker. With an ounce of
sympathy, Hermione poured her friends mugs of coffee. Lavender sat at the table with her head in
her hands, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like “Never again” while Parvati seemed to
be having difficulty moving her spoon from the sugar bowl to the coffee mug. Hermione did a quick
spell to clean up the spilt sugar and direct the spoon to its correct position.

“Thanks, Her’,” mumbled Parvati.

“Let me guess. Does this have anything to do with Quidditch players?” teased Hermione.

Groans ensued.

“I thought you were our friend. Go away! Leave us to die in peace,” wailed Lavender.

Hermione waved her wand and some Hangover Potion floated out of the cupboard and landed in front
of the two ill girls. Parvati, spoon now cooperating, was having difficulty opening the Hangover
Potion bottle now. Hermione shook her head and did a quick wandless magic to loosen the top. She
then moved to the table and gave each of them a light kiss on the head.

“I’m off, girls. Big meeting. If it goes well, let’s go to Seamus’ to celebrate!” smiled
Hermione, forcing more enthusiasm than warranted. The effect was instantaneous and the ill girls
groaned and waved her away.

“Never again! Never again! Didn’t you hear me? I won’t be mixing alcohols again!”

Hermione and Luna exchanged glances as the blonde witch moved to help the girls.

“Of course not. Let me help you with that. Good luck, Hermione. We’ll find some way to celebrate
if all goes well today. When I was young, we’d go out for ice cream,” Luna said as she added more
sugar to the outstretched mugs.

***

Back at the Ministry, Hermione was focused on the upcoming meeting, the desired outcome, and
reviewing any possible objections, with practiced rebuttals. The Head of Law Enforcement, Lionel
Montgomery, sat down with the heads of each of his departments. The overall impression he projected
was a combination of boredom, ennui, and impatience. Hermione knew she had only seconds to grab
their attention and hold on to it. She cleared her throat just as a group of young people in Auror
robes came by, two of them stopping at the conference room.

“Hello, Montgomery. Is this the right place then?” Ronald Weasley asked. Just then he noticed
his friend standing in the front of the room, looking puzzled. “Hiya, Hermione, you’re here, too?
How’s Luna, by the way?”

“She’s just fine, Ron. You’re here for the Magical Beings presentation, then?” she asked,
working to retain her poise and sound both confident and professional.

“I guess. Montgomery, why are we here? Hello, Scamander. Hey, Diggory.” Nods and greetings
circled around the table.

Hermione fought to keep her composure, especially when a second Auror entered the room. One with
messy black hair and round spectacles.

Since the slight at the Puddlemere United gala, Hermione avoided really looking at Harry Potter.
She just focused on her feelings of anger and disappointment at his very public snub of her. But
here, in his well-fitting Auror robes, she really noticed him: his flat stomach, firm chest,
muscular arms, strong jaw, and his eyes, powerful and bright, echoes of green jade surrounded by
thick dark lashes.

Hermione tried to suppress a sigh. Since Viktor and Laurent, she was a sucker for dark hair,
pale skin and strong features on a man. “*Not handsome enough to tempt me,”* Hermione forced
herself to remember the slight and his lack of seriousness when Shacklebolt brought him into their
meeting weeks before. Forcing herself to forget what he might look in boxers …

“Harry, Ron, have a seat. I think this may be in your jurisdiction,” Montgomery spoke,
indicating that the two Aurors sit by him.

“Magical creatures?” Ron whined. “I’m not babysitting zoo animals.”

“It’s magical beings, Ron,” Harry informed his friend. “But I agree with Ron, how does this
affect our work capturing Dark Wizards?” he addressed his question not to Hermione, but Montgomery,
who answered before Hermione could respond.

“These creatures could be our secret weapons in the fight against the Dark forces. Think of it,
lads. Dark Wizards see non-humans as dirt. Totally underestimate them. They’re an untapped
resource, as we saw at the Battle of Hogwarts five years ago. With Miss Granger’s proposal, we can
make inroads in these communities and unite to defeat the darkness, to ensure it shall never rise
again.”

Hermione felt a rush of gratitude towards the minister. *He got it.* He understood, from
his own angle of course, but he understood the importance of this work. She looked to see if his
star Aurors got it as well.

Harry’s eyes moved from Montgomery to hers and stayed fixed on hers. Hermione felt her gut suck
in. His eyes were so severe, so serious, so intense. She swallowed, but stared right back, almost
daring him to disagree. But he did not. He *got it*, too.

The meeting went fairly well from then on. Magical Law Enforcement members were known for their
arrogance. It was a different atmosphere than the Department of Magical Creatures which felt more
like a family reunion of pleasant future-retirees. By contrast, Magical Law Enforcement felt like a
gathering of former Quidditch players (many were) who thrived on competition. The contrast could
not be starker, and Hermione played to the strengths of her audience by barely mentioning her
current department, and grabbing on to Montgomery’s theme of how her work could assist them in ways
prejudiced Death Eaters would never understand.It was a tough room, but Hermione felt she made
inroads.

Through her presentation, Hermione noticed the actions or inactions of the two infamous Aurors.
Ron was as expected, loose, distracted, but would perk up in key points. Otherwise, he just
swivelled in his chair and doodled on his parchment.

Harry was a complete contrast to Ron. He sat quite alert with his usual scowl, yet Hermione knew
she was getting through to him when his scowl was less deep than usual. He did glare at her
throughout the entire meeting, even when Scamander was speaking or when others asked questions.
Hermione was ready to slip Scamander a note asking if she had spinach in her teeth or a smudge on
her cheek but then Harry did seem to start noticing that there were also non-Hermiones present at
the meeting, to her imminent relief.

“That went well!” Scamander exclaimed after the last of the Magical Enforcement team exited the
room, Montgomery pausing to shake hands and say “We’ll be in touch. Let’s have lunch, Scamander” to
Scamander’s glee (“I’ve never had lunch with Montgomery before!”). His enthusiasm made Hermione
almost forget a small incident that happened as Harry exited.

Upon leaving, Ron had simply said, “See ya, Hermione” and waved in passing, whereas Harry paused
in front of her, met her eyes and mumbled “Good job, Granger” so quietly that Hermione had thought
for a moment that she dreamt the entire exchange.

***

The owl tapped on her window, disturbing Hermione’s research. She was sitting on her bed in a
rare quiet house. The party girls, forgetting the “Never agains” of the prior day, were out
collecting badges from whatever Quidditch team was in town; they were looking forward to the World
Cup to see if they could collect from teams all over the world. (Hermione wondered if they wanted
to collect something else from Quidditch teams from all over the world, but she held her.)

It was a stranger owl who readily accepted her owl treats but did not wait for a response. She
unrolled the parchment, read the messy script and gasped.

*Hermione-*

*Luna at St Mungo’s.* *Come immediately.*

*-Ron*

Focusing only on the note, she grabbed her ever-ready book bag, scribbled a quick note to her
housemates so they knew what was happening, and ran to the fireplace to Floo to St Mungo’s.

St Mungo’s lacked the antiseptic smells of a Muggle hospital but had its own scents of various
potions. Hermione preferred the dusty smells of libraries, but she had no choice, her best friend
was ill and Ron’s damned curt note gave her no other information. Hermione craved information.

“Luna Lovegood. Where is she?” Hermione did not bother with pleasantries upon approaching the
lobby desk. The witch at reception boldly looked at Hermione up and down, making note of the
pyjamas, fuzzy slippers, and random quills in the messy bun on her head, stopping briefly at the
ink smudge running along her nose.

The witch looked at a clipboard and responded in a curt tone. “Third floor, room twelve.”

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I’m afraid you’ll have to ask her Healer. The lift is on the first right.”

With those words, Hermione was dismissed, but that was inconsequential, because she was already
rushing down the hall, jumping into the lift just as the doors closed, saying “Sorry! Excuse me!”
to the surprised occupants. Needless to say, she was the first off the lift when the doors opened
on three, sprinting as fast as her fuzzy slippers could take her.

Those fuzzy slippers were not the first things Harry Potter noticed about the witch who rushed
into Luna’s hospital room. It wasn’t the quills in the hair or the smudge on her nose. It was the
look of unchecked anxiety on her face.

“Where is she? How is she? Oh, Luna!” Hermione raced to the bedside where the thin blonde witch
lay motionless. She held her best friend’s hand and then wiped the tears that were staining her own
cheeks. She did a quick check of Luna’s condition, checking for pulse, seeming to measure it,
feeling her forehead, looking into her eyes, testing reflexes. Harry noted that the Healer did
similar tests on the patient earlier.

Once the cursory check was done, the witch looked up and only then seemed to notice the others
in the room. “What happened?” The direct question echoed the fear in her eyes.

Ron moved from his spot on the other side of Luna’s bed to stand by Hermione. His voice was just
above a whisper. “I don’t understand it. We were just sharing a glass of port when she took a sip
and collapsed.”

“Was she the only one to drink from the bottle?”

“Yes, she had the first sip. No one else had any after Luna fell.”

“Do you still have the bottle?”

“Of course. Harry took it to the Ministry to be tested. We think it was poisoned.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she appeared to struggle to maintain her composure. “How? Why?
Who?”

As Hermione retained her balance, Ron was beginning to lose his, realising that his actions
nearly cost the life of his love. Noticing Ron’s sudden muteness, Harry moved from his spot in the
shadows of the far corner of the room and put an arm around his friend, taking over answering their
interrogator.

“Ron told me it was a gift from after the War. He doesn’t recall who sent it or when. We got
lots of gifts back then. I just put mine in storage, Ron kept his at home.”

“Are they running tests to trace the poison, the type of poison, the person who sent it?”

“The Ministry is working on it, but it’s probably a dead lead. Ron thinks he got it at least
seven years ago,” Harry replied.

Hermione swore under her breath and sat down in the chair beside Luna’s bed. She was unaware
that she kept rubbing Luna’s hand; she was in deep thought, mouthing words to herself. Harry heard
the names of some poisons and their antidotes under her breath. She finally looked up. “Is there a
diagnosis yet? What do they know so far?”

“The port is still being tested now. Luna will recover, but it may be a few days until they can
isolate the poison. But it is expected that she’ll be fully recovered.”

Hermione let out a breath. “Good.”

She looked around the room and noticed something missing.

“Where’s Xenophilius? Where’s Mr. Lovegood?”

“You just missed him. He went to talk to the Healer. He should be right back.”

True to his word, an elderly, white haired man appeared in the room, his face smiling only upon
the sight of Hermione. He moved quickly to her side. Only then did Hermione let go of Luna’s hand
to hug her friend’s father, the man who served as a surrogate father to her while in England.

“Hermione! You’re here!” he exclaimed through tears as they hugged each other tight.

“Of course I’m here. Where else would I be? We must be strong for Luna,” she responded into his
shoulder. The man was frail and Hermione tightened her grip, as if he might fall to the floor
should she let go.

“Hermione, it’s been horrible! I’m so glad you’re here!” he cried into her hair.

She patted his back. “There is nowhere else I would ever be.”

Mr. Lovegood, perhaps in reaction to a quill about to poke his eye, ended the hug by stepping
back and holding Hermione at arm’s length, then looking her up and down like a father evaluating
his child’s wardrobe. “Hermione, by the gods! Have you seen yourself?” Strong words from a man
whose daughter often wore bottle cap necklace and radish earrings.

Hermione looked confused, then looked down at her clothing. She blushed slightly, which Harry
found endearing.

“Oh dear,” she smiled, eyes lowered as she lightly chewed her thumbnail. “I didn’t think.”

Ginny Weasley walked in at that moment carrying a tray of teas. She looked impeccable in a green
cashmere jumper and skinny jeans with black boots, her face perfectly made up and not a hair out of
place.

“Are those garden gnomes on your pyjama trousers?” she asked Hermione, not bothering with
introductions.

“Uh yes—”

“And a Puddlemere United sweatshirt?” she continued.

“I know, the colours don’t match, but it’s warm.”

“And the slippers?”

“Oh, they don’t match either, do they? My mum bought them. They’re ever so warm.”

“What, no bunny slippers, Granger?” Harry entered the conversation with a smirk. Ron gave him a
light shoulder punch in response.

“Ron, you don’t need to defend my honour. I didn’t think when I got the owl post. I openly
acknowledge that I wear mismatched clothing to bed and fuzzy slippers on my feet. You’re welcome to
put it in the *Daily Prophet*, but please don’t. I do have a position at the Ministry that
requires at least a soupçon of respect.”

Harry noticed Ginny’s eyes narrow, then return to its natural size. It happened in a split
second, but he was a trained Auror, he knew recognizing these subtle clues helped with both friends
and foes.

Glancing quickly at Hermione, he saw that she noticed as well, as a very subtle upturn of her
lips started, then quickly retreated.

Hermione suddenly looked at him and their eyes met. She quickly looked away.

“I should clean up a bit … could someone let me know if Luna wakens? I’ll just head for the
ladies’ …”

“It’s the second door on the left,” Ginny answered the unanswered question.

“Right, thanks.” Hermione suddenly seemed tired. She looked up at Mr. Lovegood and gave a small
smile as she pressed his hand. “I’ll be right back. I must look a sight.”

“We’ll be here waiting for you.”

As soon as she confirmed that Hermione was outside of hearing distance, Ginny said, “Well! What
a sight she was! Did you ever see someone appear in public in their pyjamas? With fuzzy slippers?
And her hair! It’s always been a bit wild, but I’ve never seen it so out of control! I would think
she would plait it at night at least to tame it down. And her face, not a speck of makeup! And Floo
powder on her dressing gown six inches deep!”

“I thought Hermione looked remarkably well,” Ron observed. “I didn’t notice the Floo powder on
her dressing gown.”

“I’m sure you did, Harry,” Ginny replied slyly. “She has an indifference to decorum.”

“It shows affection for her friend which is endearing,” Ron further defended her.

Not getting the desired results, Ginny went in for the kill. “I would think that it would reduce
your affection for her ‘fine eyes’, Harry.”

“On the contrary. They were brightened in her anxiety for her friend.”

That silenced Ginny.

When Hermione returned from the restroom, the tension in the room was palatable. “How’s Luna?
Any change?” she asked.

“No change yet. Why don’t you go home, Hermione? We can owl you when Luna wakes up,” Mr.
Lovegood replied.

Hermione smiled and shook her head, motioning to her attire. “I’m already dressed for bed. I can
just curl up here.” She patted her book bag. “I brought some reading as well. You’re welcome to go,
I’ll be fine. I’ve already owled the Ministry not to expect me tomorrow.” She then Transformed one
of the stiff chairs into a comfy lounge and sat down, pulling out a book. The others took their
places, Ron and Mr. Lovegood to either side of Luna by her bedside, while Harry and Ginny spoke
quietly in the corner.

Ginny brushed her hair out of her face and leaned into Harry as she sipped her tea. “I don’t
think there’s much we can do here. If my brother wants to embarrass himself going gooey for a girl
who’s not interested in him, then he doesn’t need an audience.”

“You don’t think it’s a mutual attraction either?”

“No, not at all. Luna is sweet, but she seems to treat everyone the same way. No, I take that
back. It’s obvious pyjama-girl over there and Luna are best friends, and it’s obvious she loves her
father, but other than that, I think she treats humans the same way she treats her imaginary
creatures.”

“Equal levels of caring?”

“Exactly.”

Harry pondered this for a bit. “Not sure if I told you, but we had a similar situation in Asia.
I had to get Ron out before he was ready to propose to some girl we knew nothing about. I think she
just wanted to be Mrs. Ronald Weasley of the Golden Duo. Ron isn’t very good at weeding out the
hangers-on.”

Ginny almost did a delicate snort in agreement. “I’m not surprised. Probably all over Asia,
several times in China alone, that country is so bloody huge. Mum clamouring for more grandchildren
is not helping the situation either.”

Harry smiled, knowing Molly’s tendencies. “Luckily Fleur and Angelina are helping on that front.
She’s not pressuring you, is she?” he joked.

Ginny’s eyes turned serious as she looked Harry in the eye. “Would it matter to you if she did?”
she asked softly.

Harry gulped, realising he was on tender ground. He needed to change the topic quickly.

“Uh, how about you go and I’ll just stay for a bit. I had nothing else scheduled and I’d like to
see how Luna reacts to Ron when she wakes up.”

Ginny looked a bit downcast but not surprised that Harry changed the topic. “Yes, all right.”
She pulled on her cloak and walked over to her brother, who was still sitting on the edge of his
chair, holding Luna’s hand and wiping her brow. She gave him a quick kiss on the head.

“I’m headed off, Ronniekins. Floo or owl me when you hear anything.”

Ron turned to her, his eyes rimming with tears, and gave her a quick hug. “Thanks, Ginny. I
really appreciate your being here.”

Ginny’s eyes closed for a moment, anxious to hide her true feelings on the situation. She patted
his back. “Of course,” she said in a choked voice, then her robes swirled and she spun quickly
away, nodding to Harry as she went out the door.

Harry walked over to Ron and put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to get some more tea. Would
you like anything?”

Ron shook his head in reply, but gave Harry a hug as well. “Thanks for being here, mate. She
means the world to me.”

“I see that.” Harry tried to keep his voice flat. He turned to Mr. Lovegood. “Would you like
some tea or coffee, Mr. Lovegood? I’m just going for a walk to the cafeteria.”

Luna’s father gave Harry a grateful look and shook his head. “No, Harry, my boy, I’m fine for
now. I just don’t want to leave Luna’s side. I don’t need coffee to stay awake right now. Maybe
later, Harry. Maybe later.”

Harry remembered that this man was widowed when Luna was only nine, and his heart broke a
little. To lose one’s wife so unexpectedly and so young, with a young daughter to be brave for … He
turned and looked at Hermione.

The bookworm was sitting on the chaise, her feet propped up, scribbling notes on a variety of
books she must have un-shrunk for her much smaller book bag. She was muttering something that
sounded like “no fucking internet”.

*She really is beautiful*. Harry shocked himself with those thoughts. She wasn’t his usual
type. She wasn’t tall and slender. She wasn’t Asian like Cho, or a redhead like Ginny; her hair
wasn’t straight at all. She was a bit short, curvier than his usual athletic or model type, and she
wasn’t fawning over him, which was a *huge* change. Maybe that was her appeal? Actually, he
was a bit surprised she wasn’t fawning over him. Since he overheard her and two of her housemates
saying such ridiculous things about Oliver Wood and other Quidditch players as well as Ron and him,
he had expected Hermione to be finding excuses to talk to him, to stand by him, to touch him. Then
he could cringe, scowl, and move away. That was what he was used to. But to have this …
indifference? She probably forgot he was in the room. She probably forgot anyone was there but
Luna.

Oh Merlin! But how she looked when she flew in here! Her eyes wild, her hair crazier than his
own, covered in Floo powder and not a care in the world other than her friend’s needs. Did he have
anyone who cared for him that much? *Really* cared for him? Other than Ron and maybe
Molly?

He felt a pull in his gut when he realised with a surprising intensity that he wanted *her*
to be that wild, that impetuous about *him*. He imagined himself lying still on the hospital
bed and Hermione racing in with quills in her hair, ink on her nose and fuzzy slippers on her feet.
She would run to his bedside, hold his hand to her chest, and kiss his forehead. Then his eyes
would flutter open, he would wake, and she would move her head closer to his and they would kiss,
tentatively at first, then with growing heat, as she leaned forward until she was beside him in the
bed, and his arms wrapped around her body, and with one swift move, he was on top and entering
her—

Merlin! Where did that come from! He definitely needed to take a walk now, if not take a cold
shower. He shook his head trying to banish the thoughts.

He looked at her again. She really had no idea he was there, standing and staring at her.
Until.

She stopped her frenzied writing and handed him the parchment. “Here. Here’s a list of possible
poisons that would cause this reaction over this period of time. Can you give this to whoever is
investigating this at the Ministry? I’m assuming you’ve already been in contact with him or
her?”

Harry glanced at the page and blinked in amazement at the level of knowledge of poisons
displayed therein. *Blimey! Remind me not to get her angry!* he thought, impressed by her
grasp of the topic. *She’s wasted in Magical Creatures; could be a top researcher for Aurors*,
he thought.

Frowning, she was still staring at him, awaiting a reply.

“Uh, of course,” he said. *Bloody hell, articulate aren’t we?* he thought. He immediately
went for his trademark scowl. She went back to her books. Too quickly, for his liking.

“Uh, coffee?” he asked. *Smooth, Potter,* he thought sarcastically. *Very smooth*.

She looked up, surprised he was still there. “Uh, no, thanks. Thought I might catch a nap.
Coffee won’t help that, will it?” She seemed to realise that she sounded a bit rude, and tried to
soften her prior words. “But, thanks for the offer,” she added in a softer, more feminine voice. He
liked that voice.

Her sudden movements to lie down on her side and prop up a book in her hand reminded him that he
was dismissed.

“Well, I’m off,” he said. Getting no response, he walked out of the room, rubbing his already
messy hair. *Fuck, it’s fourth year all over again and she’s Cho. No, she’s definitely not Cho
and I’m not Cedric. Blimey! Why am I acting this way around* her?

Later, Harry returned with some tea, an assortment of biscuits and some bottles of water in case
the occupants of the room changed their mind about refreshments in the long hours to come. He was
about to announce his entrance when he noticed that Hermione was now lying prone on the chaise,
eyes closed, book closed, snoring softly. Her arms were wrapped tight around herself as if she were
cold. Harry immediately took off his Auror robes and draped them over her curled form. Eyes still
closed, she grasped it in one hand and pulled it up to her chin, a small smile forming on her lips.
Harry fought the urge to dance a jig and to kiss her inviting cheek.

He offered the water and biscuits to Ron and Mr. Lovegood, who both declined. They were reclined
in their chairs, whispering stories about Luna. Pride was evident all over the white-haired
wizard’s face and voice. Harry half listened to Mr. Lovegood recount all of Luna’s accomplishments
at such a young age. Harry missed having a parent to boast about his accomplishments. Not that he
wanted someone to boast about him, the *Daily Prophet* and the fangirls did that. But he
missed the unconditional love of a parent to a child. If he could not be the recipient of that type
of love, he at least wanted to be the instigator of it. To be the father of a brood of witches and
wizards, enough for a Quidditch team. But who would be their mother?

He looked at the witch on the chaise again. She was certainly smart. And beautiful. And she was
stubborn. He shook his head. He wasn’t sure if he was ready for a lifetime of *that.*

“Ron, Mr. Lovegood? Sorry. I’m just going to pop down to the Ministry and I’ll be back,” Harry
interrupted the two men.

Ron leapt into Auror mode. “The Ministry? What happened?”

“No, nothing urgent. Hermione wanted me to deliver a list of possible poisons.”

Ron’s face crumbled. He rubbed his knuckles into his eyes. “It’s all my fault. I’m the reason
why Luna’s here. It was meant for me.”

As Mr. Lovegood shook his head, Harry wrapped an arm around Ron.

“Gods, Ron, it was meant for you! *You* could very easily have been the one lying here! Or
me. Or any of us! It’s not your fault! You didn’t mean to poison her!”

The words seemed to fall on deaf ears. “I could not live with myself if anything should happen
to her.”

“That’s not going to happen, Ron. You’ve got to be strong.” The men took turns embracing the
older wizard.

Harry sighed as he looked at themen. The love they both felt for Luna—one as a lover, the other
as a father—he felt for no one.

He glanced again at the witch lying on the chaise. *Maybe…*

***

Hermione woke to the sounds of her housemates giggling next to her. First she thought she was in
her own bed in her room, but realised quite quickly that her bed was much larger than the one she
was on now. She rubbed her eyes and then noticed the Auror robe covering her. “What?” she asked to
no one in particular, looking closely at the robes. She then looked about the room and saw Harry’s
intense stare directed at her. “Potter?”

Lavender giggled and handed Hermione an oversized Vratsa Vultures sweatshirt which she donned
immediately, pushing aside the Auror robe that had once covered her.

“Does is still smell like him?” Lavender giggled.

Hermione wrinkled her nose. “Huh?”

“The sweatshirt. Does is smell like Viktor Krum?”

Hermione gasped as she swatted at a giggling Lavender. She just then happened to meet Harry’s
eyes. He was scowling even more than usual this time.

She looked at the Auror robe beside her and noticed that he was no longer wearing his. Gathering
it, she brought it to where he was standing alone in the corner. “I’m sorry, this must be yours.
Thank you,” she said as she handed it to him.

He took it, nodded and looked away. Hermione rolled her eyes. Why did she even bother to try
being polite? But why did he even bother to do a good deed for her by letting her borrow his
robes?

Hermione looked around the room. Her silly housemates were chatting with Ron and Mr. Lovegood,
getting updates on Luna’s condition.

“Oh! Look!” Parvati pointed behind Ron’s back to where Luna’s eyes were beginning to blink. Ron
and Mr. Lovegood immediately resumed their positions next to the bed, her father taking her hand
while Ron moved in to stroke her cheek. Everyone moved closer to see.

“Ronald?” Luna asked her voice dry from disuse. Hermione ran to get a cup of water and offered
it. “Hermione?” Luna smiled at the sight of her friend. “Daddy!” Luna then saw her father who swept
her into an embrace.

“I’ll tell the Healer,” Hermione said as she left the room.

Harry came closer and observed Luna wakening and greeting everyone. Ron held her hand tightly as
she greeted her housemates and even Harry received a smile from the witch. Yet, Harry was
concerned; he could see no change in her manner from her acknowledgement of him or her boyfriend,
Ron. Indeed, although her first look was to Ron, her first smile was to Hermione.

Speaking of the witch, Hermione rushed in with the Healer Jones. “How do you feel?” Hermione
asked as the Healer went through some quick medical assessments.

“I’m quite tired and sore. My stomach hurts something awful. Ronald? What happened?” asked
Luna.

“Someone … poisoned the wine we were drinking. You took the first sip and collapsed. I am so
sorry, my love,” Ron cried and wrapped his arms around Luna. She smiled and patted his back.

“Ronald, it’s not your fault!” The young witch smiled sweetly at the young redhead by her side.
“I’m just glad you weren’t hurt.”

“Not hurt? I’m in agony! My actions nearly killed you!”

“Ronald, don’t say it again. If anything, you’re too good for me.” Luna smiled.

The Healer cleared her throat. “Mr. Lovegood, could you step over here a moment?” They moved
outside to the hallway while Hermione followed with her eyes.

“Wish you could read lips?” a voice whispered into her ear. She smirked, recognising the
speaker.

“Potter, I’m sure that’s part of your Auror training. Why don’t you go make use of it and let me
know what’s happening.” She had turned to face him, her eyes bright and challenging, her smile
unyielding.

Harry felt the tightness in his chest again. *Damn that woman! She makes me lose control of my
thoughts and emotions! She teases me, she taunts me. She will be my undoing!*

Harry cleared his throat. “Not something you learned at Beauxbatons?”

Her smile grew. He gulped. Her eyes glanced up and down his form. “I’m sure your skills are much
greater than mine.”

He gulped again. “Um, I’ll just, excuse me,” he said as he left the room.

Hermione gave a small laugh. There were some things she learned at Beauxbatons that he did not
learn at Hogwarts.

***

“You must have a party to celebrate!”

Now that Luna was well and resting comfortably in her hospital bed, Parvati and Lavender were
focusing on things that gave them pleasure, like parties and Quidditch players, and hopefully the
both together.

“I should host a party?” Ron asked.

Parvati clapped her hands.

“Yes! To celebrate you and Harry returning …” Seeing Harry scowl, Parvati took a different
tactic. “To celebrate Luna’s return to health.”

“What an excellent idea! Harry, what do you think?” Ron asked.

“It’s your party, Ron, your choice,” was the gruff response.

“You could have it at the assembly hall. It would be wonderful!” Lavender suggested.

“Puddlemere United will be back in town in two weeks! That would be excellent timing,” Parvati
added.

“Yes! They’ll be playing the Vrasta Vultures,” Lavender chimed in. As if on cue, everyone stared
at Hermione’s sweatshirt at that moment, and Hermione felt her cheeks colouring. She crossed her
arms over her chest.

“Really? I had no idea,” Hermione responded curtly.

“It’d be lovely to see Viktor again,” Luna spoke from the bed. “He’s so sweet and shy.”

Hermione lowered her head, not anxious to meet anyone’s eyes.

“What would Ernie say? Or Cormac? Or Draco?” teased Lavender. Harry’s eyes widened as Hermione
glared at Lavender.

“Draco? Malfoy? You’re friends with him?” Ron asked incredulously.

“Well, we both work at the Ministry. Just friends.”

“He took you out for dinner!”

“So did you! And Ernie! We’re just friends.”

Harry’s face hardened with the news. How many men were pursing the Beauxbatons girl? Bill was
practically flirting with her at the Burrow, in front of his pregnant wife! Yet none of these names
caused her to blush like Viktor Krum. *But Malfoy?* *Pft! She was friends with Malfoy?*
He thought she had some good sense, but that one aspect of her character negated the rest.

“Let’s talk about the party,” Hermione attempted to steer the subject away from her social life.
Harry’s open animosity towards her was becoming unbearable with each utterance of a male
acquaintance of hers. “Ron, if you need help—”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re an excellent party planner as well, Hermione. No worries. This sort of
thing is up Ginny’s alley,” Ron answered, then turned to Luna. “Shall we do this? Have a party to
celebrate your recovery?”

“Ronald, I don’t need a party. Just having you all here is enough. But, if you are looking for
an excuse, I am happy to provide it.”

Lavender clapped her hands. “Excellent! Let’s plan it. I’ll help send the owls.”

While the others were preoccupied with party planning, Hermione moved closer to Harry. “Have you
heard from the Ministry?”

He looked about the room and indicated that they should step outside.

“Yes, both good and bad news. With your notes and the information from the Healer, they were
able to pin down the specific poison. With some information from past poisoning attempts and traces
on the bottle, they located the most likely suspect. Who was a Death Eater, who received the
Dementor’s Kiss in Azkaban three years ago.”

Hermione sighed. “It’s like someone reaching from their grave to kill.” She shivered.
“Ghastly.”

“Cold?” Harry nearly handed Hermione his cloak again.

She smiled in gratitude. “No, it’s that Muggle expression, someone walking over your grave? I
just felt that.”

“I felt that quite often while I was at Hogwarts.”

Hermione looked at Harry carefully. He had said it so matter-of-factly. He was not looking for
pity, it was a fact. Being close to death so often in his childhood was just a part of his
life.

“So I’ve heard,” she replied.

*There it is again!* That tightness in his chest, reaching up to his throat, causing him to
stammer and cough when she looked at him. Harry rarely felt such *intensity* for anyone else,
other than love for his parents or hatred for Voldemort.

“Um, I’ll tell Ron when things are quieter. And he can tell Luna.”

“Sounds good.” She broke their connection, moving her head to look into Luna’s room, then down
at her clothes. “Gods! I forgot I was still in my pyjamas! And it’s daylight! I should head home
and change. This is harder to explain in the daytime than night.”

“I can walk you out—”

“No need, I’ll just Floo from the lobby. Can go straight to our home. Thanks for the offer
though.”

Hermione turned to leave, but Harry caught her wrist. There was one more thing he had to say
“Are you really—are you dating Malfoy?” He nearly spat out the name.

Hermione wrinkled her brow. Draco’s words about Harry from their lunch came back to her.

“It’s no concern of yours. But no, we’re not dating. He’s just *fun* to be around.” She
emphasised the word ‘fun’ as she stared at Harry, who felt his anger rising.

“He’s a bad sort. You’d want to keep away from him.”

“Why? Because his father was a Death Eater? Draco’s made amends. Why can’t people accept that
he’s changed? Reconciliation is needed for the wizarding world to move forward. We can’t keep past
hatreds.”

Harry shook his head in frustration. “You have no idea—”

“Oh, I think I do have an idea. Thank you for saving the world, but we need diplomats to move
forward, to move towards an acceptance of all peaceful peoples and beings. We can’t keep looking
for wars to fight.”

“You think I’m looking for the next battle? That I enjoyed war?” Harry was struggling to keep
his voice down. Hermione noticed, and made a quick Silencing charm so they didn’t disturb their
friends with their heated words.

“I don’t think you’re *looking* for the next battle, but it’s true that soldiers have a
hard time transitioning to a peaceful world—”

“You think I enjoy war??” Harry didn’t bother keeping quiet. He was absolutely incensed.

“No! I don’t think you enjoy it! Who the hell does enjoy it? It’s horrible! But I think the
transition to peacetime is difficult! There are studies—”

“I don’t give a flying fuck what your studies say! You are saying I enjoy battle, that I cannot
live in a peaceful world. Do you ever listen to what the fuck you are saying? Gods! Unbelievable!
I’m just warning you about Draco and you pin it on me—”

“Argh!” Hermione threw her hands in the air. Even though they were under a Silencing charm, it
was becoming apparent to any passersby that theirs was a very heated discussion.

“Forget it! Just forget it! Let me say goodbye to Luna and go home. Thank you for the use of
your Auror robe. Thank you for saving the world. But just let me go in peace!” With a flick of her
wrist, Hermione did some wandless magic and ended the Silencing charm. She took a couple deep
breaths, smoothing her clothes, before saying her goodbyes.

Harry stayed in the hallway, his temples throbbing. *What a wretched girl! What a wretched
know-it-all! What the hell does* she *know about war and battles? She was in a* library in
France *for gods sake when they were fighting for their lives in Britain.* No, she definitely
wasn’t a fangirl. Well not a fangirl of his. Of Quidditch players like Krum, yes, but not war
heroes. She was exasperating, made him question himself, and she feels more alive than anyone else.
*Damn her*.

******

*Next week**: enter Viktor Krum.*

*Please read and review!*



8. 8
----



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 8: Before the Assembly Ball**

*By addisonj*

*Beta: DeeMichelle*

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*****

*PK readers: sorry, but I've had quite a lot of trouble uploading this chapter! Hopefully
it'll work this time!*

*****

“Are you madly positively crazy insanely in love with him?”

Hermione and Luna were sitting outside on a lovely spring morning. In the several months since
the Puddlemere United gala, Luna and Ron had been seeing each other nearly every day. She had fully
recovered from the poisoning incident, and Ron had done his utmost to take care of her. Hermione
had never seen her friend with this glow of utter happiness before. It was subtle, since her
increased dreaminess wasn't easy to ascertain, but for Hermione, it was as clear as day.

“Oh, Hermione, I have never felt his way before! I think it can't get any better and it
does! Ronald is so very sweet to me. Did you know he still won't even let me take a sip of
water without him testing it first?”

“Has he declared his love for you?”

“No, not yet, but I know it.” Luna nearly glowed in response.

“Have you told him?”

“Not yet, but I know it. `Love' doesn't seem like the right word, does it? There are so
many different types of love. I mean, I love you, Hermione, but you don't give me butterflies
when I see you enter a room.”

Hermione smiled in acknowledgement. “And you've never felt this way before? No one
else?”

Luna smiled and shook her head. “Absolutely no one.”

Hermione paused, her brow furrowed in thought. “I say, he's your first, isn't he? I
don't recall you ever mentioning any particular boy before in any of your letters.” Hermione
watched a blush rise on Luna's pale cheeks. “He is, isn't he? He's your first love! Oh,
that's wonderful, Luna. A first time for this gooey inside feeling is just remarkable,
isn't it?”

Luna dipped her head to try to hide her blush. She was unsuccessful.

“I don't mean to tease, Luna. I'm just so happy for you. I just didn't realise—”

“You're such a woman of the world, Hermione. You've had Laurent and Viktor Krum, and who
knows who else. I've never had anyone serious before.”

Hermione looked at her friend. *How could this be? She was absolutely gorgeous, with this
pale, ethereal beauty unmatched even by a part-Veela like Fleur*.

“Luna, my dear, you're absolutely stunning. You must be driving them away because any wizard
in his right mind should be banging at your door, and not just a red-headed Weasley.”

“Now isn't saying `red-headed Weasley' a bit redundant? They're all red-headed,”
stated Luna. Hermione wasn't sure if Luna was teasing or just being her usual indescribable
self.

“Well, with the grandchildren coming now there's a possibility of some non-red-headed
Weasleys. Oh! Fine! I'll be more direct! Not just the youngest son of Molly and Arthur Weasley!
But still, the fact remains; you're in love for the first time, hopefully the one and only time
if things keep going as they appear to.”

The blush deepened on Luna's cheeks. “Do you really think so?”

“Do I think he'll propose?” Hermione sighed. “I can't say for certain, but he seems to
be going in that direction. Does he talk about the future with you?”

“Oh, yes, of course. He was saying that he'd like to travel less and spend more time in
London. I was saying how I'd like to travel and look for Crumpled-Horned Snorkack. I've
always wanted to find one and they're common in Sweden.”

“Did you tell Ron about that?”

“Oh, yes. He said he'd like to join me.”

Hermione leaned back and grinned. “Oh, he's in love with you then!”

Luna looked at her friend and smiled. “Was that the test then? And he passed?”

“Oh, yes, with flying colours.”

Luna hugged her knees to her chest. “I've never felt this way before, Hermione. It's
frightening. I had no idea I could feel so intensely about someone. And I've known him for
years at Hogwarts. He never made me feel like this before.”

“Did you have any feelings at all for him in school? Even just a bit?”

The head dipped again to try and hide the telltale blush. “Well, maybe a bit of a crush. But
I'd pushed it aside.”

Hermione pulled her friend into a hug. “I'm so happy for you! All these years! I had no
idea! I'm sure Ron has no idea. Did you tell him?”

“Oh, gods, no! Why should I do that?”

“I think it's quite sweet. He'd be flattered.”

“No, what if he doesn't feel the same? Or laughs at me? No, I'd rather not, thank
you.”

“Luna, okay, it's your decision.”

Luna turned to look more closely at her friend. “Have you ever told a boy how you feel?”

Hermione sighed. “Oh, yes.”

“And how did that go over?”

“Luna, I'm only one person. I'm not statistically significant!”

Luna waved away Hermione's verbal arguments. “Tell me.”

Hermione sighed again, revisiting unhappy memories. “Well, the first time he ran. Screaming. It
was when I was a child, about seven. This boy, Gavin Smith, was so cute! All the girls fancied him.
Well, one day in the play park I told him that I loved him. Ugh! He literally ran screaming! He
treated me horribly after that and everyone teased me. And he was mortified! I wasn't well
liked and to have someone like me fancy him—social suicide.” Hermione noticed her friend's face
fall. “But that's not a good example! We were children!”

“How about Laurent?”

Hermione smiled weakly as she thought about her first boyfriend. She remembered when he first
started treating her differently than the other know-it-alls in their clique at Beauxbatons, how
he'd start to sit by her shyly in the dining hall and in classes, ask to carry her books,
suggest weekends in town.

“Oh, he said it first. I agreed.”

Luna frowned a bit. “And Viktor? Do you love him?”

It was Hermione's turn to frown. “That's a bit more complicated. Do you remember what
you said earlier about the different types of love? Well, unfortunately, we love each other in
different ways. He loves me like a suitor and I love him like my dearest friend. We just end up
making each other unhappy.”

“Why's that? I noticed that you two still write to each other quite a lot.”

Hermione smiled, remembering some of the wonderful long letters she'd received from Viktor
over the years. “Yes, he's a wonderful pen pal. Almost as wonderful as you, but somehow we
can't seem to get to the next level.

“I mean we've tried. I mean *I've* tried. He doesn't seem to have the need to
try, he just feels it. Feels that way about me. Oh, and he's such a lovely man. A true
gentleman. He's gracious and kind and sweet and gentle. And quite patient. Quite smart and a
wonderful athlete as well. But, something's missing.”

“What do you mean, `something's missing'?”

“When I'm with him. I don't feel that crazy-girl-in-love spark like I think I should. I
know, silly me, waiting for a romance novel to come to life, but I felt more of that with Laurent,
and he's not nearly as accomplished as Viktor. He never treated me as well as Viktor, but for
some reason my heart doesn't flutter into a million pieces with Viktor.”

Hermione looked at the trees across the park, noticing how the branches on top swayed more in
the wind than the branches below. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, a bit sadder. “It
really would be easier for everyone if I did feel the same way. I mean, he's the perfect man.
One of the most eligible bachelors in Europe. But something's missing. And I don't want to
commit to him in case there's someone else out there for me. I just have this crazy illogical
feeling that I can't compromise on this one thing.”

“It makes sense, Hermione. If you feel like he's *not* the one, he's not the one.
You can't change that.”

“I wish that I could! I feel dreadful, like I'm breaking his heart whenever I see him! It
really isn't fair to him, but I love him dearly like a friend. A best friend. I know he'll
always have my back, will always look out for me, will always love me in some way or another.
It's not fair to him, but I do.”

“I'm sure he appreciates how you feel…”

“But I don't love him the way that I should!” Hermione gave a small cry and buried her head
in her hands. Luna pulled her friend into a small embrace and made comforting noises to soothe
her.

“Ssssh. Don't cry. I had no idea this was so upsetting.”

“Sorry,” Hermione wiped the tears from her eyes. “It's just that I know that he's coming
soon. They're playing the Chudley Cannons and it's the day of Ron's ball. I'm sure
he'll be there and I can't ask him not to be.”

“Of course not. And you've told him how you feel?”

“We've discussed this a thousand times! And every time my heart breaks a bit because I know
I'm breaking his. I wish he would find someone else, or that I could fall in love with
him!”

“You can't force yourself to fall in love, Hermione. Surely a know-it-all like you knows
that.”

“Argh! One can still wish and hope, can't one?”

“So that's why everyone thinks Viktor dumped you?”

“Yes, to save face for Viktor. I insisted. It would damage him if people believed I ended the
relationship rather than thinking he ended it. He keeps his reputation and standing in society, and
I get to be the poor victim.”

“But it's not honest. From what I know of Viktor, I'm sure he didn't agree to
this.”

Hermione played with the hem of her shirt before answering. “I know it's not right, but in a
way it's true. I mean, I said I didn't love him and he should end it, and he ended it
…”

Luna patted her arm. “I'm sure you have your reasons. It's getting chilly out. We should
go in. Parvati and Lavender will be back from their shopping trip and we'll see what gowns they
bought for the ball.”

Hermione wiped her eyes one last time and patted the wrinkles from her clothes as she stood up.
She looked at her best friend and put on a brave smile. “Cerulean. I want to wear cerulean
again.”

***

“Harry! Ron! Come in here for a moment!” Lionel Montgomery, the head of Magical Law Enforcement,
called to his two favourite Aurors.

“Montgomery! Did you read our report on the Gaby case?”

“Yes, that's exactly why I wanted to see you. You remember Miss Granger?”

Ron shot Harry a look and smirked. Harry scowled. Ron answered for both of them. “Yes, we know
Hermione.”

“Splendid! I think she could use Gaby.”

Both Ron and Harry had looks of surprise and confusion. Ron finally spoke (for both of them
again), “Hermione needs a house-elf? She can't find her own, even if she wanted one?”

“No, no no! I mean Gaby. The house-elf of the alleged Death Eater, Cornelius Phelps. The one you
have under protective custody? I just had a brilliant idea!”

“Don't keep us in the dark. Tell us, Montgomery,” Harry urged.

Montgomery stood up from his desk and moved to the doorway where the two Aurors stood. “Better
yet, let me tell you and Granger together. Let's go to her offices.”

“I don't think I've ever been to the fourth level,” Ron mused.

“Well, we've never had a reason to,” replied Harry.

The three took the lift to level four, the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures
department. When the lift doors opened, the young Aurors nearly gasped in surprise. It was almost
like another company in there. There was none of the frantic pace of Magical Law Enforcement. The
atmosphere was of a holiday retreat, with people chatting with mugs of tea. The furniture was more
shop-worn than Magical Law Enforcement's. At MLE, the newest and best of everything was used.
It looked like Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures received their castoffs.

The two older men chatting in the hallway noticed the presence of the Aurors and immediately
ended their conversation, one turning to greet the new arrivals.

“Montgomery! Harry! Ron! What a pleasant surprise! What brings you to our part of the world?”
Scamander greeted one department head to another, as Amos Diggory tried to look busy.

“Granger! Is Granger here? We have an idea for her. Why don't you join us?”

“Yes, well, she's probably in her office. Let's go there—”

“No, no, she won't be there. I saw her rushing off to research. Try the library,” Amos
suggested.

At that moment, the petite, bushy-haired witch came bursting into the hallway, carrying stacks
of parchment and books so high that she had an obstructed view of the hallway and nearly collided
into them.

“Oh, hello there!” she said right after bumping into Harry. Ever the gentleman, he gathered up
the parchments that fell on the ground and placed them delicately into her arms. “Thanks ever so
much!” she addressed Harry, who blushed a bit and was heard to mutter something sounding like
“It's nothing” under his breath.

“Granger! Just who we're looking for! Can we go into your office? You don't mind, do
you, Scamander?” Montgomery started moving down the hallway before Scamander could even answer,
taking some of the books from Hermione's arms and distributing them between the two young men
to carry. He took Hermione's elbow as she led him to her office.

“Please, have a seat,” Hermione indicated towards the two guest chairs in her small office.
Montgomery took one, Scamander the other while the young men stood in the doorway. Harry still held
the books in his arms, unsure of where to put them until Hermione, noticing his discomfort,
relieved him of his load. He gave her a grateful smile and she returned it, before settling into
her chair behind her desk. She gave him one last smile before focusing on her other guests.
“Montgomery?”

“Granger! Sorry for disturbing you—” Hermione dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand
“—but I wanted to tell all of you at once.” Montgomery cast a silencing spell around the room.
“Granger, the boys here have been working on investigating a suspected Death Eater named Cornelius
Phelps. We may have hit the jackpot with a potential witness, his house-elf, Gaby.”

“No!” Hermione responded. “That almost never happens. House-elves are loyal beyond logic.”

“Indeed. That's why this is such a prize! Gaby's under protective custody now, but I was
thinking…” he paused and looked at the assembly in the room, making sure he had their attention. “I
think Gaby would be useful not only for convicting Phelps, but if the allegations of abuse are
true, letting the public hear about this case of house-elf abuse—keeping Gaby anonymous of
course—could turn the tide and encourage more rights.”

Montgomery paused for effect as the words sunk in. Scamander was smiling and nodding as Hermione
furrowed her brow in thought. Harry watched her, fascinated. He never saw anyone who could make
thinking mesmerising. She frowned a bit, her eyes didn't focus on anything in particular, but
she looked up at the corner of the ceiling and Harry swore he could see the wheels turning in her
mind.

“It could … it could work,” Hermione finally said, after everyone else in the room jumped on the
idea and exclaimed how excellent it was, to Montgomery's delight. Her forefinger tapped her
chin as she thought. “This could be quite good. Gaby could represent all the voiceless house-elves,
too afraid to come out and say what really happens in some households, put a face to the crime of
house-elf abuse.” Hermione turned to focus on Montgomery. “I love it! Scamander, don't you
think so?”

“Yes, Hermione, I think it's a splendid idea.”

The four sat and discussed it for several more minutes. Harry and Ron advised Hermione on the
case, how the surveillance of Phelps was going, what evidence they had so far and what Gaby had
told them. Hermione asked numerous questions, taking notes with a Quick Notes Quill.

Montgomery finally stood up. “Well, I'm not needed here any longer. Potter, Weasley, give me
a full report when you're done. Scamander, thanks for letting me take your time.”

“No trouble at all, Montgomery,” Scamander replied.

As Montgomery opened the office door, a tall, hook-nosed young man with long black hair and
black robes stood in the entranceway, about to knock.

“Krum?” asked Montgomery. “Viktor Krum?”

Before the tall man could respond, Hermione leapt up from her chair, raced across the floor and
greeted him with a tight hug.

As Hermione ran across the room, the crush of her hug with Viktor was like a direct punch to
Harry's heart. Diverted by the embrace before them, not even Ron noticed his best friend pale
and look away.

“Viktor! What a pleasant surprise! I didn't think I'd see you until this afternoon.”

“We were able to take an earlier Portkey,” Viktor smiled, looking down at the witch who still
hugged him tightly. *“**Moyata lyubov. Imam ste propusnali*.” He said quietly, stooping
down to whisper into her ear. (*translation: “my love. I have missed you.”)*

“*Tya e tvÅ­rde dÅ­lgo*” (*translation:* *“**it has been too long**”*)
Hermione replied, when she stepped an arm's length away from him. Harry noticed a sparkle in
Hermione's eyes that had not been evident in their own past interactions. He detected a hint of
sadness as well, *likely due to missing her boyfriend*, he thought.

It looked like the Bulgarian was ready to kiss the young witch in his arms, when she laughed
lightly and pushed him away. “Viktor, there are some people here for you to meet.”

Viktor looked up regretfully and his eyes met Harry's. His eyes narrowed, and he had a tight
smile on his lips, then a warmer one. He held out his hand. “Harry Potter. It's been
years.”

“Since the Triwizard Tournament,” Harry answered, shaking hands with the visitor, noting overall
that his English had improved considerably since they saw each other last. *Stay calm,
Potter,* he thought to himself.

“Such a long time ago. Good to see you. You work with Hermione?”

Harry, puzzled by Viktor's pronunciation of Hermione's name, almost forgot that Viktor
had asked him a question. *Hermoninny?* *Is that how he pronounced her name?* thought
Harry, but no one else seemed to notice. “Uh, well, yes and no. We might be doing some
cross-departmental work.”

“Well, if Hermione is doing work for you, you will be impressed. She is the smartest witch of
her age.”

Hermione laughed and punched Viktor in the arm. “Silly! *Glupav*! Your mother thought I was
quite stupid when I had no idea how to bake a *banista*!”

“A mind like yours, *skupi*, can do more than bake pastries.”

“Oh, but when we're up late talking and you're quite hungry, you would prefer a cook to
a bookworm?” Hermione teased Viktor. They shared a warm look, and Harry tried to deflect, but
Montgomery, who had been watching the interaction with great interest, decided it was his time to
step in.

“Lionel Montgomery. Magical Law Enforcement. A pleasure to meet you. Everyone knows the famous
Viktor Krum.”

“I am no Harry Potter,” Viktor attempted to joke. Fortunately, Harry laughed, eager to move
Viktor's attention away from the young witch.

“You remember Ron Weasley, don't you?” Harry introduced his friend. Viktor looked at Ron
with interest.

“Yes, you were the one who told Harry he was `consorting with the enemy' if he ever talked
to me.”

Ron's cheeks turned as red as his hair. “Uh, I was pretty stupid then. I even thought Harry
put his own name in the Goblet. I'm not nearly that stupid now.”

“You needed someone smart like Hermione with you,” Viktor suggested. Hermione rolled her eyes,
but Harry looked intrigued.

“You know, you're right. I could have used Hermione's brains countless times. Luckily we
had Dumbledore—”

“Harry, we never knew if it was really Dumbledore—”

“Oh gods, I forgot something,” Hermione suddenly interjected, half to herself. “I'm sorry to
interrupt, but Ron, I was going to say something, but I totally forgot. Oh well. I'm sure
I'll remember in the shower or something.”

Both Harry and Viktor tried not to think about Hermione's naked body in a shower.

“Lunch,” Montgomery once again spoke to ease the discomfort that was creeping in. “Where are you
two going for lunch?”

Hermione looked at Viktor who looked at her in equal amazement, then said, “Oh, I hadn't
thought that far ahead. I'm just surprised and happy to see you, Viktor.”

He patted her arm. “Anywhere with you*,* *skupi*.”

As Hermione felt the happiness of just being with Viktor, she failed to notice the scowl that
was covering Harry's face. But Viktor noticed. He decided to call the bluff. “Would you like to
join us?” Viktor asked as Hermione's mouth opened to protest. The Bulgarian quickly and quietly
motioned for the witch to stay quiet.

“Well, I don't mind if I—”

“Nonsense! You two obviously haven't seen each other in a while and we'd just get in the
way,” Ron interrupted Harry before he could embarrass himself further.

Viktor turned to Hermione. “How about the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Nice idea. I never go there for lunch,” Hermione replied. Harry fought not to roll his
eyes.

The Leaky Cauldron had almost become a euphemism for having a nooner, since the food wasn't
the best, but it was the only restaurant open for lunch with bedrooms for rent by the day—or by the
hour—upstairs.

Harry glanced at Ron to see if Ron was thinking the same thing. Ron, unable to meet
Hermione's eyes, answered, trying not to laugh, “Yes, it can be quite popular with a certain
set at lunch.”

Montgomery and Scamander seemed amused as well, but Hermione failed to notice. “Sounds lovely.
Gentlemen, are we done here? Harry, Ron, I can discuss this more with you later? You'll be
around?”

Harry nodded as Ron responded, “Oh yes. Take your time. Don't need to rush these things,
reunions and all that.”

It was then that Hermione noticed that the atmosphere in the room changed to something, a bit
naughty? She glanced at Viktor who looked at her under half-lidded eyes. “Well, we best be off.”
She grabbed her outdoor robes from the hook behind her door as the group exited her office.
Handshakes were exchanged, and the group dispersed.

“Well that got awkward all of a sudden,” Hermione said as they waited for a lift.

“You don't know, *skupi?* I know something the great Hermione Granger does not
know?”

Hermione gave his arm a playful bump. “You know lots of things `the great Hermione Granger'
does not. When are you going to stop pretending to be just a Quidditch player and show off that
brain of yours?”

Viktor looked at Hermione and gave her a look of love that made her stomach do a little flip
flop. *But why can't I fall in love with this glorious man?* she thought.

“You don't know that the Leaky Cauldron is where people … how do you say, go to have sex at
lunch?”

Hermione's mouth fell into a large “O” shape. A few seconds passed before she could even
speak, so she demonstrated her reaction by punching Viktor in the arm, not a playful tease this
time. And she put much more effort into it. He winced and rubbed his arm.

“*Skupi!* ”

“Don't *skupi* me! You deliberately misled me in front of my boss! And Lionel
Montgomery, the head of Magical Law Enforcement! He's second only to Kingsley Shacklebolt
himself in power and influence here, and you suggested we were going for a roll in the sack right
now! Argh!” Hermione let out her aggressions by pounding his arm a few more times. “Viktor! How
dare you! Not funny! I'm trying to make a good impression here and you're ruining it for a
laugh!”

Viktor responded by encasing Hermione in his arms as she tried futilely to pound into his chest.
“Hermione, I apologise. I will go back and walk right up to Lionel Montgomery and Rolf Scamander,
and apologise.”

“And what about Harry and Ron?”

Viktor paused. Hermione noticed.

“And what about Harry and Ron?”

“I will tell Ron,” Viktor said carefully. “Hermione, do you not think Harry Potter acts
differently around you?”

“I have no idea what you mean. I know he acts dreadfully around me. Insults me, scowls quite a
bit. He's not usually that way?”

Viktor stared at Hermione before answering. “When I met Harry he was little puny boy forced into
a dangerous situation and handled it quite well. I saw that same look today.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“It seems like around you he scowls. You are a dangerous situation.”

Hermione looked at Viktor in amazement. “I'm equivalent to a dragon, in Harry Potter's
eyes? Viktor, I take back any remarks about your intelligence. That's absurd! It makes no
sense. Have you thought that maybe he just dislikes me intensely? That could make his face squinch
up just like when he faces a Hungarian Horn-tail.”

“I also noticed that he face did not `squinch up' as you say, until after I mentioned the
Leaky Cauldron.” Viktor paused for effect, but Hermione just stared.

“Meaning …?”

“Oh the great Hermione Granger cannot add two plus two? He's jealous, *skupi*. He is
jealous of us.”

“He wants to date you? Well go right ahead. I have no claim on you and I'm all for equal
rights regardless of sexual orientation—”

“Do not joke, Hermione. He wants *you*.”

“Ridiculous! Viktor, have you been hit by too many Bludgers? Fallen off your broom too many
times? The man hates me. If he liked me, I would think he'd be flirting with me, you know,
actually acting *nice* around me? Maybe *complementing* me? Making it so that I
*enjoy* his company? Instead of the exact opposite?” Hermione shook her head. “I take back my
remarks about your intellect, Viktor, and maintain you have fallen on your head too many times.
Now, tell me about your season. How are the Vratsa Vultures? Do you think you'll make it to the
Cup next year?”

Viktor smiled. He knew when Hermione wanted to distract him, she would mention Quidditch. And it
usually worked. “*Skupi*, I'm sure you already know the answer to our prospects this year.
What you may not know is that this may be my last year.”

“No!” They had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron and Hermione could not help but survey the
attendees and wonder which of them would be headed upstairs for a nooner. Or perhaps those with the
desire to be horizontal skipped the food in the pub altogether and went straight upstairs, perhaps
through a secret entrance? But Viktor's announcement brought her back to their conversation,
and she could not continue until they were seated and had ordered. Without much thought, Hermione
cast a silencing charm around them.

“Viktor, why? I'm sure you're not going to be fired, you're still in the papers here
as the best Seeker ever—”

“I'm sure if Potter played professionally he would take that title away from me—”

“And I haven't read of any career-ending injuries. Do you have another career in mind? Some
sort of major life event that made you change your perspective and you need out of Quidditch? An
early mid-life crisis perhaps?”

“Hermione,” Viktor spoke her name slowly, with great affection, his accent increasing with each
syllable as he held her hands on the table. “You seem so scared. No, I must allay your fears
immediately. I have not been seriously injured. I have not had a `mid-life crisis' as you say.
I am not about to be fired. I have just realised that I have played professional Quidditch for a
decade now. I am getting old. One of the oldest on the team. I want to retire while I am still
good, before I become a second stringer and a very sad one, too.”

“But if you retire, what will you do?”

“Perhaps I should use `that brilliant mind of mine'? I wanted to discuss that and a few
other things with you.” Viktor brought his head closer to Hermione, and she leaned forward to
listen, realising the action was unneeded with the silencing charm, but a natural reaction in the
situation of a confidence about to be shared. “Now, you must not share this with anyone, but I know
I can trust you. I think I found a way to use Arithmancy in Quidditch.”

Hermione's eyes lit up in enthusiasm. “Really! What a fabulous idea! I wonder why I
hadn't thought of it myself!”

Viktor smiled and shook his head. “That's why I wanted to pick your brain, if you don't
mind assisting the enemy.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head in return. “You're not the enemy. I am not beholden to
any team.”

“But if we're in the World Cup and Bulgaria plays Britain or France?”

Hermione repeated her earlier smiling and shaking of head. “My loyalty is to my friends, not a
country. Tell me what you've discovered so far.”

They spent the next forty-five minutes deep in discussion about how to use the Arithmantic use
of numbers to determine the best in offense and defence in certain situations involving the
movement of Snitches, Quaffles and Bludgers. Quill and parchment were produced for formulae and
diagrams.

When there was a natural pause in their conversation, both leaned back and took a deep breath,
looking at each other. Hermione thought about how much she enjoyed these discussions with Viktor,
how he never ceased to amaze her, how he was one of the few people to match her intellect, other
than Fleur, Bill, Laurent and a few of her friends and professors at Beauxbatons. And Dumbledore
and McGonagall, she thought sadly as well, remembering when she first learned of the
headmaster's murder.

Viktor spoke his thoughts, “I so enjoy spending time with you, *moyata lyubov*.”

Hermione smiled at such a term of endearment. Viktor knew she felt a bit uncomfortable when he
called her *my love*, but she hated to correct or reprimand him when he spoke his heart.

“So, that is another reason why I am considering retiring. You said before that you did not want
a boyfriend who travelled so much—”

“Really Viktor, that's not *exactly* what I said. I merely mentioned in an ideal
world—”

“You would want someone closer to home who did not have so many groupies.” He watched her face
twist as he spoke the truth bluntly. “And who was not always in the spotlight. Always in newspapers
and magazines.” He leaned closer to her but she did not respond in kind. She sat very still,
suddenly dreading what his next words might be.

“*Obicham*, what if I was never in the papers? What if I only travelled occasionally, to
help the team? What if I stayed out of the spotlight and worked behind the scenes. I do not think
the newspapers and magazines would photograph who I was dating all the time. They would not
criticise my love for such shallowness as looks or citizenship.”

Hermione swallowed and tried to keep her face impassive. It was difficult. She knew he was
referring to the Bulgarian papers and how mercilessly they wrote about her looks, and how it
wasn't right that their Quidditch star would be romancing a plain ordinary English girl.

Hermione remembered well when she spent several weeks with Viktor in his family estate in
Bulgaria, how his family tried hard to hide the papers from her, and then mislead her on the
translation. They did not know she could charm the paper into English and could read how her hair,
her body, even her chin was discussed with such venom. She felt like a prized pig. No, not a prized
pig, but the ugly, unwanted pig. Even her thighs were deemed too large for their beloved star! They
worried about children of such an alliance. Hermione was certainly not a vain young woman and she
was quite aware of her shortcomings in appearance, but to have them discussed so openly, so
blatantly, so publicly in a national newspaper! She would have rather been called Mudblood and
forgotten. But the jibes were so personal. She ended their relationship, but insisted that the
press think *he* ended it with *her*.

“Hermione,” Viktor reached over to grab her hands, which were twisting in her lap. “My love. My
dearest dearest Hermione. You know my feelings for you have never changed. I would arry you today
if I could. You're the only one for me. No one else comes close. I tried dating models. I tried
dating anyone but Hermione Granger, but no one is you.”

Hermione kept her gaze away from Viktor, at the far wall where she could see a couple furtively
sneak up some hidden stairway in the shadows. *So that's where it is….*

“Hermione, I would do anything for you. I want the world to know how beautiful—” Hermione shook
her head viciously and Viktor answered in a stronger, more pronounced voice as he rubbed his thumb
against her hand “—how beautiful you are inside and out. I want to live with you. I want to be with
you. I want everything for you.

“We can live in Bulgaria. I can work with the Vultures and you can work with the Ministry, or do
consulting work. You are becoming internationally famous for your civil rights work, *skupi.*
You could easily work with different governments about increasing their civil rights of magical
creatures. Or you could be a healer. Or a professor. You could be anything you wish, *skupi*.
And I would be a trainer for the Vultures. I would travel occasionally, but I promise that I could
Apparate home every night.”

Hermione took a breath and finally moved her eyes to meet his. She hated to break his heart, but
she had to speak the truth. “Then you must know that my feelings for you have not changed. I love
you, but not in the same way you love me.”

Her heart sank watching the pain in his eyes, but he continued to rub his thumb on her hand. “I
knew you would say that. I thought about it. But you do love me?” She nodded. “Respect me?” Nods
again. “Trust me?” Nods. “Most marriages start with much less than that. Arranged marriages—”

“I'll not have an arranged marriage!”

“Arranged marriages among purebloods have much less than that,” he repeated, “only family
connections, not even respect. We have so much more. The only thing lacking is romantic love on one
side.” When Hermione did not comment, he continued.

“So, when did you plan to marry, Hermione? I know now would be too soon. But when, in your life
plan?”

“Thirty. Thirty-two at the latest,” she answered, not surprised he knew her well enough that she
had planned this as well.

“So at thirty-three, if you have not found a soulmate, marry me.”

Hermione paused. It was actually a good plan, something that appealed to her reason. It did make
sense. If she could not find a true love in eight years, why not marry Viktor? She was sure her
feelings for him would not change, and vice versa. It was a brilliant idea.

Her thoughts must have registered on her face because Viktor broke into a grin. “Yes? Yes!
Splendid! *Ura*! You have made me very happy man! In eight years we will wed!”

“Viktor, yes, I will marry you in eight years if I do not find my soulmate or true love. But
that's a big “if”.”

“I will accept it. We should celebrate!”

“No! And don't even think to call me your fiancée!”

He reached across the table and gave her a kiss on the lips. “There. It's, how you say,
sealed with a kiss.” He looked triumphant, but Hermione felt a hint of sadness that there was no
thrill when they kissed, no heart melting or toes curling. It was a nice kiss (Viktor was a good
kisser, she didn't even want to think about the opportunities he had to practice), but it
wasn't the kiss of true love.

She studied his face. Dark, brooding eyes, large hooked nose, high cheekbones, taken together he
was a handsome man. She knew his body was Quidditch tight, with just the right amount of chest hair
to be masculine but not like a guerrilla. It could be worse, settling for this not-romantic-love
match. She would be settling for a star Quidditch player (not that that was important), who was
handsome (not overly important), smart (quite important), well-mannered (quite important), who
loved her to death (very important). His family treated her well. She knew they would have
preferred a local girl and a pureblood for him, but at least they accepted her because they knew
she made him happy. His sisters were quite kind and his older brother already seemed to assume she
would be Hermione Krum one day. It could be worse. She had a sudden image of Harry's scowling
face across from her. *Much worse.*

When they returned to the Ministry and Viktor said goodbye to her in the lobby, he suddenly
noticed a familiar face. “Weasley!” he said.

Hermione turned around to see the affable Auror coming their way with a smile. “Krum. Hermione.
How was lunch?”

Hermione thought she saw a twinkle in his eye and needed to correct that immediately. “No one
told me that the Leaky Cauldron was known for liaisons. Viktor let me in on the secret when we got
there. I was mortified!”

Ron eyes lit in amusement. “I was surprised that a witch as smart as you didn't know
something even a fourth year would know.”

“I don't spend enough time with you lot corrupting my innocence.”

Viktor pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “*Skup*i, when we are married I
plan to corrupt all your innocence.” Hermione's face quickly shifted from amusement to shock
then anger.

“Viktor—”she scolded, but was interrupted by Ron.

“Marriage? Congratulations to you both!” Ron appeared genuinely happy for them and shook their
hands.

“No! No, we're not engaged. Viktor proposed and I said if there's no one else in eight
years—”

“Eight years! That's a long way away. And that's not terribly romantic at all.”

“With Hermione there is not much romance. She is a very practical girl whom I must pursue in a
practical way.”

“Hush! I can speak for myself. We're very good friends who are very dear to each other. If
in eight years my biological clock is going off, we'll be together.”

Ron wrinkled his nose. “You're not in love?”

“No”

“Yes.”

They answered simultaneously, those monosyllabic responses telling Ron everything he needed to
know about their relationship. He appeared troubled. *How dreadful to love her, yet not be loved
in return,* he thought*.*

“Well, then, uh, best be off. Congratulations, or not. I'm not sure what the etiquette in
this situation is.”

“The etiquette is that Viktor shouldn't have said anything. We're not engaged. We're
not even boyfriend and girlfriend. We're back to where we were, but with the potential of
marriage in eight years. Eight years. That's a long way off.”

Ron watched Viktor's face fall a little when Hermione emphasised that they were not
boyfriend and girlfriend, and how quickly the Bulgarian hid his emotions*. I certainly don't
want to be in that situation,* he thought.

“Well, I'm off. Krum, are you going to the ball I'm hosting Saturday? Not sure if I sent
an invite …”

“Yes, Ginny hand delivered it herself. Seemed quite determined I should attend.”

Hermione's eyes narrowed. *Why was Ginny so keen that Viktor be there? Did she have
designs on him? She seemed quite attached to Harry. Did her feelings change?*

“Really? Well, my sister can be quite efficient when it comes to party planning. Good! Look
forward to seeing you. You're coming, aren't you, Hermione?”

“Of course,” she smiled and answered with cool efficiency as her mind raced, analysing this new
development. Ginny and Viktor? How did she feel about it? Not jealousy, just that it seemed so
wrong. But why?

***

*Next chapter: the Netherfield Ball!*

*Please read and review!!*

-->



9. 9
----



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 9: the Ball**

Author: addisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*****

A/N: Portkey fans: I've been having issues updating, so the format may be weird, but I
didn't want to postpone this any longer. (I just had issues uploading Chapt 8). Sorry in
advance!

***

Harry Potter hated balls. Harry Potter would prefer to be on his broom, chasing a Snitch or just
flying through the air with the wind at his face and a thrill in his heart. Harry Potter did not
enjoy being stared at, or approached by scantily clad witches who spoke of inane things,
simultaneously boring and repulsing him. He hated fangirls. He hated wearing dress robes. He hated
dancing. He was the opposite of his best friend in all these ways.

Ron was standing, of course, with Luna on his arm. He would glance down at her frequently, his
love for her plainly sketched on his face. It was obvious and so embarrassing really, since Luna
just retained that ever-dreamy look of hers, the same look she had during exams, during meals,
during Quidditch games. Probably had the same damned look on the toilet! Her expression never
altered, and one would think if she loved him as much as he loved her, there would be some sort of
change. An increased dreaminess? He wasn't sure, just that it wasn't *there*.

He looked about, ignoring the three witches who were talking directly in front of him, trying to
draw him into the conversation. He refused to make eye contact with them, and hoped that this war
of attrition would soon be over, and they would surrender and fall over Oliver Wood instead. Who
was here? All the usuals: lots of Gryffindors, a few Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, the occasional
Slytherin; many from the Ministry, more Aurors; it was a great turnout. Certainly a success from
that perspective. But Harry kept looking, not sure what he was seeking until he saw *her*.

There she was. In a pale blue dress that flattered her combination of slimness and curves
completely. It was off-shoulder and fitted in the bodice yet flowed past her hips to the floor. Her
curly hair was pinned atop her head again with jewelled hairclips. She had just the right amount of
makeup, enough to flatter her natural beauty but not too much to be a distraction. She was speaking
to Neville and Padma, of course. And who was that? Draco Malfoy? Who invited him? Harry's jaw
clenched as he saw Draco brush against Hermione's bare elbow, his head tilt down to whisper in
her ear, his lips sending soft bursts of air therein. Hermione smiled and kept her conversation
with her friends. Draco then brushed his finger along her jaw line. Suddenly, Draco looked up and
directly at Harry, leering at him.

Harry turned away quickly. He was caught and he was furious. Furious that Malfoy was touching
Hermione, furious that he was caught gawking, furious that he was furious about it all. He stormed
to the bar and ordered a firewhiskey, then downed it in one. Damn!

He wanted to leave but knew that he had to stay for his friend's sake. His best friend. His
best friend who loved parties, loved balls and very probably loved the blonde witch next to him. He
had to stay.

He tried not to look across the room at Draco caressing Hermione's cheek, but he could not
help himself. He had to look again. This time, not only Draco, but also Hermione met his stare. He
glanced quickly away, afraid to be caught in the act. Damn! Damn Draco and damn that woman. That
woman with the fine eyes, keen intellect and passion for justice. Pity she was a Quidditch fangirl
with Krum chasing her. Pity she had some dreadful friends.

What were those dreadful friends up to now? Last time he saw Parvati and Lavender, they were
loitering at the open bar, chatting up the Chudley Cannons who were all guests of Ron's. Harry
knew that Ron was putting out feelers, considering becoming a part owner. The Weasley fortune had
grown since the Golden Duo defeated You-Know-Who, and Ron was able to consider investing the
surplus funds, now that there actually was a surplus, a welcome change from having to scrimp and
save just to cover the bare essentials for a family of nine. Lav and Pav were chatting with Ron,
but mostly with the Quidditch players. Oliver Wood was there of course. That was a man who loved
the spotlight, Harry noted wryly. And the spotlight loved him. He was handsome, charming, and
handled reporters and fangirls with ease. Actually, Ron had many of the same qualities as well, but
as Oliver played the field, Ron tended to fall in love on a serial basis. Miss Lovegood appeared to
be his latest paramour.

Miss Lovegood, who was of course standing next to Ron, appeared to giving her full attention not
to the young Auror who appeared madly in love with her, but her silly flatmates and the Quidditch
players they happened to be fawning over. Harry was surprised Miss Granger did not follow them as
well. As Luna was focusing on others, Ron's attention was fixated on her. He just looked at her
with love and ardour. And Harry knew what he must do. He must save his friend from himself.

Resolute, Harry looked about the assembly hall for a potential ally in the plot that was forming
in his head. Ginny was there. She stood in a group of *Witch Weekly* writers and
photographers. Their eyes met, and Harry indicated towards where Ron and Luna stood. Ginny followed
his gaze, then nodded. They understood each other: one to save his friend, the other to save her
brother. But there was agreement in the end result.

Harry looked back to Ron, and unsurprised to see no change in Ron and Luna's interactions.
Pav and Lav, however, decided to take their fun to another level. They were now mixing drinks,
drinks that had no right to be mixed. Harry grimaced as he saw them pour two fingers of butter beer
in a tall glass, then two fingers of Ogden's. What a waste! Harry could use some of that
whiskey right now, actually, his night was so terrible. Then they -shudder - added cider! Cider!
Harry shook his head at the thought. Then he watched as they egged each other on to drink it. That
concoction! That waste of perfectly good Ogden's! The horror!

Harry had to move onto something else, He couldn't watch Hermione and Draco without
cringing, the Lav and Pav show was a fright. What else was there? Was there any sanity left? Where
were Padma and Neville, they could always be counted on to be the voice of reason. Harry cast his
eye about the floor and was surprised to see Ginny and Draco dancing. Ginny! And Draco! Was this a
sign of the Apocalypse? He didn't even know that they spoke to each other, much less danced.
And they did not seem to be enjoying it either. Both were tense and stiff, lips in a firm line and
eyes everywhere but on their partner. Why the devil were they dancing together then? It made no
sense whatsoever.

Harry looked about the room again (ignoring the fangirls who kept coming up and asking stupid
questions; his standard response to them was no response at all), and he noticed Hermione now
talking to Viktor Krum. And Viktor was standing quite close to her. Almost as close as Draco. And
she did not appear to move away from him. She seemed to enjoy his presence. She talked, he moved
closer to her; she had a small secret smile, as she continued her conversation with some friends
from the Ministry. This woman had two suitors in five minutes! Incredible! Where were Ernie and
Cormac to complete the picture - no, harem! *Is harem used for men or only for groups consisting
of women*? Harry wondered. Hermione doubtless knew the answer.

Harry needed a drink.

***

*An hour earlier….*

Hermione was enjoying herself. Lav and Pav picked a splendid pale blue gown for her. They
managed to transform her in almost as little time as they had for the Puddlemere United gala. The
bookworm was impressed, and pondered how they could monetise this skill of theirs.

Hermione observed with pleasure the attention Ron was paying to Luna. She was amazed that
although they spent nearly six years together at Hogwarts, nothing romantic had happened (Luna did
mention that Harry, at least, escorted her to an event, but only as friends.) Must be a strange
chemistry in the air that these two should finally find their soul mates in each other, after
knowing each other for so many years. Maybe the time was not right before? No kismet? For whatever
reason, they found each other now, and Hermione was grateful.

She danced with Ernie, Viktor and Cormac already, and was thankful for a bit of rest. She was
chatting with some friends from the Ministry when she felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand
up. Not in prelude to an evil way, but a warning almost … she was about to turn to discover the
catalyst when she felt a breath in her ear and heard the familiar voice of Draco Malfoy.

“Come here often?” he joked. Hermione could not help but smile in response.

“As often as I must. You?”

“As often as *I* must. One must keep the Malfoy name in the society pages. And this is the
Golden Duo.”

“Not all are Golden. Some our scowling.”

Hermione glanced at Harry who was indeed scowling. He seemed embarrassed at being caught and
turned rapidly away.

“See? He hates Muggles.”

“So I'm supposed to take it personally?”

“As you wish.”

Hermione again recognised the quote from *T**he Princess Bride*.

“Do you notice the fangirls around him?” Draco continued.

Hermione nodded.

“He looks like he hates it, but he secretly loves it. He loves the attention, or why else would
he be here?”

“To support his friend?

“He knows Ron well enough that Ron would accept his absence. No, he really does love it. He
knows how vulgar it would be to seem otherwise, but isn't that how the mentally ill behave?
They are not true to themselves.”

“You're saying he's mentally ill?”

“Living with such abuse from his Muggle relatives would cause anyone to go over the deep end.
Harry defeated You-Know-Who. That … *mental state* of his was critical in the battle. However,
it's much harder in the day-to-day normalcy of a normal life, a life without the Dark
Lord.”

“But he is an Auror and Death Eaters still exist.”

“Yes, but one does not defeat such evil without having access to it within oneself.”

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. The conversation was veering into dangerous
ground. Draco was inferring that Harry was a bit mad and evil. As much as she disliked him, she
simply could not sit by and let injustice—even against Harry bloody Potter—continue.

“One could think that you're the one who might be accessing such evil to say such things.
Could it be based out of jealousy?” Hermione's body language was unchanged but her tone of
voice was quite firm. She wanted Draco to know that they were on quite serious ground now.

Draco smiled and responded by leaning into her, brushing her elbow and whispering into her ear.
“And why would I be jealous of Harry bloody Potter? He hates Muggles and doesn't appreciate a
witch as lovely as you.” To emphasise his point, Draco traced his finger along Hermione's jaw
line and a shiver shot straight from her jaw to her core. It was exciting and thrilling and quite
sensual. She caught her breath and noticed Draco entranced by the sudden tightness of her gown
bodice when she inhaled deeply. It was all getting quite sexual and quite out of control. She was
attracted to Draco, and really did not want to be. Something beyond her logical mind flashed
warning signs when he was near, but it could not stop her from getting warm at that moment. It
could not stop a desire to have his finger trace along past her jaw along her low neckline, grazing
over her chest. She needed to get away from him and his damned smoldering eyes, and quickly.

And again she noticed Harry Potter directly across the room, scowling of course.
*Damn*.

*Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde*. (shit.) She was feeling out of control and that was a
feeling Hermione Granger despised. What to do? She had to gain control again. She glanced away from
Harry for a life buoy. A tall hook-nosed Bulgarian Seeker answered her plea.

“Oh, Draco, please excuse me but I need Viktor for something. See you later.”

Her words were dismissive, but as Hermione moved away from Draco, he grabbed her by the wrist,
and stroked his thumb along her skin; the repercussions of which shot straight to her core again,
making her moist. She pondered if she could freshen up in the loo before her scent was obvious to
every man in the room.

“Yes, later. I'd like that,” Draco pulled her close and breathed into her ear. Hermione
gasped when she felt his tongue graze her ear in a split second, then disappear again. He moved
briskly to stand directly in front of her, an impediment in her path to Viktor and thus blocking
Viktor's view of his movements. Draco pressed himself against Hermione's abdomen, so that
she could feel his erection. He gave her a sexy, lazy smile, and then seemed to disappear.

*I am so out of my depth with him*, Hermione thought despairingly. *Merde, merde, merde,
merde, merde.*

“Hermione!” Viktor was beside her in an instant. “You looked upset. What happened? What has
Malfoy done?”

“Nothing. He's just a bit unpleasant at times. But please stay with me for a moment? I need
a balance to Malfoy's disagreeableness.”

“I will have him out—” Viktor's voice changed from concern to anger and rage. He moved in
the direction of Malfoy, but Hermione put out a hand to stop him.

“No. Viktor, no. I can handle this.”

“I did not look like you could handle it, *moyata lyubov* (my love). I know you are the
brightest witch of your age, but handling a cad like Malfoy was not in your books.”

Viktor took her hand and kissed it gently, looking at her with kindness and love. “*Skupa,*
I would do anything for you. If we were married, you would not face the lewd attentions of a
Malfoy. You would be mine, and I would duel any man to the death for your honour.”

Hermione reached up to touch his face lightly. Instead of joy that someone loved her so much
that he would risk his life for her, she only felt bittersweet sadness, and disgust with herself
for not being in love with this magnificent man. “My Viktor,” she said, as she kissed her fingers
gently, and then placed them on his lips. He grabbed her hand in both of his, closed his eyes and
breathed, then placed her hand above his heart.

“*Vinagi* (always),” he whispered.

*Merde, merde, merde, merde, merde.*

***

“Hermione! Watch this!”

Several hours later, Lav and Pav, the terrible twosome, had consumed enough spirits to inebriate
a sailor, and had chatted up every Quidditch player at the ball, English-speaking or not. They had
propositioned Oliver Wood more times than he could count, and pinched enough bums for a sexual
harassment suit in a Muggle court. They were having the time of their lives. And, according to
them, it would only get better if their Frenchie flatmate would join in.

Parvati and Lavender were on the shoulders of some Quidditch players Hermione did not recognise.
They seemed to have invented a game that consisted of playing catch with one of the centrepieces.
It dropped frequently, but other Quidditch players were happy enough to pick up the centrepiece and
return it to the inebriated fangirls so they could continue their play. Soon, other inebriated
fangirls decided to join in, and there were sufficient Quidditch players willing to have a pretty
girls on their shoulders with their legs draped over their chests, not to mention what was pressed
against the back of their necks.

Hermione smiled. Her flatmates were a bit insane and probably a bad influence, but she liked
their exuberance. In the past, Hermione would have looked down upon such frivolity, preferring to
wallow in loneliness in the library. That was before her Beauxbatons mentor, Marguerite. Then she
realised she could be a bookworm and enjoy being silly as well.

“Hermione! You must join us!” Lavender called out.

Hermione shook her head and smiled. “I'd be no good at this!”

“No one's good at this!” one of the inebriated fangirls laughed in response.

“Do you need assistance?” There was a deep male voice beside her. Hermione turned to see Andrei
Andon, a teammate of Viktor's. Hermione knew him vaguely, and noted he always seemed
responsible and trustworthy, often chaperoning the young recruits if they went a bit too wild on
tour.

“No, Andrei, I'm quite all right.”

“You know you can trust me. I know you are Viktor's witch, and Viktor would castrate me if I
did anything to you or let anything happen to you.”

Hermione paused and looked at Andrei. He was not very tall, a bit wide, but had warm, genial
features and a big smile. Hermione smiled in response. “Well, all right. I won't be getting a
better offer, will I?” she joked.

Andrei very delicately helped her as she lifted her skirts and sat atop his broad shoulders. It
was then she realised that her flatmates had talked her into wearing stockings with a garter belt
instead of her usual tights, and a few of the blokes nearby had noticed, too. With a flush, she
quickly pushed her skirt lower.

Harry Potter was observing from across the room. He had watched her as she chatted with Viktor,
flirted with Malfoy, and now flirting with some Bulgarian teammate of Viktor's, giving him a
glance of her bare thighs above her stockings. *Who wears stockings? Fangirl tarts, that's
who,* thought Harry. He scowled and took another swig from his emptying glass. *Need more*
*F**irewhisky*.

“She's quite the ride, eh?” a lazy drawling male voice said close to his ear, almost echoing
his thoughts. Harry did not need to look to know that Draco Malfoy was beside him. He took another
drink.

“She's amazing in bed. The quiet ones usually are. Saves up all that passion for the sack so
when they release it, Merlin! She was insatiable! I'm surprised she could walk back to work
afterwards.”

“You slept with her at work?!”

“I wouldn't call it sleep. I'd call it a shag. In the alley, the broom closet, empty
conference rooms. You don't think we have lunch during lunch, do you?” Draco nodded towards the
impromptu sporting event, nearly pointing at Andrei. “She's had most of the Vratsa team, too.
Heard there was a bet for her to make her way through the Puddlemere United, then Chudley Cannons.
Some of the birds here are quite jealous of her. Lav and Pav provide the introductions and
Hermione—”

*“Lies!”*

Harry and Draco turned to see Viktor Krum, storm up to Draco and push his considerable finger
into Draco's finely clad chest. “Apologise! Hermione is not that type of girl! She is not a
tart! She would never sleep with you!”

“Is that because she still won't sleep with you, Krum?” Draco sneered, then swiftly dodged
Krum's fist as it aimed for his chin.

“You—you *losh chovek* (bad person)! *Prokleti da ste v ada* (damn you to hell)!”
Viktor roared. Immediately, he was joined by several of his teammates, including Andrei, who
deposited Hermione on the ground when he saw a team member in trouble.

Hermione ran up and placed a hand on Viktor's arm, willing him to remain calm. “Viktor, what
is it? I'm sure whatever it is, it isn't worth jeopardising the team for something this
pathetic little man says.”

“Saved by mummy,” Draco sneered. He tried to leave, but was stopped by several large Bulgarians.
“Really, is this necessary?” Draco drawled as he turned to Viktor. “No harm done.”

“You have insulted a lady's honour!” Viktor declared, as Hermione went quite red, suddenly
understanding the situation.

“Viktor, he is not worth it. Let him walk away,” Hermione said quietly. Viktor looked at her,
and then nodded to his teammates to let the Slytherin pass.

“Potter, you must not listen to those lies. You must not listen to Draco.”

Harry looked at Viktor and nodded, but he was still stunned by what took place so quickly in
front of him.

Viktor seemed to understand Harry's thoughts. He moved closer so that few could hear.

“Potter, you must not believe those lies. Hermione would never—*never*—she is not that type
of girl.”

“*Gluposti* (shit)! Hermione a tart? She's the furthest thing from it! The whole team
loves her like a sister,” Andrei added as Hermione wanted to sink further into the floor.

“Draco said I was a whore?” Hermione asked in a strained voice.

“Not those words exactly. Not that you got paid for it, but that you serviced entire Quidditch
teams,” Harry responded, realising how stupid he sounded. How could he have even considered that
Draco would say the truth? He ran his hands through his hair, making it more tousled. He regretted
his words, especially after seeing the look of despair on Hermione's face. Viktor was incensed,
of course, but Hermione just looked so forlorn. He longed to make things right.

“Look, it's not true! No one with any sense would believe it!” Harry said, realising he just
grouped himself in the `without sense' faction.

Hermione waved away his pleas. “Don't bother. Gossip like this is hard to stop once it
starts. I just … I'm just … I'm just a bit surprised and shocked, that's all. I
can't really think of a decent response at the moment.”

“Hermione, you're a fighter. You have more courage than the average Gryffindor. Fight back,”
Harry said.

“Hermione, dear, I will crush Malfoy,” Viktor added.

“No, Viktor let me think of something. But right now I just want to forget,” Hermione
replied.

Harry watched the once vibrant young woman continue to deflate before his eyes; she had
surrendered. He made an instant decision.

“Then dance with me. I'm a lousy dancer, so you can focus on my inept steps and hope I
don't damage your lovely shoes. That will keep your mind off any bit of nonsense.” Harry held
out a hand with a small smile.

Hermione hesitated, and then replied by reaching out and enclosing her hand in his. Viktor
seemed surprised as well; he knew from Hermione's letters that she and Harry weren't
exactly friends, but he appreciated that the young wizard was attempting to help his love. He was
also a bit upset that he did not think to do the same thing.

The music had changed to a slower number the moment they reached the dance floor. The two looked
at each other, shrugged, and Hermione held out her hands so that Harry could place his hand on her
waist and the other in her upraised hand.

*Her skin, so soft.* He pulled her into his embrace and was hit with an alluring scent.
*She* *smells* *scent of pumpkins and vanilla*. He did not realise until that moment
that he had wanted to hold her in his arms; hold her close and protect her from harm.

They remained in silence until Hermione make a small comment.

“I think slow dances are sometimes easier to dance than fast, there's less chance for
embarrassment,” she remarked.

Harry nodded in response and remained silent. He just wanted to hold on to the moment.

After another wordless minute passed, Hermione could not contain herself and said, “It's
your turn to say something, Potter. I remarked on dancing, you can say something about the number
of people here, or the location and function of the rooms.”

“Just tell me what to say, Granger, and I will say it.”

Hermione blinked. His tone was … *nice*? Harry Potter was actually behaving pleasantly?
What next, a Muggle Minister of Magic?

She answered in a posh tone. “That will do for now, Potter. Then I'll talk about how private
balls are more pleasant than public ones. Now, you can respond.”

“Do you always talk when dancing?”

Hermione looked at Harry then looked away, shrugging. She appeared to be looking and judging the
other couples on the dance floor. “Some of us try to be agreeable to others, and not simply sulk
and scowl.”

Harry's back stiffened and he forced himself not to scowl, but it was oh so difficult.
*Did she just insult him, after he saved her just now?* Well, he didn't really save her.
He should have known Malfoy was full of crap, but still. This is the thanks he gets?

“I'm sorry; I was just teasing. I am grateful you asked me to dance. I shouldn't have
responded by mocking you. I'm still trying to get a sense of you, actually.” Until she said the
words, Hermione did not realise that she actually was interested in Harry Potter; which left her
both curious and confused.

“Really? And what have you learned so far?”

“Well, you do scowl and sulk quite a bit. But maybe it's a way of protection, to shield you
from unwanted attention? Or you really do hate the world and everyone in it. Or maybe you just hate
*part* of the world and everyone in *that* part?”

“Continue. This is fascinating,” Harry replied.

Hermione continued, “You also told me before that once your opinion is formed, it does not
change. I could imagine there would be quite a lot of reason to sulk and scowl then.”

“Really? How do you imagine that?” Harry asked.

“Well, everyone at some point has done something quite stupid which they will regret. In your
case, you would not forgive them, but remember and resent.” She paused, waiting for her words to
sink in. “So then, I'm amazed you have any friends at all, including your best friend, Ron. In
your long relationship with him, even he has done something to upset you, but surely you forgave
*him*?”

*Dam**na**ble woman*, thought Harry. Her logic had shown a spotlight on the holes
in his argument.

“Perhaps your life has been mild enough that you can keep your good humour even when others
disappoint,” Harry answered with a snark. *Why don't you just shut it, Potter?* he
thought. He was playing the I'm-the-Wizard-who-Defeated-Voldemort card, which meant he
couldn't think of a decent response to her argument. And he knew *she* knew it.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. Now, *this* was the old Harry. *This* was the Harry she
was accustomed to.

“Perhaps you have no idea what my life has been. And perhaps there are those who *choose*
to see others in a more positive light, who *prefer* to go through life with the glass
half-full instead of half-empty.”

“And if the Ministry was full of those who saw the glass half-full, we would be living under the
reign of Voldemort; and you would not be here, being Muggle born, but likely enslaved somewhere or
staying in France at the very best.”

Harry had not planned the fierceness of his words, and the shock on Hermione's face
displayed her reaction to them. “I'm sorry, I—” he attempted to apologise.

“No, you've said enough and it is true. Let's just finish this dance,” Hermione
responded, no longer looking Harry in the eye.

She pondered what had just happened in the past three minutes. For a moment there, there was a
*nicer* Harry Potter; the Harry Potter she had *hoped* he'd be when she first met him
at the Puddlemere Gala. But, the real Harry Potter had returned. And the dance was not over
yet.

For the remaining three minutes of the dance, they stayed silent, using only the bare amount of
contact. Then, in very formal movements, they took their leave of each other; Hermione to
Viktor's waiting arms and Harry to the bar for a Firewhisky.

After the dance, as Hermione and Viktor were in a heated discussion, Harry nursed his second
drink and added words to their muted conversation:

“What did he do to you?” Harry poorly mimicked Viktor's deep Bulgarian voice. “Nothing! Just
forget about it Viktor!” He then mimicked Hermione's higher pitched, French over English tones.
“No, my dearest. I cannot forget! I must defend your honour!” “Oh no, dear Viktor! I'm woman
enough to take care of both of us! Look, here's Neville and Padma, and let's talk to them
and tell them, no, let's pretend nothing happened. Look! I'm laughing at a not very funny
thing Neville said but I want to act as if I'm fine and I'm happy to be here and I did not
just dance with Harry bloody Potter!”

“Harry, who are you talking to?” Ginny interrupted Harry's dialogue. He startled, then took
a long drink from his glass.

“Nobody. Who did you think?”

“You were having quite a conversation there with Nobody. Nobody sounds like both a Bulgarian
male and Frenchie female. A female with fine eyes, perhaps?”

Harry scowled at her and finished his drink, then firmly set it in front of the bartender.
“Another Firewhisky.” His tone was not an order, but not a request, either. The bartender complied
immediately.

“Harry, you drink too much,” Ginny protested weakly. Harry responded with a grimace, and another
swig from the now refilled glass.

“I'm fine.” His words did not match his tone.

“If you were fine, you wouldn't mind me doing this.” Ginny then took the glass out of his
hand and poured its contents into a nearby plant.

“Damn waste of Ogden's,” Harry responded.

“Damn waste of someone's potential,” Ginny echoed, looking directly at Harry. He looked away
quickly.

Ginny stood beside Harry and they both looked at the happenings around them. Lav and Pav had
invented a new game. No longer satisfied with playing catch with centrepieces, they now had their
wands out, and had water arching from a sink over their heads. They were laughing and jumping up,
splashing themselves, and many of the Quidditch players joined in. The floor became slick with
water and the group soon began to skate across the floor in their stocking feet, often falling
down, crashing into walls and laughing hilariously.

Ginny looked at Harry. “And these are the people you want to associate with?”

Just then, Susan Bones passed by, chatting with Hannah Abbott. “I'm sure Ron will propose
any moment now. Everyone knows it. I heard that Seamus is taking wagers. I put down midnight
tonight; Cormac has Sunday morning at 10am.”

Harry and Ginny exchanged a look. Harry opened his mouth to say something, but Ginny pressed her
finger against his lips. “Save it. There is no way my brother is going to marry into this … this
*freak show*. And don't tell me you're enjoying this either. You're his *best
friend*. You have to help me on this. This *cannot* continue. She doesn't *lov*e
him; she's *using* him for his notoriety. And it's your duty as his best friend to end
it. He'll listen to you; I'm just his kid sister. But you owe it to Ron to help me help
him. I'll suggest that Ron take a break, and you can agree.” Ginny looked around the room,
found her target and smiled. “Phineas Knowles from the Chudley Cannons is over there. I think I can
work with Phineas so Ron will get an offer he can't refuse.”

Harry finally found the ability to speak. “Ginny, we can't just tell him not to fall in
love.”

“No, but we can show him the repercussions of his decisions.” Ginny paused as one of the
Quidditch players crashed into a pillar that held a vase, which Pav managed to save from breaking
just in time. “And we can offer alternatives.” She then looked at the Chudley Cannons owner who was
talking animatedly to their new Seeker. “Just back me up.”

“I'm not sure about this.”

“I think you care more than you think about the Frenchie, or else you wouldn't be so
upset.”

“Did you think I may consider Luna my friend? She did accompany me to Slug's Club.”

“That was years ago! Harry, this is for his own good. He'll thank us later, once he's
over her spell. Trust me.”

Ginny Weasley rarely said those last two words. He could not recall if she had ever said it
before, but he felt that he had to trust her. He was too drunk to think rationally anyway (not that
he necessarily thought rationally sober either).

“Harry,” Ginny repeated, “trust me.”

He nodded. He was too tired to think, and he had trusted Ginny's judgment. He loved her
once, and knew that she was fiercely loyal to her brothers. He would do it. She was only looking
out for Ron, whom they both cared for. He would, he could, do it for him.

***

*Next chapter: Heartbreak.*

*(and if you haven't read or seen the original P&P, do so! Read the original, or see
the 1995 BBC mini series or the 2005 movie.)*

*Please read and review!*

*BTW,* I will be participating in the National Novel Writing Month starting Nov
1st. I have pledged to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. It'll be an original
work, a chic lit about four friends in a book club, and their lives and loves in a year. That said,
I may not be able to update here on ff that frequently, but I hope to every two weeks. Wish me
luck! (I'll need it!)

-->



10. 10
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 10: After the Ball**

*(**A* *short chapter to wrap things up before Part
2**--Rosings**)*

*By:AddisonJ*

*Beta: DeeMichelle*

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*(Author note: sorry for the delay between chapters. Beta has had Real Life issues and
I've been working on National Novel Writing Month. Thanks for sticking with this
story.)*

******

After the last guests left the ball, Ron stretched out his legs on the chaise, watching the
house-elves clean up the rented assembly halls. Life was good. He had a beautiful woman whom he was
in love with, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. He was here with his best
friend and his sister, and had just hosted the best party ever. All his friends from Hogwarts, the
Ministry, and Quidditch teams had attended. Best of all, he did not have to do any of the cleanup
spells himself, the house-elves were part of the rental agreement. He just had to sit back and keep
drinking water to avoid a future hangover. Life was good.

For Harry Potter, life was not good. He was in a foul mood. His head throbbed; he felt the after
affects of not only too many Firewhiskies, but too much time avoiding flirty witches in spandex
dress robes. And his best friend was lounging about with a smile like a Cheshire cat which only
made him angrier. He was in a rotten mood.

Ginny sulked. She knew she looked amazing, but Harry never seemed to notice anymore. At least
Harry didn't show a preference for any witches there (except maybe that Frenchie girl, but they
seemed to have a row on the dance floor). Still, she worried about her brother as well. Luna
Lovegood was a sweet girl, but entirely unsuited for her brother. He deserved a better match. Their
family was now in the same league as the Blacks and the Malfoys. Now was the time for an
advantageous match, not to the loony daughter of a reactionary tabloid editor; a witch who did not
return his feelings. She loved her brother and would do anything for him. Anything.

***

“Touring with the Chudley Cannons?!”

Hermione was shocked. Yet Luna was there, holding the evidence. An owl arrived that afternoon
from Ginny Weasley with the news. The unbelievable, impossible news that Ron was leaving
immediately to tour with the Chudley Cannons.

“That's impossible! It makes no sense! Wouldn't he have said something last night?
Wouldn't he have told you himself? No, something else must be going on. Maybe he's under a
spell or she's under a spell? I mean, they have obligations at the Ministry! I should owl
someone…”

Luna smiled weakly and raised a hand in protest. “No, Hermione. Just don't. This is hard
enough as it is. Knowing that I requested a full public investigation because my supposed boyfriend
skips out without me? That's just rather pathetic, isn't it?”

“I have some connections. I could ask quietly—”

“No! Think no more about it! I just appreciate Ginny sending this note. I would have been so
worried if I hadn't heard anything at all.”

“But it would have been better if Ron wrote to you himself. Or, better yet, actually came to the
Floo to tell you in person.”

“Hermione! You're being too rude! I won't stand for that.”

“But Luna,” Hermione began, but then stopped. She had never seen her friend so obstinate. It was
obvious that she was not going to budge on this issue, no matter how much it hurt her. Caring for
and defending Ron Weasley was much too important. Not that Ron Weasley was worth the defence. If
Hermione had her way… and Hermione proceeded to think about all sorts of hexes she could send to
Ron. Could she do any without Luna guessing? No, she shouldn't even think it. Oh, but it was so
tempting! There was a new spell from Bulgaria that Viktor had told her about. Possibly the English
Aurors had not learned of it yet … *Calm down, Granger*, she thought to herself. *This is
not your battle*.

***

The weeks went by and still no contact from Ron. At the Ministry, Hermione learned that Ginny
was correct; Ron had taken a leave of absence to travel with the Chudley Cannons. Indefinitely. Not
only that, but Potter was gone as well. He was granted a leave of absence also, something about
family business, which made no sense at all since it was well-known that he was an orphan with only
some dreadful Muggle relatives whom he hadn't seen since seventh year. Even Ginny was gone. She
joined an all-female Quidditch team and went on tour. It was all so odd. Even the Gryffindors
commented on it when they met for their regular drink night at Seamus'.

“It's just so bizarre, having them show up after years, then just disappear like that,”
Padma said between sips of white wine.

“This isn't their usual behaviour?” Hermione asked, interested in the perspective of someone
who wasn't one of her housemates.

“Oh no,” Neville added. “It's very strange; and for all three to leave like that, and in all
different directions. Have you talked to Bill and Fleur? Did they say anything?”

“Just the standard story. Ron and Ginny got these great opportunities to play Quidditch
professionally. They wouldn't say anything at all about Harry. Seems to be a big secret
there.”

“Well, that man deserves his secrets. Deserves everything he's entitled to and more. He
saved us,” Seamus said, while Hermione noticed Cormac hide his grimace behind his pint glass.

“But wouldn't he let his friends know what was happening? I mean, what if he's in
danger, or needs help?” Hermione asked.

“I'm sure the Weasleys know; they're just protecting him. He's practically family.
And they stick close together, they defend their own. If you were trying to find out what happened
to Harry, you'd never learn from them. You could even try to get George drunk or seduce
Charlie, or bribe Percy even, but they'd never tell,” Dean said.

“Not that I'm desperate to know,” Hermione mumbled, trying to feign indifference.

“How's Luna?” Padma asked quietly, but the men noticed and stopped their own conversations
to listen.

“As well as can be expected,” Hermione replied, anxious not have the extent of her friend's
distress public knowledge.

“Parvati mentioned it to me as well. I should stop by and visit. Too bad she couldn't come
out tonight.”

“No, she wanted to have a quiet night. Busy week at work. Whirling Turleys were loose in her
office, she said. Made it hard for her to concentrate.”

“Blimey, they're nesting in my office then!” Ernie exclaimed. They laughed.

Padma exchanged a worried look with Hermione and she nodded. They could talk more later.

***

“Granger! A word!” Scamander beckoned. Hermione stopped immediately and stepped into his
office.

“I think we've got something you'd be interested in. There's a town in Cornwall that
is supposedly quietly creating laws to help werewolves.”

“Really? What caused it? How is it going? What do the townspeople think?” In her excitement,
Hermione could barely get all her questions out at once.

“Yes, Granger, I know you're interested and I have no answers. What would you say to going
there yourself? It'll take several weeks, but I think you could use a break. You've been
working longer hours than Shacklebolt himself.”

Hermione felt guilty about the time she had been spending at the Ministry. Honestly, it was to
avoid going home. Luna had insisted that she was fine, and Hermione respected her wishes, but she
hid her heartbreak so well, that Hermione's own heart broke a little. She threw herself into
her work instead, an easy solution for a workaholic.

“Yes, well, I think it's a splendid plan. I could learn the motivation behind it, the
townspeople's reaction, and can it be replicated in the rest of Britain.”

“Excellent. When can you leave?”

So, Hermione Granger found herself packing for a three week trip to Cornwall, to the small
wizarding village of Appley-on-the-Green, the only town developing laws to help werewolves,
regardless of official ministry policies. Part of her was excited, the other part guilty for
leaving her best girlfriend, still in obvious distress.

“Are you quite sure you'll be all right without me for a few weeks?” Hermione asked her best
friend and housemate. Luna smiled and patted her arm.

“Of course. The Wilipops are no longer affecting me. I think the Jelywobblies have come to rid
me of them, and they're quite good at affecting one's psyche towards positive thoughts. You
should take some with you.”

“No, I think they'd rather stay with you. I'll be around werewolves, it may scare them
away.”

“Oh no. Shall I see if a couple would mind going in your suitcase?”

“If they don't mind. I mean, they are wild and all. Don't want to domesticate them.”

Luna smiled. “Of course not, they'll run away when they feel it's time to move on. They
are their own masters.”

Hermione paused, letting the words sink in, and then she wrapped Luna in a warm hug. “What smart
creatures they are! We should be like them sometimes, being their own master. But sometimes they
need to stay and commit.”

“Hermione! Please do not draw an analogy between Ronald and me and some Jelywobblies!”

“Fine then! I'll just say it! I hate Ron Weasley for leaving you, and I hate Harry Potter
and Ginny Weasley as well for letting him leave you, then leaving themselves! I'm sure they
just wanted to break you up! Horrible, dreadful people.”

“Surely you don't mean that!”

“Yes I do! I'm sure you love him,”—Luna blushed—“but he's not treating you well at all.
Have you heard from him at all? No. Those are not the actions of a man in love.”

“Hermione, I know you mean well, but don't you think I know him better than you?”

Luna's words were harsh in their simplicity and Hermione's reply was equally harsh.

“Yes, you think you know him,” Hermione answered equally directly, “and I think I know him as
well. Well, I thought I knew him. All I know is that he left without a word and my best friend is
upset. That's what I know.”

Luna smiled sadly and shook her head. “Hermione, you need those Jelywobblies more than me.
I'll try to coax some to follow you.”

“I'm afraid the Wilipops are more my type of company now.”

Luna gasped, “Oh no! You don't want to even suggest Wilipops follow you, because they will!
They're dreadful that way, almost like parasites. They take all the good humour and only let
you see the bad. Oh dear! I'll see what I can do!” Luna then raced around Hermione's trunk,
waving her arms in a shooing motion. “Go away! You're not wanted! Good thoughts only!”

“Luna! Not to worry! I'm going to a village that helps werewolves! That thought alone makes
me happy! I shall be focusing on work, not personal problems. Don't worry!”

“Well, if you say so,” Luna replied doubtfully, waving her arms lackadaisically.

Hermione wrapped her friend in a big hug. “I'm sure of it! I feel more positive already.
Now, I want to make sure the Jelywobblies are taking care of you! Are they still here? I still
think you may need them more than me.”

“Oh yes, I feel them now. I think they were just hiding a bit. They tend to be shy.”

“Oh, I do wish they would stay with you now. Can we order them to do as we please? No,
they're wild, aren't they? Well, I must rush but may the Jelywobblies stay with you, my
dear Luna, and owl me frequently. I want to know how you are.”

“Of course, my dear Hermione.”

The friends hugged, then Hermione went to hug her other housemates as well. Lavender and Parvati
were lounging on the sofa, reading the latest edition of *Witch Weekly*.

“Ginny Weasley has another report from the Holyhead Harpies world tour. She said their captain,
Gwenog Jones, is working on some new recruits from the Highlands who are to be quite impressive
this week against the Flanders team,” Lavender spoke.

“I think her write-ups of the culture of the wizarding world while on tour are fascinating. How
else would we know that purple is the in colour this season in Amsterdam? It goes so well with all
that orange they love. Or that nettle tea is making a comeback?” Parvati added.

Hearing the name of Ron's sister made both Hermione and Luna wince slightly, but they
recovered quickly.

“Well, I'm off, ladies. Hugs. I shall be back in three weeks. Maybe I can tell you all about
the culture of a remote village in Cornwall,” said Hermione.

“Oh, do! I want to know if fringes are coming back! Ginny thinks so but I disagree. I look
dreadful in a fringe!” Parvati said.

“Have you thought that perhaps you should decide for yourself what looks good on you versus what
someone just writes about in a magazine?” asked Hermione.

“Silly girl! And to think you're half French!” Lavender teased.

Goodbye hugs were exchanged. “Oh! I forgot to post this letter to Viktor. Can you send it for
me? I'm running late.”

“Of course, Hermione,” Lavender responded, exchanging looks with Parvati. “Did you want to send
a note to Harry Potter as well? Or maybe Ernie Macmillan or Cormac McLaggen?”

“I dare say we should add Draco Malfoy to that list as well,” Parvati added with a sly
smile.

Hermione groaned. “Oh for heaven's sake! I told everyone who needed to be told that I'd
be gone! Viktor is touring right now, too, and he's harder to reach. Argh!” Hermione wanted to
pull her hair in frustration but didn't want the two young witches to realise how their teasing
affected her. “Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!” she said, then Apparated with her trunk.

“She'll miss us,” Parvati spoke to the empty spot where her friend once stood.

“I'm afraid some Wilipops followed her,” Luna said ominously.

*Please read and review!*

*Next: Roslyn, or, Appley-on-the-Green. And introducing* *Colonel*
*Fitzwilliam!*

8

-->



11. 11
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**PART TWO****: Appley-on-the-Green**

**Chapter 11: Werewolves of Appley-on-the-Green**

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

By: AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*(A/N: Rosing, or, where Lizzy and Darcy get to know each other away from Netherfield and
Longbourn**. Sorry, no Lady Catherine.**)*

******

To her knowledge, Hermione Granger had never met a werewolf in Britain. Werewolves were more out
in the open in Beauxbatons where the headmistress, Olympe Maxime, was open-minded about them, but
Hermione personally had not become close friends with any. Not due to any explicit action or belief
of hers, they just happened not to be in her small set of friends.

She was now walking freely in the delightful little village of Appley-on-the-Green, full of
thatched roof houses and a village green with a lovely creek running through it. It was the sort of
village tourists would flock to, if they knew about it, but this one was for wizards only. And it
was the most progressive village in Britain with regard to werewolves.

Rolf Scamander had given her the name of a key contact, Octavious Peasegood, the mayor of
Appley. He was the champion of werewolf rights and changing the laws (or creating new ones). He was
also Hermione's only contact, so she sincerely hoped that he was 1) talkative, 2) open to
sharing more contacts with her. Or else she would have to Nancy Drew her way through town.

Her boss had sent a post earlier in the week to let Mr Peasegood know that a young witch would
shortly be knocking on his door, anxious to learn more about his work. Hermione never did learn if
Scamander received a reply, so she was a bit anxious when she knocked on the door of the lovely old
thatched cottage near the centre of the quiet town.

“Who is it?” an older male voice enquired.

“Hermione Granger. From the Ministry. Rolf Scamander should have told you that I'd be coming
by.”

The door opened a crack, and Hermione saw an older, grey eye appear in the crack. The eye
widened, she heard an “Oh!” and the door opened.

A very small wizard, balding with long grey hair on the sides, a prominent nose and less
prominent chin, bushy grey eyebrows and a bend in his back held the door open for her. “Miss
Granger! Please do come in! Would you like some tea?”

“That would be lovely; I'd much appreciate it. I just arrived and put my things in the inn.
I hadn't a chance to sit for a moment.”

“Oh, well you've come to the right place. Sitting is one of my favourite things!”

Hermione liked him immediately.

After sitting on an overstuffed chair covered with lace doilies on the headrest as well as the
armrests, Hermione had a cup of tea with milk (no sugar) and nibbled a gingersnap.

“These are really quite good,” Hermione said, trying to cover her mouth as she spoke. “Oh, you
must excuse me. Usually my manners are much better than this. Please don't tell my
parents!”

Mr Peasegood laughed affably. “Oh my dear, I consider it a complement. Actually, I had nothing
to do with this, I simply paid for them. It's our wonderful bakery. Have you been down Market
Street? Jojo's Bakery, next to the Quidditch shop. Best gingersnaps in Cornwall.”

“I must try them.”

Mr Peasegood smiled slyly, then put his teacup down carefully. “But that's not why
you're here, is it?”

Hermione, judging the change in mood, levelled her teacup as well. “No, it's not.”

“You want to know what we've been up to here in Appley-on-the-Green, don't you?
Wondering how we're mixing things up.”

“I'm not here to prosecute, incriminate or arrest. I'm here to learn.”

“But your department regulates. Some of those regulations have not been … appreciated here.”

“And I've not appreciated them either.” Hermione shifted in her seat. “Are you aware of the
laws regarding magical beings in France?”

Mr Peasegood raised his eyebrows. “I did detect an accent, didn't I?”

Hermione smiled. “*Oui,* *j**e suis venu du Ministère à Paris**.* I came
from the Ministry in Paris. Shacklebolt himself asked me to review the regulations here in Britain.
The laws here are *… tr**é**s different, n'est-ce pas?*”

“*Oui*.” Mr Peasegood's eyes were fixed on Hermione's. She shifted in her seat and
took another sip of tea. The next few moments were crucial.

“So, Mr Peasegood, as I said, I'm not here to enforce current regulations. I am here to
learn. I want to see the same sort of rights for magical beings not only in France but here in
Britain as well. And I want an English model. It will be much more … satiable for British audiences
to know that the framework is an English as a tea cosy, rather than as French as smelly
cheese.”

Peasegood raised an eyebrow and sipped from his teacup silently. Hermione continued.

“So. I'm here. With both Shacklebolt and Scamander's blessings. To learn. I have ideas,
but I want to know what works and why, and how you have convinced the population here to agree with
you.”

Peasegood smiled. “I did not have to do much to `convince them' as you say. We have a
history of tolerance here.”

“Why here and not other places in Britain, or even Cornwall?”

“Cornwall is its own country. Appley is its own town. Don't tell the Ministry, but we
don't always consider ourselves in its jurisdiction,” Peasegood answered with a wink. Hermione
laughed.

“Can you tell me how it started then?”

“Do you want the long version or the short version?”

“I'll be in town for a while. You can give me the overview and then the details.”

“You're very efficient, aren't you?”

“That has been rumoured.”

“Miss Granger, I suggest you get comfortable. Another cuppa?”

“More gingersnaps, actually.”

“Coming right up.”

“Let me help,” Hermione stood up and Peasegood waved her back down. “No, really.”

“You want to know where I hide the gingersnaps, don't you?”

Hermione laughed. “I'm caught!”

“Please sit back down. I'll be out in a jiffy. I'm actually quite pleased the Ministry
has come, and surprised it's taken so long to get their notice.”

“We don't actually move at a fast pace in the Department for the Regulation and Control of
Magical Beings.”

“Well, that's worked well for all of us, hasn't it?”

After he returned, Hermione sat down and listened to a story. A story about a young Peasegood
who had a best friend who was bitten by a werewolf. And how he saw his friend face not only the
fear of hurting his family and friends, the monthly physical agony of the transformation, but also,
what was most distressing and most out of his control was the ostracism of former friends and
neighbours when his secret was discovered. And how Peasegood vowed that he would do everything in
his power not only to make things right for his friend, but to make it so that no one else should
endure the pain that his friend had endured. It wasn't a surprising story, almost clichéd,
predictable that way. But Peasegood spoke with such emotion, such fierceness, describing events of
decades ago and how it blended into the work of today, it had a power Hermione did not expect. She
was fascinated, and clung to each and every word.

Peasegood ended by giving her numerous names of people to meet. He planned to personally
introduce her to many in the neighbourhood: the apothecary who delivered Wolfsbane to the
werewolves at a reduced rate, the school teachers who assigned lessons around the phases of the
moon, the employers with flexible work arrangements around the full moon as well. Hermione jotted
details in her notebook, realising that several weeks would be needed for this work, and thankful
that her boss had realised this before her own request for more time.

Hermione had a thousand questions, covering the entire lifespan of a werewolf and the impact on
the community. The working environment, the schooling, the neighbourhood, the police enforcement,
full moon impact, Wolfsbane impact, dealing with rumours, misconceptions and paranoia. Above all,
community safety. And Hermione not only wanted to discuss with the Peasegood fan club, but
detractors as well. She needed the whole story, because she knew it would be a tough sell
throughout the rest of Britain, and she needed as much ammunition as possible.

* * *

Hermione soon had a schedule. She spent her mornings at City Hall and the local library. She
reviewed the new laws, compare to current laws, review the differences and get reactions. The
afternoons would be field research. She visited the references Peasegood had mentioned as well as
just get acquainted with the town and the people.

Her free time was spent walking along the beach. The coast was rugged but beautiful. The
loveliest beach was outside of Appley in the small city of Linnet. Hermione could be anonymous in
Linnnet. It was a part Muggle town, with a magical section Hermione would only occasionally visit.
What really drew her was the seashore. There was a wide sandy section by some dramatic steel grey
cliffs. The wind was fierce there, and it would refresh her mind to face it. It cleared her
head.

The locals paid her no mind, which was perfect. In Appley, she felt under a microscope. It was a
small town, and word soon spread of who she was and why she was there. In Linnet, she was
nobody.

She did attract the attention of one young man one day. As she passed along a narrow rocky path
leading down to the sands, a young man was approaching and simply stared at her. She looked at him,
he simultaneously looked familiar and looked like a stranger. He had tousled brown hair, big blue
eyes and nondescript features. He had a lean build and carried himself like a Quidditch player
(Hermione knew enough of them that she could recognise the signs.) Their eyes met, and Hermione saw
a brief flash of recognition in his, that disappeared immediately. He kept walking. Intrigued,
Hermione stopped and watched him ascend the path. He managed to avoid turning around and looking at
her again until he reached the summit. She stopped herself from waving at him.

A day later, Hermione received an owl post from Scamander that she would be visited by an Auror,
Kyle Reilly, who was on assignment in the area. Since they were both there on Ministry business, he
wanted to give her advance notice that he would be contacting her, and the codeword he would be
using so that she would know that he was indeed who he said he was.

When Hermione met Auror Reilly, she had half expected him to be the young man on the beach.
Instead, a shorter, stouter wizard with strawberry blonde hair and the nose of pugilist greeted
her.

“Granger!” he said affably. He has a wide, easy smile. Hermione was surprised he was an Auror;
he had the personality of the greeter at a swank casino.

“Reilly!”

They had agreed to meet for a walk in the local park. It was less obvious when Reilly put a
Silencing charm around them in a park than a small cafe, and they did not want to attract attention
or create gossip for the locals. Reilly was on assignment following rumours of Death Eaters in the
area. He had a colleague here as well whom she would be meeting the next day.

Hermione found Reilly charming. His blunt face masked a very alluring man. She could consider
him a heartbreaker if he were more her type (tall, dark and handsome). They spent a pleasant hour
exchanging stories. She noticed he had the Auror habit of not revealing too much about himself but
instead trying to have her open up. Then she knew he was the good cop of the Aurors, the one who
buttered up the informant after the bad cop tried to break them down. She guessed that his partner,
Hank Pilsner, would be the bad cop.

She found out the next day. Reilly suggested they go for a stroll along the beach, and Hermione
recognised Hank Pilsner immediately as the young man on the beach. He recognised her too as they
shook hands.

“Granger, good to meet you,” he said in a North American accent.

“American?” she asked.

“Raised there. Mother is English. Came back,” he replied brusquely.

Hermione paused. Something did not add up. And although he was a stranger, she felt a strong
connection with him. She was a witch who was ruled by logic, but she was old enough to know that
sometimes logic did not work and she had to work from her gut.

“Is your mother living?”

“No, I'm an orphan actually.”

How did she already guess that? “So sorry.”

He waved on her words. “You're French?”

“My mother is. Both of my parents are living in France at the moment. Aging parents.”

“Understood.”

The conversation was so stilted, that Reilly jumped in and did quick work of trying to lighten
the mood, telling amusing stories of an assignment in New York and the glories of thin crust pizza
(he was careful to mention an assignment, but then discuss such general topics such as food,
weather, the loveliness of the ladies and comparisons of beer and ale so that nothing even slightly
close to confidential was ever uttered).

Pilsner stayed quiet during most of the conversation, and Hermione would notice him noticing her
in between making comments about Reilly's stories. She felt in her bones she must know this
wizard. *Perhaps he was a Beauxbatons student under a Disillusionment Charm? Yes! That was surely
it! But who?*

Hermione looked for tells. She knew for certain at that moment he was not American. The accent
didn't seem quite right, and the way he carried himself did not fit that nationality either. He
was certainly English. She tried to be as surreptitious as possible, trying to draw him into the
conversation, hoping he would reveal some information.

She suddenly glanced at his forehead. *Could it be?*

“You must work with Potter then?” Hermione asked suddenly during a pause in a conversation about
restaurants near the Ministry.

Reilly raised an eyebrow; Hermione saw a quick clench of Pilsner's jaw. “Yes, what brought
that up?”

“God, that man's a prat! I mean, saving the wizarding world is one thing, but that's no
excuse to shag every fangirl in the world. Couldn't he keep it in his pants?”

Hermione received the intended reaction. Reilly stared at her, saw the glint in her eye and
burst out laughing. “Gods, you're good! How could you tell? You're the first to recognise
him!”

Meanwhile, Pilsner went from shock to rage. Before he could explode, Hermione laid a hand on his
arm. “Relax, Potter, I won't say anything. It was the first utterly untrue, outlandish thing I
could think about you just to get a reaction.”

“But how—” Pilsner/Potter stuttered.

“You could be in counter intelligence, Granger! Well done!” Reilly laughed.

“No one has ever guessed any of my Disillusionments!”

“I honestly hadn't a clue. You're quite good, but the American accent wasn't quite
there. More Canadian. Otherwise, I have no bloody idea why. I knew I knew you, and it just popped
into my head.”

“Even Ron can't recognise me when I'm in Disillusionment,” Harry replied.

Hearing Ron's name nearly gave Hermione a wince, but she knew that could be pursued another
day, another time.

“Can you tell me why you're really here?”

“What I've said is true. Rumours of Death Eaters. Cornelius Phelps for one. He's
supposed to be recruiting, so we're on assignment to trap the whole lot of them. Information
gathering now, rather like you,” Reilly replied.

“Let me know how I can help.”

Over the next few days, they became a threesome. Hermione found Reilly charming, and
reconnecting with Harry under Disillusionment actually helped. For some strange reason, speaking
with Harry-who-does-not-look-like-Harry helped her get beyond her prejudices against him and
actually take time to notice what she liked about him. His loyalty. His bravery. His intelligence.
The way his body moved, like a Seeker, quite nimble. These aspects were often not noticed when
meeting the Great Harry Potter. Hermione got to know Harry the person, and she was impressed.

Reilly seemed to notice as well. Threesomes for lunch soon became twosomes as Reilly would
suddenly find reasons to leave. It wasn't subtle, but it was appreciated. Hermione could not
believe she might be falling for Harry bloody Potter.

*****

*Please read and review!!*

Next Chapter: Harry falls for Hermione

*(A/N: Yes, Colonel Fitzwilliam is an OC. I couldn't think of a* *character* *to
portray him, since he is charming relative of Darcy/Harry who comes from outside the
Netherfield/Longbourn, Hogwarts/Beauxbatons circles. If you have an idea of who should have been
Colonel Fitzwilliam, please review and let me know!)*

-->



12. 12
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 12: If He Fell**

By: addisonj

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

***

Harry Potter was falling for Hermione Granger.

He could not deny otherwise. Maybe it was the Cornish landscape with its rough beauty, wide
beaches and rocky cliffs. They would meet quite early in the morning and go for walks. Long walks
along the beach, and Harry would notice how her crazy curly hair would fly behind her, like a
woolly cape, and when the wind was behind them, it would fall in front of her face and she would
laugh. A wonderful, hearty yet still feminine laugh. Her laugh personified her: it was
whole-hearted, it was genuine, it had a touch of French but it had some British modesty as if
decorum were still needed when enjoying oneself. But it was not being held back, it came out and
she enjoyed it. She would even give a little snort sometimes when she was really laughing hard and
that would make her laugh even harder.

How could he have assumed she was a fangirl? It was because he assumed since she was always in
the company of two of the biggest fangirls in Britain: Parvati and Lavender. But she was their
housemate, wasn't she? And she was actually in that house because of her friendship with Luna,
and it seemed that Padma was her best friend, other than Luna. Luna was an endearing flake, but
Padma was warm intellect, as was Hermione.

They had common ground. Muggleborn, being thrust into the wizarding world. He didn't talk
about the war and neither did she, but they had so many other things in common.

“Oh, how I miss the internet!” Hermione confessed one blustery morning. “I'd put wifi in the
house if I could. But I'm half afraid of introducing the world wide web to Pav and Lav;
they'd be downloading images of half naked celebrities I'm sure and exposing my laptop to
all sorts of viruses.”

“Can you keep a secret?” Harry said in a stage whisper.

Hermione arched an eyebrow and leaned closer. “But, of course,” she said in dramatically lower
tones.

He inched closer until his lips were nearly against her ear. *Damn!* He wanted to do more
than whisper. “I have a cell phone,” he said.

Hermione stepped back and laughed. That wonderful wonderful laugh. She couldn't speak, but
reached into her wand pocket and pulled out the latest iPhone. He laughed and pulled out a
Blackberry. They continued to laugh as they took pictures of the other and loaded their information
into newly created contact pages.

“Hey! What are you typing there?” Harry peered over her shoulder as she was inputting his
information. “`Harry bloody Potter'?!”

She whirled around so that he couldn't see, but he had Seeker reflexes and moved just as
quickly to follow. “Harry bloody Potter!” he exclaimed again.

“Ssh!” she responded. “You don't want to give away your secret, do you?”

“Well, don't you think the `B'in `bloody' should be capitalised then?”

“I don't think we learned that in school. Besides, I think you're only worthy of a
lowercase `B'.”

He tried to snatch the phone from her hands which caused her to start running down the beach,
and he simply had to follow her. She was surprisingly quick for a bookworm, but he soon caught up
with her and tried to wrestle it from her hands which she kept behind her back, switching the phone
from one hand to another as he tried to capture it.

Finally, he changed tactic and just kissed her soundly on the lips. Startled, she forgot about
the phone and he was then able to grab it and run away while she stood there astonished. He felt
gobsmacked as well, but had to hide it for the game to continue. He wasn't sure how she'd
react and was a bit afraid she'd hex him, so he kept looking over his shoulder in case a wand
suddenly appeared.

She recovered quickly and soon followed him, faster than before. He let himself be caught,
slowing down unexpectedly so she fell right into him. As they landed on the sand, she threw some
soft blows into his hard abdomen. “Bloody Potter is right,” he could hear her muttering under her
breath and he tried to dodge her weak attempts at punches and still hide the phone.

“Mercy! Mercy!” he called out, his hands open in surrender as he decided to end the tussle. She
quickly grabbed the phone from his hands and hid it in her pocket. He was grateful she didn't
take out the wand that he knew was hidden there as well. Instead, she fell down upon the sand next
to him, then just as quickly sat up on her elbows. He soon learned why, lying down on the sand, the
wind was such that sand would blow into his face. He sat up and mirrored her pose.

“It's bloody beautiful here, isn't it Harry bloody Potter?” she asked a few moments
later, filling the silence. “I could live here. Maybe I will, once my work is done.”

“Will your work ever be done, Mademoiselle Granger?” he asked, half seriously.

She turned to look at him squarely. “You understand why I have to do it?” she asked simply but
firmly.

He nodded. He didn't want to tell her about Remus Lupin or Dobby. Now was not the time.
“Yes,” he replied equally firmly and simply.

They turned their heads to look back at the white capped waves rushing to shore.

***

They would talk about childhoods and school. They avoided the War—neither was really sure why.
Hermione guessed that Harry was sick of talking about it, and Harry guessed that Hermione was so
well-read, she probably knew enough. They talked about knowing there was something different about
themselves, but no idea what.

“There was this one time Dudley was irritating this snake at a zoo, and I just wished the glass
away and the snake escaped. I didn't' realise I knew Parseltongue as well.”

“They must have thought you were speaking in tongues. Surprised they didn't lock you away,”
she joked.

Harry didn't respond in kind. “They did lock me up,” he said quietly. Hermione gasped,
understanding her mistake. She took his hand.

“I'm an idiot,” she said. “I forget sometimes.”

He smiled weakly and squeezed her hand. “It's still so strange that so many people know so
many things about my life.”

“That would drive me nuts. I love privacy. All I want to do is sit with a good book and a cup of
tea. That would be my ideal day. My ideal week in fact.”

“Mine would be flying on a broom, or spending time with friends. Being taken care of by the
Weasleys, in a real family.”

“I wish my family was closer. I wish there were more of them.”

“I wish I had a real family.”

Hermione caught the undertones of sadness in Harry's response. She squeezed his hand in
sympathy. “One thing I really like about being an adult instead of a child is that you have the
ability to create your own family. You can actually decide and choose who is in your family, and
blood has nothing to do with it.”

“Have you created your own family then, Mademoiselle Granger?”

“Well, Eleanor Roosevelt and Madame Curie weren't available, but the Lovegoods have been
quite accommodating. And Neville and Padma are like my siblings. Back at Beauxbatons, my best
friend, Marguerite Saint-Denis's family nearly adopted me. But I do love my own parents, and
grand-mère et grand-père. They don't always recognise me now, but at least I have wonderful
memories before they fell to dementia. And you?”

“The Weasleys, of course. And Sirus. My godfather. We had too short a time together.” Harry
frowned and pitched a stone into the sea. Hermione tried to turn the conversation around.

“And at the Ministry? My impression is that Aurors see each other as brothers, like soldiers in
wartime?”

“Yes, it is that way.”

“So is Kyle up to brother status?”

Harry smiled. “Perhaps, he's a stepbrother at this point. But moving closer in
relations.”

“Ah,” Hermione returned the smile, “no wonder you chose a glamour that doesn't resemble his.
But why choose to be American?”

“I thought I could pull it off.”

“Definitely not to another American. Something was a bit off. You definitely could pull off
Canadian.”

“Too easy. I like a challenge.”

“There's a challenge and there's being risky. Lucky we're on the same side.”

“We definitely are on the same side, aren't we?” Harry was looking closely at the witch by
his side. Something sparked in her eyes as well.

“Yes, I believe we are.”

***

“Favourite food?”

“That's easy. Treacle tart. They made a wonderful one at Hogwarts. And you?”

“Baked pumpkin.”

Harry broke out in hysterical laughter. Hermione swotted at him.

“Baked pumpkin?” he laughed. “Not something extra sweet like jam doughnuts or chocolate frogs or
a flavour of Bertie's Botts?”

Hermione made a face and swotted him again, which he dodged easily.

“My parents are dentists. I don't even put sugar in my tea or coffee. I'd be disowned if
I had a sweet tooth!”

“Okay, so imagine you were me.” When Hermione made another face, he changed tactics. “Well, not
me specifically, but anyone who does not have dentists for parents. If you could imagine such a
world, what would be your favourite food?”

Hermione stopped walking along the beach and closer her eyes. A small smile grew on her face.
“Sugar quills,” she finally spoke. She opened her eyes. “Definitely sugar quills.”

“I knew it! I knew there was a sugar tooth in there!” he grinned. Hermione tried to swat at him
again but he started jogging down the beach. Hermione started to chase him, but then slowed down.
Harry, realizing she was lagging behind, slowed down as well until they were side by side.

“Have you noticed we usually end up running on this beach in the morning, usually me chasing
you?” Hermione began. Harry only raised an eyebrow. “I'm beginning to think you are becoming a
secret personal trainer and trying to get me to exercise.”

“Have you thought that maybe I'm trying to get away from you?”

Hermione tried to swot him again but he once again dodged it. “Definitely not. You'd
Apparate if you really wanted to get away.”

“You're absolutely right, Mademoiselle Granger,” he responded. “I would get away, but I
rather like it here with you.”

“I like it, too, Mr Potter,” she replied.

At times like this, Harry would wonder why they got along so well here in Cornwall whereas they
fought so much in London. Was it the environment? Being away from other people and distractions,
and just focusing on the moment? And would this continue when they returned to London?

“Did I tell you that my parents' home is near here? That's where I spent my first
year.”

“Really? Godric's Hollow is nearby?”

Harry frowned for a moment, but Hermione caught the reaction. “Sorry. I hate it when I say too
much. I just love information and I tend to spout it out without thinking. I've been called a
busy know-it-all.”

“No, it's not you specifically. I know I've said this before, but I still can't get
used to people knowing so much about me, people that are total strangers.”

They walked in silence for a bit, until Hermione spoke again.

“That's one thing that broke up Viktor and me. Stop me if I've said this before, but the
press in Bulgaria was frightening. The *Daily Prophet* is tame by comparison. They hated that
their star athlete was with someone plain—” she started listing on her fingers, “—someone English,
and someone Muggleborn. They chose to ignore Viktor's wishes in the matter and kept posting
photos of these gorgeous models that he should be dating, and print their photos looking gorgeous
next to the ugliest photos of me. It was crushing. I know I'm not pretty and I can live with
that, but they couldn't. It didn't matter that we enjoyed each other's company and were
best friends; the press took it personally and called me out cruelly. It was horrible. I went back
to France as soon as I could; I'm more anonymous there than Bulgaria, for Merlin's
sake.”

“But couldn't Viktor help? And if you really loved each other…”

“Oh, that's another thing. I don't love Viktor the way he loves me. I really thought I
did, but I only love him as a friend.”

Harry had no idea why he got a queasy feeling in his stomach then.

“And Cormac? Ernie? Draco?”

Hermione laughed. “Are you following my social life? I don't think it was even posted in the
*Daily Prophet*; you must be totally bored on patrol to delve into such a boring topic, but
no, all friends. I actually tend to have more male than female friends. I don't care for girly
things like fashion and makeup and ogling Quidditch players.”

Harry wondered how he could have had such a wrong first impression of her.

“So, you're not seeing anyone at the moment…”

“I'm seeing you aren't I?” Hermione's eyes twinkled, and she started to laugh at the
startled look on Harry's face. “Teasing! My goodness you're tightly wound today. Maybe we
should go for a run.” And she started to sprint ahead of him. Once he regained his composure, he
followed, easily overtaking her and grabbing her by the waist as her laughter was carried in the
breeze.

***

“Getting the letter from Hogwarts was the beginning of a new life for me. Suddenly, everything
made sense. When I was five and was angry at a neighbour, the toy we were fighting over just blew
apart. When I was mad, the light bulb in the dining room blew out. And when I felt very very happy,
I swore the roses in our garden accelerated their blooming. It all began to make sense and I felt,
well, normal isn't the word. Let me rephrase that; that my normal wasn't as weird as I
thought it was.”

“I was called a freak by family, but when Hagrid showed up and took me to Diagon Alley to buy
school supplies, and I realised there was this whole other world right here in London that I never
knew existed, but that I was a part of, a big part of, it was like Christmas and every birthday
rolled into one.”

Once again it was a morning walk on the beach, and the two friends were sitting side by side in
the sand. They had identical looks of happiness, remembering their early days as witch and
wizard.

“I was just amazed by everything. I couldn't take it all in at once, it was sensory
overload. And McGonagall had to walk us around to the shops to show us what to buy. Beauxbatons was
kind enough to send a list of supplies and we were able to order things to be sent directly to
France.”

“McGonagall showed you around?!”

“Yes, well, you had Hagrid. And Dumbledore was too busy; he had to rush to a meeting in the
Ministry after tea at our home.”

“You had Dumbledore to tea! After you got your letter and before you went to Beauxbatons? Did
Madame Maxime come by for lunch as well?” Harry wouldn't admit, but he was jealous. *How come
Dumbledore went to her home and not* *his* *and Dumbledore had known even then he was
th**e one who had to kill Voldemort?* *Why did Hermione get special treatment? Wasn't
he Harry Bloody Potter?*

Hermione seemed to know what he was thinking. She laughed and lightly slapped his arm.
“You're jealous! You're jealous of me, Hermione Granger! Because Dumbledore didn't go
to your house for tea!”

“Well, I'm sure Uncle Vernon wouldn't have let him into the house if he had come
by.”

“I never met your Uncle, for *his* sake I hope I never will, but I daresay I agree with
you. Well then, since I know why you're jealous of me, guess why I may be jealous of you,”
teased Hermione.

“My sparkling wit and effervescent personality?” Harry teased in return.

Hermione imitated a bell ringing. “Brrring - brrring! You win! You're so witty and charming,
especially at large formal gatherings when you're on display and surrounded by witches eager to
break your reserve. Oh, you're always the belle of the ball!”

“I only feel comfortable in a small circle of friends. Surely you understand.”

The teasing stopped and the air stilled. His green eyes bore into her brown ones.

“Yes,” she answered.

****

“Mr Reilly! Wonderful to see you!”

“Miss Granger, a pleasure as always. What are you up to?”

“I was just speaking with one of the primary school teachers about the werewolf students.
Fascinating how she works to stamp out any sort of discrimination from the start, whether it is
against werewolves or Muggles or blood traitors. I mentioned some of the Muggle Social Psychology
experiments in this field, and it turns out that she was actually doing a few herself without
realising it.”

“Goodness, the weather! What that a shiver? You must be cold; let's get out of this rain. Do
you have time for a cup of tea?”

“Sounds perfect.”

Hermione and Reilly soon found a small café nearby that wasn't too crowded with customers on
the wet and windy day. They shook out their robes and Hermione placed her umbrella in the stand by
the door. She hoped her hair wasn't so wet that it would drip on the table. As they sat down,
Hermione noted that Reilly took the typical Auror spot of facing the door, and ensuring he did not
have his back to any windows or doors.

“What'll you have?” asked the waitress gruffly.

Hermione and Reilly exchanged glances. “Tea,” they said simultaneously. “Cream tea for me. Do
you have clotted cream?”

“Of course!” The waitress seemed insulted by the query.

The two exchanged glances again. “Two, please,” Reilly smiled at the waitress and Hermione swore
he twinkled his eyes at will. The flirting appeared to have an effect as the waitress'
shoulders relaxed, her features softened, and she stared into Reilly's eyes and blinked.

“Two cream teas then. They'll be here in a jiffy,” the waitress responded. Her voice now had
less of a harsh edge and more of a velvet smoothness. Hermione was amazed how quickly a fairly
unattractive man could cause a witch to melt with just a glance.

Once the waitress was safely out of earshot, Hermione spoke. “You have quite a secret weapon
there, Mr Reilly. Learn that in Auror training, did you?”

“Yes, wasn't mandatory but an elective. I did quite well.” Reilly smiled.

“Yes, I'm not surprised. You're not trying that on me, are you?” Hermione fluttered her
eyes in response.

Reilly knew what she was about, and slapped his knee and laughed. “I think someone could give me
a lesson as well!”

“No, you're the expert. I'm following your lead. Now, your partner could do with some of
your knowledge as well.”

“Potter? He's all right. Just a bit shy around the ladies.”

The tea was served before Hermione could respond. Once the flirting between Reilly and the
waitress ended, Hermione could continue their own conversation.

“Harry? Shy? He's one of the rudest men I've met. He actually snubbed me at the
Puddlemere gala. Refused to dance with me.”

“Oh, that's Potter all right! He hates to dance. He hates those things, especially if you
have to dress up and stand about looking smart. Especially if he feels on display.”

“But he actually snubbed me. Me, personally, and I had only just met him. Would not dance with
me, but then pulled the witch next to me onto the dance floor.”

The twinkle fell out of Reilly's eyes. “Well now,” he muttered as he took a sip of his tea.
“That doesn't sound like him. And I've known Harry for years. We trained together for three
years, and have been on assignments on and off, when he's not with Ron.”

“Well, he's a good friend to the Weasleys. They adore him, I'll grant you that.”

“Aye, he's the best friend Ron could ever have. Balances out Ron's personality.”

“By being boring and aloof while Ron is happy and jovial?”

Reilly rolled his eyes at her. “He's really under your skin, isn't he? I mean, Harry is
the head of reason for Ron. Ron tends to fall headlong into things. Well, Harry does as well, when
it comes to protecting his friends. Most of the War was about that. Now, Harry takes that energy
and makes sure Ron stays out of trouble with the ladies.”

Something tightened in Hermione's gut. She knew this was critical. She switched from her
casual conversation style to her information gathering, interview mode. She had to gain information
now.

“Oh, really?” she said lazily, sipping her tea, casually bidding Reilly to continue.

“Oh, yes. I think it was in Singapore. Gorgeous petite little witch. Ron was smitten. Ready to
do anything for her, transfer to the Singapore office even and start a family. Harry uncovered that
she was a gold digger with ties to a former Death Eater.”

“No!”

“Yes. And just now, in London. Harry stopped him from getting too serious with a lovely young
witch who didn't return his affections.”

“Really?” Hermione's voice was less casual now, with a hint of pain. She prayed Reilly
didn't notice.

“Really.”

“How … how could he tell that she wasn't interested?”

“I don't know the details, but that's how he is. Harry would do anything for his
friends. One of the most loyal wizards I've ever met. Once you're on his good side,
he'll go to the ends of the earth for you.”

“And if you're on his bad side?”

“Oh! You have nothing to fear there! I can tell he has quite a liking to you. Well, he may have
snubbed you early on. Maybe he thought you were snubbing one of his friends and that's how he
responded, but now I can tell he's quite happy with you.”

“Harry did tell me once that once he feels ill towards someone it's not possible to change
his opinion.”

“Maybe not impossible, but it would be quite difficult. He's quite stubborn at times,
especially when it comes to his friends. But you're an example of change, aren't you? You
might be even part of his inner circle now; I know you both meet each morning for walks. I tried to
get Harry to stay in one morning, but he was quite adamant that he had to meet you there. Oh, is it
a date then? I asked. He just glared at me and rushed out the door. I knew he was hooked then.”

Hermione ignored whatever sort of innuendo Reilly was proposing. She focused on Harry breaking
up Ron and Luna. She'd had a feeling he was involved and now it was confirmed.

Suddenly, she lost her appetite for the scones and clotted cream.

She wanted desperately to leave the table, to just go and try to sort out these thoughts in her
head, but she couldn't be so obvious, could not raise any suspicions that Reilly's words
would impact her so much. So, she stayed.

She changed the topic to her work. Reilly displayed genuine interest when Hermione discussed the
changes the schools had undertaken for the couple of young werewolves there. Then she discussed how
the employers of the older werewolves were accommodating as well, how a combination of social
pressure and actual laws were used to both protect the non-werewolf inhabitants during the full
moon, and to protect the werewolves from discrimination on a daily basis.

When she finished describing the werewolf registry system and dispensing of Wolfsbane at the
local apothecary, the sun began to shine through the grey clouds.

“My goodness, how quickly the weather changes.”

“Look at the time! I've an appointment at the apothecary in twenty minutes. I really must
dash, but thanks for tea.”

“No problem at all. It's always wonderful to see you. And I'm sure Harry will be seeing
you tomorrow morning on the beach,” Reilly teased.

Hell no, Hermione thought, but she smiled in return.

***

The next morning, Hermione stayed in bed. She refused to do her usual walk on the beach. Her
body was accustomed to the habit of going out and getting some fresh air, however, so she finally
got dressed and walked in the park instead.

Her body and mind felt out of sorts, not the least because she was not following her usual
routine of walking along the beach and having a pleasant discussion with Harry. And she was still
quite upset with the revelation (that she somehow already knew deep down inside) that Harry was
instrumental to Luna's heartbreak. *Damn him!* She decided to focus on work instead. She
had only a few more days in Appley, she was filling parchments with all the information she had
gained in her work here, and was already planning which bits of information she could try on a
wider scale, and which laws might be easiest for the Wizengamot to pass.

Deep in thought, she almost missed seeing the young wizard come racing towards her.

“Hermione! What happened? Why weren't you at the beach?” His words came between gasps for
air.

Hermione smirked. “You're really quite out of shape for an Auror, *Pilsner*,” she
stressed his alias name, intentionally not using either his true or alias first name.

Harry's raised eyebrow noted the anger beneath her words. “Hermione, what is it? I had to
find you. I had to speak to you *today*. We're leaving soon, and there's something I
must tell you.”

Hermione raised her eyebrow in turn as she stood with arms crossed quite severely. “Speak.”

***

Harry spoke.

He was out of breath. The day began, scratch that, his day had begun the night before when he could
not sleep because over and over in his mind turned over a revelation; a revelation so fantastic
that he ended up pacing in his rooms thinking, *This cannot be*, and *It cannot be true.*
But it was.

Harry's strengths were not in rationality and logic, but intuition and bravery, and loyalty.
His gut dictated his actions. They served him well in battle, served him well as an Auror, and he
was fortunate enough to have others like Dumbledore and Shacklebolt do the mental gymnastics for
him. He made sure he had partners of strong mental acumen like Reilly. And where was Reilly now?
Could Reilly help him?

By dawn, Harry was tired, anxious, and hyper from Pepper Up potion. He nearly raced to the beach to
meet Hermione, arriving much earlier than usual. And he waited. And waited and waited and waited.
She never appeared. Concerned, he ran to her room at the inn. Finding it vacant (once he had
determined how to evade her wards), he used a seldom used spell to determine her whereabouts. A
park, not more than a mile away. He dashed.

And there she was, walking quickly, deep in her own thoughts. His heart glowed just to see her. He
was sure how he felt. He had to tell her.

He was so surprised to see her say “Speak” so abruptly, so coldly. What was wrong? What happened
to their camaraderie?

Still, he spoke. He did not edit his words.

“Hermione, I … I can't stop how I feel about you. Gods know I've tried. It makes no
sense—you're not my type at all…” Hermione's eyebrow raised. “Um, I mean I usually go for
more sportier types, taller, thinner girls with long straight hair…” Hermione looked apoplectic.
“—not that there's anything wrong with your hair. I quite like it now…” Harry was expecting
smoke to come from her ears.

He decided to go for the direct approach. “I love you!” he cried in anguish, as he pulled at his
raven hair. Hermione looked horrified, but still she said nothing. “I tried, I tried so hard to
stop it, but I can't! I don't know why but I do! It makes no sense. You like the spotlight.
You like dating celebrities—” Harry failed to notice Hermione opening her mouth to speak and
continued, “—you have friends who are fan girls for Merlin's sake, who actively throw
themselves on Quidditch players and are routinely seen pissed and shagged in the early morning
hours all over Wizarding London…” Hermione gasped and once again, Harry continued, “—and the
rumours about you! You were rumoured to have serviced the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team! And you
have nooners with Viktor Krum at the Leaky Cauldron—” Hermione appeared to be reaching for her wand
“—But I love you! I love you so much it hurts! I want to be with you! So, will you have me?”

Hermione opened her mouth to speak, then suddenly stopped, then started again. She walked in a
tight circle, then faced Harry again.

**“****P****utain de merd” murmured Hermione. “Vous** **êtes** **un idiot. Vous**
**écume****. Je vous** **haïr****!****** **Imbécile! Tu veux pas te taire?
C'est pas possible -- tu entends ce que tu nous racontes? Mais qu'est-ce que t'as,**
**enfin? La** **gueule, p'tit con!** **“***

** (NOTE :* *ROUGH* *TRANSLATION)* *"**Holy shit**. You are an
idiot.* *I hate you!* *Idiot!* *Can you stop talking?* *It is not possible*
*-do* *you* *hear yourself?* *But what* *are you doing**, then?*
*Shut your mouth, little idiot!*

**Hermione's voice had risen, as Harry waited expectantly for Hermione to translate for
him, waiting for her to jump into his arms and they could share a sweet lingering kiss. It was not
to be. He moved closer to embrace her, but when she gasped and nearly pulled her wand on him, he
thought better.**

“Don't you dare come near me!” Her French accent was strong now. She seemed more comfortable
swearing in a foreign language. “You beast! How dare you? How dare you say you love me, but how
unsuitable I am for you! So unworthy! Why don't you say that you, the Boy-Who-Lived, deserves
someone more beautiful, taller, with straight hair, instead of a bushy- haired, short-statured
bookworm! Well, I'm sorry that you fell for me. I'm so very sorry for it and you can end
your agony, because you're the last man on earth I'd ever fall in love with!”

Harry's face crashed. His elation, his certainty that she would reciprocate was dashed.
There was no second meaning, no lack of directness in Hermione's words. She hated him.

“Why? But I love you?”

“You! What do you know about love? You saw love in front of you and did not believe it!”

“What do you mean? I've been up all night thinking about us. I do love you!”

“Not me, you idiot! Luna and Ron! You tore them apart! You're responsible for the heartbreak
of a woman I love like a sister! Luna loved Ron. She still loves Ron! And I'm sure Ron loved
Luna! You should know, you're supposed to be his best friend! But what did you do? You tore
them apart! I bet he was about to propose to her after the ball, but you sent him away, didn't
you?” Hermione paused and looked into his eyes. “You did, didn't you? You and Ginny?” His
silence was affirmation, and Hermione was angry enough not to notice the guilt in his eyes. “Damn
you both. Damn you to hell. Luna's still heartbroken. You destroyed her spirit. She's such
a fragile girl. He was her first love, her only love. She's pined for him for years. And you
destroyed her.

“And you actually believe the rumours about me? I thought after the time we spent together, you
would be able to get to know me and make a decision for yourself instead of believing hateful
rumours.

“Viktor is my friend. So are Parvati and Lavender. Yes, they are fangirls. Yes, they stay out
late and like Quidditch players. But they have good hearts, and they are steadfast and loyal. They
are supporting Luna also, and they accepted me, a strange French girl they knew nothing about, but
if Luna said I was okay, that was fine with them, and they let me be friends with their friends,
and I've enjoyed my time here in Britain so much. Until now.

“And do you even support my causes, or are you pretending to, for future political gain?” Harry
raised an eyebrow at that pronouncement. “And you hate me! You snubbed me when we first met. I
wasn't good enough for you, being Muggleborn. How dare I speak to the great Harry Potter? Harry
bloody Potter, as far as I'm concerned. I bet Draco's been right about you all along.”

“Draco is wrong,” Harry finally spoke. His voice sounded strange: strangled, hoarse, deep, like
someone in pain. “I'm not what you think.”

“Well, I'm not what you think either. So you think you fell in love with me, but you
don't know me at all. I'm sorry. I really liked Hank Pilsner. He's someone who seemed
to understand me.” Hermione sniffled. Surprised, she then noticed that her cheeks were moist. She
wiped her face with the back of her hand. *How dare she cry!*

Harry stopped looking at her about halfway through her speech. His form seemed smaller and
smaller with each of Hermione's pronouncements. For a moment, Hermione felt a stab of pity, but
at that moment she forced herself to remember what he had done to Luna, and it quickly passed.

Harry took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and fixed his glasses. “Well, I think no more
needs to be said. Goodbye. I'm sorry I troubled you.”

Hermione blinked. It was all so sudden. She was used to prolonged debates. What was he doing? He
wouldn't actually leave, would he?

And he did. He pulled his hair a bit. Looked at her with a sad, resigned face, said, “Goodbye,”
and disappeared.

Hermione let out her breath. *Merde**.* What had just happened? Did Harry Potter
really say that he loved her? When the hell did that happen? *Merde*! Hermione reached her
hand to a nearby bench and slowly lowered herself onto it. Her legs were trembling. Harry Potter
loved her! Well, not anymore, after what she said to him, and he deserved it, but why was she so
upset? And why were tears streaming down her face?

Hermione doubled over on the park bench and sobbed.

***

*Please review!*

*Next chapter*: the Letter from Harry to Hermione, or “*Harry has some explaining to
do”*

*Translation note:* an American friend who now lives in France provided the translation. He
said it's slang, so it does not translate well in a computer translator. Hopefully it's not
actually incredibly embarrassing information about our shared college years...

*A/N:* *thanks for sticking with this story. Part One was tough for me to write (all the
misperceptions) but there's more* *romance* *in Parts 2-4.* *Oh, and there's
a total of about 19 chapters, in case you never read P&P and wondered where we are. More than
halfway. But do read P&P or at least watch the movie. Jane Austen is a genius.*

-->



13. 13
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 13: The Letter**

Author: AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*****

The Library at Appley-on-the-Green was quite deserted on a sunny weekday morning. Its lone
occupant, a bushy haired young witch, was quite well known to Madame Osgood, the librarian. The
woman usually came to the library at least once a day and was quite welcome there. She had asked
for some restricted reference materials the first week, but then seemed satisfied with the
materials in the open stacks, as well as the ability to spread the numerous parchments from her
ever-present shoulder bag across the large library tables.

However, Madame Osgood was surprised that morning when the witch was already sitting on the
steps, waiting for her to remove the wards from the front door. Usually the witch did not arrive
until afternoon when she already had a healthy glow resulting from a walk along the local beaches.
Instead, she looked quite ill. Her hair was even messier than usual, her robes haphazardly worn,
her eyes red-rimmed, and she sniffled.

“Good morning. Have a bit of a cold, Miss Granger?” Madame Osgood asked.

The witch shook her head.

“Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, as Muggles say,” she responded. “I'll try to be
quiet.”

“Oy, you'll probably be the only one here for another hour or two. And you're a regular
now. No worries.”

Madame Osgood was surprised to see an hour later, a young wizard walk in. He looked worse off
than Miss Granger. He scanned the room, soon spied the witch, and walked quickly up to her. He only
stayed a moment. He appeared to hand something to her which she didn't want to accept, but took
it anyway. He then stayed for a moment as if to make sure she didn't immediately throw it into
the rubbish bin. Shortly thereafter he left, so quickly that Madame Osgood only had the briefest
glimpses of his anguished face.

***

Hermione Granger wasn't about to take a note from Harry Potter, but the look in his eyes,
his silent pleading, appealed to her empathy.

“All right, I'll promise to read it,” she replied to his insistence.

“Don't worry, I won't say—say those words again to you. It's something else. I just
want to set the record straight. Before I go.”

“You're leaving? Leaving Appley?” Hermione was surprised the news hurt her so much.

He nodded brusquely, his eyes scanning her face for clues to her reaction. His Auror training at
work. She was skilled as well, but not as fast, and worked quickly to school her features to
reflect cool indifference.

“Oh. Reilly? Is he leaving, too? Is the case over?”

“No, I've—I've requested a transfer. The case should be wrapped up soon, but I just need
some—personal issues came up. Nothing you know about,” he added quickly, seeing Hermione put two
and two together, and summing five instead of four. “I—well, I enjoyed *most* of our time
together. I shan't bother you anymore.”

His Auror robes brushed her cheek as he turned to leave. “Oh,” she couldn't complete her
thoughts. “Oh!”

***

Hermione waited until she was alone in her room to read the letter. It was longer than she had
expected. In fact, it wasn't at all what she had expected.

*Dear Hermione,*

*Please don't tear this letter up. Just read it all the way through and do with it what
you will. I'm pants at writing, but I seem to mess up speaking to you, that's why I'm
writing now. We keep seeming to talk against each other and we keep miscommunicating. So I'm
trying to write it all down and explain myself to you* *t**o stop all these wrong
impressions. Don't worry, I won't write about my feelings towards you other than to say
they haven't changed and I will never mention them again unless you inquire.*

*I know I'm difficult. I feel awkward and shy and hate being the centre of attention. I
did not choose to be the one prophesised to kill Voldemort, but I had to do it, or he would still
be terrorising us today, especially someone like you. I don't hate Muggles. Yes, my
mother's relatives abused me, but my mother was a Muggle and many of my friends are Muggleborn,
so I am certainly not jealous of those with pureblood. The whole blood thing is bullocks as far as
I'm concerned, and I think it's pretty ridiculous that we fought this war only to have it
still an issue.*

*And I realise now that I formed the wrong impression of you when we first met. You see, I
first saw you with Lavender and Parvati, rudely discussing men's private parts and then talking
about Cedric, and how he is better than me. I admit that. Cedric was a better man than me and I
still miss him—and so many others—every day. But to be reminded of that by some silly girls when I
was already in a foul mood in a situation I detest, I'm afraid I put you in the rude celebrity
chasing fangirl box and never looked back. I did snub you and I was wrong.*

*And I absolutely support everything that you are doing. My closest friends are a half-giant,
a house-elf, a werewolf. I know what it's like to be the underdog, to be misrepresented. I did
not grow up in this world, and was appalled to learn that werewolves cannot hold jobs, that
house-elves are like slaves, and that giants and goblins are discriminated against. If I did not
express it adequately when Shacklebolt told us at the Ministry, I will write it now: I absolutely
support equal rights to all magical beings. And you are welcome to quote me. I'm also enclosing
a copy of a letter to the editor I am sending to the* Daily Prophet *and the* Quibbler
*to finally become public in my support of your work and challenge the rest of the Wizarding
world to follow.*

True to his word, Hermione held in her hand a brief, clear and passionate letter that Harry
wrote to the Wizarding press, calling upon them to remember why they fought, why Voldemort
prevailed and why the Light won, and how magical beings came to their aid at the Battle of Hogwarts
and how dare we not treat them with the same dignity and respect they are due. And changing the
laws and reducing the restrictions was a start. He wrote with all the passion of Shakespeare's
Henry V giving the St Crispin's Day speech, so much so that Hermione was literally moved to
tears. She continued with his letter to her.

*Now, there is the matter that I am most appalled by my own behaviour. And I will be truly
honest with you, Hermione, and hope that you are honest with me, because I think there are so many
wrong assumptions between us that we could not even be friends. I did encourage Ron to travel with
the Quidditch team and avoid Luna. Bear with me: I adore Luna, she was a true and loyal friend
throughout our Hogwarts years. So often I thought she was the only person who understood me, and I
guess you feel the same way about her. However, I must be perfectly frank and admit that although I
adore Luna, Ron is my best friend, and there are where my loyalties lie. Ron has many fine
qualities, but he falls in love very easily. And he is very easily taken advantage of. I will not
bore you by naming each and every witch and Muggle he has fallen for across the world, but needless
to say I have been there and have had to fix them all for him. And in every case he was the one who
ended up heartbroken and used. And I don't want my best friend to go through that again, even
with Luna. Thanks to you, I know that I was wrong and I will do everything to fix the mess I
made.*

*I've requested and have been granted a transfer. I will not bother you anymore; suffice
to say if you need me, you can just use the attached coin. It's been charmed to let me know
you're in need. Not that I think you will ever need it, but I just wanted you to have
it.*

*Good luck and best wishes,*

*Harry*

Hermione held the small silver coin in her hands. One side had an engraving of Hogwarts, the
other side had three words in three languages: the Latin word: *Verita*s. Truth. And the
French word: *L'égalité**.* Equality. And the English word: Love.

Hermione Granger knew she was smart. She knew she worked hard, especially when learning a new
subject, did her research, and when she had enough information, she would form an opinion and stick
to it. Stubbornly. And she knew in this case she had been wrong. So very very wrong about Harry
Potter.

She held the coin tightly in her hand and thought about all the times she was rude to him. And
all the lies Draco told her that she believed. Willingly. Without proof, even when Luna tried to
dissuade her, she ignored any differing opinions and listened to that scab of a wizard instead of
her best friend. Simply because she wanted to believe the worst in Harry. Because he had snubbed
her. Over a misunderstanding. And how many misunderstandings were piled on top of each other
now?

She willed herself not to cry, but it was useless. She had a good sob, and tried to focus on her
work again, but could not. It was a sit-in-bed, eat ice cream and watch old movies type of day, so
that was what she did. She cancelled her appointments, sent an owl that she was unwell, got into
her warmest pyjamas and stayed in her room until the next day, when she received an owl from Luna.
A very welcome owl.

*Hermione,*

*You'll never guess who's here! Ronald! He came back!* *Something about Harry
telling him that I loved Ronald, and Harry apologising for being a prat (to use Ronald's word,
not mine). And something about you having something to do with it. Ronald Apparated here the moment
he knew. And he loves me, too! I'm so incredibly happy, thank you. Th**e W**eeblewogs
are glowing!*

*Love,*

*L*

The happiness made Hermione cry some more, and she wasn't sure if it due to joy, jealousy,
or something more.

***

Please review!

*A/N: this is the end of Part 2. Part 3 will be Ron & Luna being deliriously happy while
Harry & Hermione try to deal with the consequences of what happened in
Appley**/Rosings**. And we'll be departing a bit more from P&P plot, but keeping
the overall plot and emotions.*

*Apologies for my atrocious French in Chapter 12, and thanks for those who corrected. If I
need further assistance, I know who to contact!*

*BTW**, I finished my original 53k word novel for National Novel Writing Month
(hurrah!)**, but* *December is quite busy in real life with the holidays for both me and
my beta. Once again, the first draft of this fic is entirely written, just need to edit, so
we'll work on this in between Real Life. Thanks for your patience, and Happy Holidays in
advance.*

-->



14. 14
------



MAGIC AND MISPERCEPTIONS

Part Three: Ron and Luna reunion

Chapter 14: Return

Author: AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

***

Harry Potter had faced difficult situations before. Facing the press was always a tough one, as
were most social occasions, award ceremonies, and that whole Saving the Wizarding world thing that
took seven years of his life, not to mention the ten years prior to that of living with the
Dursleys. Yet, facing Ron after deliberating separating him from his love ... that was a whole new
category of difficulty.

He had owled Ginny prior to his Apparating back to Grimmauld Place to assure him that he was
prepared to take all the blame. Harry was about to enter when he recognised the Weasley owl flying
to him. After delivering the bird some owl treats, he read the missive from Ginny.

*Harry—*

*Don't be absurd. We're in this together. I'm his sister, he's stuck with me.
You're his best friend, I should be sheltering you. Let's just be honest.*

*—**G.*

Confidence increased, he entered their home.

Ron was in the kitchen, eating half a chicken. He looked up when Harry entered, acknowledged his
friend's presence with a brief nod, then continued his assault on the poultry. Harry shook out
his robes and sat down across from Ron and waited. And waited. And waited. And Ron continued to eat
with a gusto that surprised even Harry.

When it was clear that Ron would not be leading the discussion, Harry spoke.

“Ron, I am *so* sorry. I was absolutely wrong about Luna. She does love you, mate. I
thought I was saving my best friend from heartbreak, and I caused it instead, not just for you, but
for Luna, too. I'm so sorry.”

Ron paused when Harry began the speech, and his listening was evidenced by the decreased speed
of his chewing.

At the end of Harry's apology, Ron kept eating for several minutes. It was as if he just
completed a fast and had to recover those missing calories.

Harry, nearing the end of his patience, reigned in the temptation to yell, stand up and walk
away. This was his best friend, and he needed to repair this relationship.

“Ron, for Merlin's sake, say something!”

It was then that Ron stopped chewing. He took his time wiping the grease from his chin, and
looked at Harry long and hard. “D'you have any idea of the agony you put me and Luna through?”
Ron began. Harry, thinking about the agony he currently felt from Hermione's rejection, nodded
slightly.

“A bit, but I'm sure yours is worse,” he mumbled a response, not sure if the question was
rhetorical or not.

Ron was just beginning. He pushed back his chair and stood up to better vent his rage. “Luna.
She's been heartbroken. How could you convince me to leave without even saying anything at all
to her? Without even an owl post? How cruel is that? I had to go over there prepared to beg and
plead for her not to hex me. And do you know what she did?” There was a pause in conversation, so
Harry shook his head quickly, assuming Ron expected a response. “D'you know what that angel
did? She took me back, no questions asked.

“Oh, I told her all about you and Ginny talking me into this. *Persuading* me. And how my
stomach was in knots the whole time because I knew in my heart it was wrong. Gods, Harry! I
couldn't even enjoy my time with the Chudley Cannons, that's how upset I was! You know
*that* has never happened before. Well, Luna, my angel, took me back. *And* she told me
she loves me, too! She loves me! Harry, if she had rejected me, mate, well, I wouldn't be this
calm seeing you right now and would be hexing *you*, I would, Boy Who Saved Us or not!”

Harry stood up and approached his friend with a small amount of caution.

“She *loves* you?” he asked, eyebrow raised with a smirk.

Ron's grin widen in response.

“She loves *you*? I thought Luna had a bit more sense than that,” teased Harry.

“She always was a bit of a loon. Singing `Weasley is our King' is a sure tip-off, eh?” Ron
joked. “But she's *my* loon now.”

Harry took another step forward and his friend met him halfway, bringing him into a tight hug.
“Ron! I'm so happy for you! I'm happy for you both!”

“She's the one, Harry, I'm sure of it. I'm going to ask her to marry me once things
calm down.” Ron's face held a defiant air, as if posed for a fight. He got none from Harry, but
another warm hug.

“Well done,” Harry replied. “Do you think she'll have you?”

“If she has me, I'll be the happiest man on earth.”

Harry felt a sudden stab in his chest and absentmindedly rubbed the *Veritas, Equality,
Love* coin that was always present in his pocket. If Hermione had returned his love, he would be
saying the same thing. But life didn't work that way. Their lives were not in parallel. Their
lives were about to diverge quite a lot.

Harry swallowed the lump that formed in his throat and clapped Ron's shoulder. “You are the
happiest man on earth. And the luckiest. And so is Luna because she has you.”

Ron grinned. “So you'll come with me to see Luna?”

That was unexpected. “When? Now? To apologise?”

“Yes. She said you don't need to, but I insist. And I think you'll feel better, too, if
you did.”

“Of course I will. Whatever I can do. I've always liked Luna a lot. She was always
supportive of me when things were dark at school. She understood me at times no one else did.”

“Well, it's settled then! I'm going over there later today. You'll come with
me.”

“Um, will her flat mates be there?”

Ron raised an eyebrow but did not ask questions. “Lav and Pav are on holiday chasing some
Quidditch team. Hermione's still in Cornwall.”

Relief. “Oh, just wondering.” Harry looked away, not meeting Ron's gaze.

“Right then. We're going to Seamus' later. You'll join us.”

“It'll be good to see everyone again. Um, seen much of Ginny? Is she still touring?”

“Matter of fact, I got an owl from her right after you sent yours. She plans to be back in a few
days. Will stop by soon.”

“Good, good. Hadn't seen her for a while either,” Harry said absentmindedly. Ron raised an
eyebrow, but did not pursue it further. He knew not to raise his hopes that Harry would join the
family permanently as a brother-in-law.

***

“Luna! I'm home! I'm finally home! *Merci Dieu*!”

Hermione enlarged her luggage which had been shrunk to pocket-sized for easy Apparating. The
house was quiet. Luna had owled her that the two other housemates were on holiday (probably
stalking Oliver Wood), but Hermione had assumed that her favourite housemate would be present.

Hermione placed her luggage in her room, but her unpacking was interrupted by odd noises
somewhere in the house. Wand raised, she followed. They were coming from Luna's room. Slightly
alarmed, Hermione was prepared to hex whoever had bound and gagged her friend when she saw
something to stop her in her tracks.

Ron and Luna were engaging in intense snogging with her bedroom door cracked open and
insufficient Silencing.

Shuddering, Hermione backtracked quickly to her own room, shut the door and applied a Silencing
charm herself to prevent further listening to their lovemaking. Sighing, she realised that it had
been quite a while since she had been intimate with a man. Ernie was a friend, Cormac just seemed
like a flirt, Draco was a malicious player, and Harry … She wouldn't have put Harry in the
category of potential lovers until his declaration days before. She still couldn't process it.
She just knew that instead of being repulsed or flattered or any other expected reactions, she just
felt hollow and sad.

Hermione sat on the edge of her double bed and hugged herself tightly. She recognised the signs
of depression and was concerned that she may be headed towards that abyss. What she needed was a
long walk to clear her head which made her think of the long walks on the beach at Linnet, and her
warm friendship with Hank Pilsner.

A sniffle escaped. *W**hy did thoughts of him cause* *such agony*? If she
wasn't so sure it wasn't, she would have labelled her reaction heartache. She needed to get
away from this house with her happily reunited friends and get distracted. Work was always perfect
for that task, but for some reason, it didn't hold any appeal at that moment. Muggle London
always worked. She would take the Tube and lose herself at the National Gallery or Westminster
Cathedral. There were literally thousands of options available in the Muggle world. She could
always go to Oxford Street and pretend to be Lav and Pav, and complete a fashion report: what's
new in Muggle fashion? That's what she would do. She would pretend to be someone she was not.
Maybe then the ache would go away.

***

Hermione arrived back at the flat in the early evening, after determining what time was too late
to be roped into dinner plans. Luna and Ron were canoodling on the couch when she arrived.

“Eww! Get a room!” she mimicked the voice of an eight-year old as she entered.

“Hermione! You're back!” Luna cried and rushed to give her friend a tight hug. “I saw your
things in your room, but where have you been? I missed you!”

Hermione and Ron exchanged greetings and hugs as Hermione answered Luna's query.

“Uh, you two were a bit occupied when I arrived, so I thought I'd give you some privacy,”
she replied as the two lovers flushed.

Luna hung her head and Ron turned red, nearly matching his hair.

“Sorry! I don't suppose we set the Silencing charm, did we?” asked Luna.

“Or had the door closed,” Ron mumbled.

“Correct. I was considering Obliviating myself so I needn't know about the mole on Ron's
back. Can we change topics now?” Hermione begged. The lovers held hands and laughed.

Ron suddenly grew serious. “Hermione, I already apologised to Luna, but I wanted to apologise to
you for what I did to Luna.”

Hermione shook her head for him to stop talking. “If Luna accepts you back, I will, too. If you
treat her poorly, I know several Bulgarian hexes that are untraceable.”

Ron shuddered and Luna laughed. “We all know that we need to be on Hermione's good side
because she is the Hex Queen of our house.”

They moved to include Hermione on the couch.

“We're going to Seamus'. You must come along,” said Luna.

“Oh, but I've already eaten—” Hermione started.

“Who eats at Seamus'? I prefer the butterbeers myself,” Ron replied.

“And we want to hear all about your trip. How are the werewolves treated? And how can you turn
the rest of England into Appley?” Luna asked, as she tucked Hermione's hand under her arm.
Hermione was always grateful for Luna understanding the importance of her work.

“I'll answer that, but let's not talk work right now. I just want to enjoy being home
again,” Hermione replied.

“I'm glad you consider yourself at home,” Luna smiled.

Hermione hugged them both. “I'm just so glad to be *home*!”

Luna detected something beneath Hermione's words but had no time to question her when the
doorbell rang. Hermione startled.

“Who?” she asked.

“Harry's joining us!” Ron replied as he moved to open the door for his friend.

Hermione did not know it was possible to be both hot and cold at the same time, but she did. And
it only got worse when she saw the tall, handsome, messy-haired Auror in the doorway, looking at
her probably the same way she was looking at him. “Oh, gods,” she breathed.

“Merlin,” Harry whispered.

Their reactions were not lost on their friends. Luna and Ron exchanged quick looks, then went
into action. Ron clapped an arm around Harry, bringing him into the room before Harry could
consider bolting back out again.

“Look who's here! Hermione's back from her trip. What a nice surprise, eh? She can tell
us all about her trip over a pint,” said Ron

Both Harry and Hermione's eyes grew large.

“I-I was just saying I'd rather not discuss work and catch up with what you two—three—you
lot have been up to,” Hermione improvised quickly. She had to let Harry know what she knew about
the reconciliation of their friends. “Luna told me that Ron came back. I'm so happy to see them
together again.”

That was reason enough for Luna and Ron to forget about the others in the room, and grab each
other for a kiss. Their happiness glowed from their skin, and Hermione felt the ache in her chest
again. Her eyes met Harry's; his look was indefinable. Very tense, but she could not tell if it
was due to anger, fear or loneliness.

Knowing the couple was occupied and not looking at her, Hermione swallowed the lump in her
throat and mouthed “thank you” to Harry. He nodded then turned to focus his attention on the knick
knacks over the mantel.

At the pub, Harry and Hermione found themselves seated together. It was difficult not to, with
only the four in their party and the lovers obviously seated together. Hermione was happy for Luna,
but felt guilty that Luna's happiness only deepened the depression in herself.

They were a quiet group, Luna and Ron kept kissing and holding each other, then would stop
suddenly, realising they were not alone, and try to engage the others in conversation.

Hermione sat next to Harry, leaning away, trying to avoid the tension she felt rising between
them. Her body was responding to the close proximity of his in a way familiar, yet unfamiliar to
her. She had responded to her first lover, Laurent, that way, and Draco used to give her those
chills, but with Harry, the dial was set to eleven (to reference the Muggle mockumentary, *Spinal
Tap*). Once again she wondered why life was so cruel to have her not respond to the perfect
Viktor that way. He loved her; he'd marry her regardless of her friends and Muggle birth. True,
she had hated being the focus of so many tabloids, dating one of the greatest Quidditch players
this generation, but wouldn't life be easier if her heart followed her reason?

Harry noticed Hermione had barely drunk her butterbeer and instead ripped the cocktail napkin
into precise ribbons. She rarely looked at him, and yet he couldn't stop looking at her. *She
hates me*, he thought. *She really hates me.* *And I probably deserve it.*

He hadn't told Ron that he saw Hermione in Appley, and certainly not that he had fallen in
love with her there. They had discussed Auror work or Ron's newfound happiness. He wasn't
sure if Hermione had mentioned him at all, but from the looks of it, he guessed not.

“Are you going to the Burrow on Sunday?” Harry asked her.

She looked surprised, then shook her head. “I really should, it's been a while. I'd love
to see Fleur and Bill again especially, but I thought I might take an international Portkey and see
my parents and grandparents. It's really been too long.”

Harry nodded, disappointed.

“Harry, don't you have some work in France?” Ron asked. “Kingsley mentioned a possible Death
Eater connection to some activity there?”

“That was supposed to be confidential, Ron,” Harry whispered loudly.

“Oops. Too much butterbeer,” Ron shrugged his shoulders in response but appeared too happy to be
concerned.

Harry frowned. Ron usually had more discretion than that. He also did not want to follow
Hermione to France. No, scratch that. He *did* want to follow her to France. He wanted to meet
her parents and grandparents, to learn everything about her. He wanted to see her childhood home,
her primary school, learn about her life at Beauxbatons. He even wanted to know about her
relationship with Viktor Krum—especially that. A flame of jealousy formed even with that passing
thought.

“Won't you tell us anything about your trip, Hermione? How are the wolves treated in Appley?
Did you meet anyone interesting?” Ron asked.

“I'd rather not talk shop at the moment, because I'm still processing it all, but
there's tremendous potential that the rights they have in Appley could be applied to the rest
of Britain. It's not a continental solution but a truly British one, and I think we can sell
some base regulations to the Wizengamot in a few months.”

Hermione questioned herself for adding the next part, but she did so, still ignoring Harry's
gaze:


“And yes, I met someone interesting. I met another Auror, Kyle Reilly, there. He was there with his
partner, Hank Pilsner."

Ron chuckled. “Reilly! He's quite the player. Leaves hearts broken in every port, that
one.”

Luna reached over and grabbed her hand, whispering loudly, “Is that what happened to you? Because I
know something did. You've changed.”

Hermione felt Harry staring at her intensely as she snatched her hand away from Luna's.
“I'm sorry; I can't talk about it now. I'm still trying to understand it all myself,
but it's not Reilly.”

Harry couldn't stop himself, but he had to know her thoughts, so he entered into the
conversation. “I know Hank Pilsner, good fellow. From America, right?”

“So he said.”

“Were hearts broken then? Because you're exactly his type,” Harry said.

Hermione was sure her heart stopped beating.

“Gods, Hermione, you've gone pale. Are you sick? Are there special wolf-y diseases you've
been exposed to?” Ron queried.

“No, I'm … what were we talking about? No, actually, can we change the topic? Ron, Luna,
you're going to the Burrow, aren't you?" Hermione stammered, ignoring Harry's
intense stare as she turned bright red.

“Of course. Harry?” Luna answered for both of them.

“Yes, I thought I'd bring Teddy. I don't see him enough, and Molly was asking about
him.”

“Teddy?” Hermione was intrigued. Was he a classmate?

“My godson.”

“Teddy's the son of two Aurors who were killed at the final battle,” Luna explained.

Hermione shivered, faded memories were emerging from secret hideaways of her mind. “Oh no.”

“You're cold?” Harry moved to put his jacket over her shoulders, but she shook it off,
uncomfortable with the close contact.

“Tell me about Teddy,” she asked softly, staring at Harry's butterbeer, avoiding his
eyes.

“He's the son of Tonks and Remus Lupin. Remus was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts
professor we ever had. He was also a werewolf, so he was dismissed,” Harry explained.

“That's why your work is so important to us, Hermione. I'm not sure if we ever told you
that part,” Luna added.

“Well no …”

“Teddy was born just before the final battle. Remus wanted Tonks to stay home, but she wouldn't
do it. They both died that night.”

“Oh no!”

“I was asked to be his godfather. I was only eighteen. He's actually being raised by his
grandmother, but I'm trying to do my part and give him a father figure,” Harry continued.

“Teddy's a Metamorphmagos. You should see him! How old is he, seven or eight? You can tell his
moods, his hair changes colour. When it's purple, he's happy and when it's red, watch
out!” Ron added.

“Too bad we can't say the same to you, Weasley,” joked Harry.

“And he can imitate people, animals. He does a lovely miniature Harry, complete with glasses and
scar,” Luna continued.

Hermione felt a sudden burst of longing which unnerved her. And then she understood why. She turned
to Harry, eyes wide with empathy. “That must make you quite proud.”

Harry blinked, as if she could read his thoughts. “Being raised an orphan by the Dursleys, I always
wanted a family. Teddy is my way of doing something about that. Hopefully practice for the real
thing, maybe, one day.”

“You'd be a wonderful father,” Hermione whispered. She felt his aching loneliness and desire
for a true family. She shuddered, wondering why she suddenly felt telepathic. She turned away from
Harry and studied her butterbeer with renewed interest.

Luna and Ron looked between the two, then looked at each other. Ron stood up. “How about another
round? Luna, can you help me carry the drinks?” Ron and Luna left before the two could even
answer.

“That was more than a bit obvious,” Harry noted when they were alone. Hermione smiled.

“They could have put up sign: `These two need to be alone',” Hermione answered.

“I'm sure Weasley's Wizard Wheezes has some, half price for friends and family,” Harry
joked. “Do we need to talk?” Harry asked abruptly.

“I got your letter. Thank you,” Hermione said simply, once again staring at his butterbeer, not at
Harry.

“It was posted in the *Daily Prophet* yesterday,” Harry replied. “I'm doing a full
interview with the *Quibbler*.”

“No, I meant the other letter. Thank you. Thank you for bringing Luna and Ron together.”

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “It was the least I could do since I drove them apart.”

“You meant well.”

“The road to hell is paved with …”

“No, not that. You were looking out for a friend. I'm not without fault myself.”

“I gave my best friend and your best friend heartbreak.”

“I've been pretty stupid myself sometimes,” Hermione added quietly.

“You? The brightest witch in France and now Britain?” Harry teased.

“I'm only book smart, as I am learning day by day.”

The words hung in the air as the other two returned with the drinks.

The tension had broken a bit by the time Ron and Luna returned with four butterbeers (which
Hermione accepted, even though she had not finished her first drink). There was still electricity
between Harry and Hermione; a pull, an acute awareness that made Hermione quiet and kept Harry
staring at her when he had hoped no one noticed. But the other two noticed. They also noticed Harry
tense up when Cormac came by to welcome Hermione back from her trip. They noticed how Harry gripped
the edge of the table and glare when Hermione stood up to give Cormac a hug, especially when Cormac
seemed to hold onto the hug a bit longer and tighter than expected. Glances were exchanged between
Ron and Luna, and they knew they had a topic for their pillow talk.

***

Luna tried to get Hermione to talk for the next few days, but her friend was resistant. “I'm
not ready yet,” she'd respond, and continue with what she was doing.

“Sweetie, I think something big happened to you, and you need your friends now. I want to help,”
Luna started. Hermione continued with rearranging her closet.

“Believe me, you'll know when I'm ready. I shall dump on you like a thousand buckets.
But right now, I can't talk. I … I'm not sure how I feel about things. I'm realising I
was quite wrong about something, and now I'm questioning every decision, every judgment I ever
made. Have I been so arrogant in believing all the crap that's been said about me being `the
brightest witch of her age' that I have become so egotistical that I just make rash judgments
and assume they're facts just because I think so?” Hermione sat on her bed and twisted a blouse
between her fingers. “I've made such a jumble of things that I think I'm simply ridiculous,
and shouldn't be doing my job. Someone with some common sense and not just book sense should be
there.”

Luna sat next to her and rubbed her back. “Don't you think that Scamander and Shacklebolt
would see through you if you were as horrid as you think? Won't you give me some credit and
think I would see through you if you were so brash and egotistical? You've befriended everyone
with your intelligence and your sense of fairness. If you were some egocentric snob as you seem to
think you are at the moment, you wouldn't be here now. I'd find a way to boot you out of
the house. And you wouldn't have so many friends, and your workplace wouldn't act as if you
walk on water. So, what is the thing you made a dreadful judgement about?”

Hermione let out a cry and flung herself on her back. “Harry!” she cried.

Luna lay on her side next to her. The answer was expected. “What about Harry?”

“I thought he was a prideful arrogant sod. I believed Draco's lies about him. I realise I
had wanted to believe that crap about him. But I know I was wrong.”

“Do you mean from the letters to the editor he's writing on your behalf? You should be
flattered, Harry rarely calls attention to himself or gets involved in anything political, but
he's going out on a limb for your cause. I think it's due to Dobby and Remus and
others.”

Hermione sat up. “You're right. It's not just for me. Gods, I've such a big head!
Thinking the world revolves around me!” She suddenly took out her blouse and folded in neatly,
entering the closet again and continued with her task. “Why am I thinking he would do anything
special for me? He's got an obligation for an old friend. Loyalty, that's it.”

*Then why did he say he loved you?* Hermione's mind asked. Her hands started twisting
the trousers that she already held, ignoring Luna's observant eyes. “I need to focus on my
work.” Hermione returned to her fail safe response to any situation. “Maybe I'll owl Viktor. I
haven't seen him for a while. I could use a holiday.”

“Using Viktor as a distraction is not fair to him, knowing how he feels about you,” Luna said in
a harsh-for-Luna tone. Hermione looked up guiltily.

“I know! Gods, I'm making another mess of things! I heard he's telling everyone that
we're getting married in eight years. What a fuckup I am.” Hermione fell on the bed again and
buried her head in her clothes.

Luna sat down again and rubbed her back. “Something happened with Harry.” It was a statement,
not a query.

“He loves me!” Hermione cried out, then burst into tears.

“And that's a bad thing?” Luna asked, puzzled.

“And I hated him! I was so wrong! I've been wrong about so many things, I'm a fool!”

“Let's focus on one thing at a time. How do you feel about him?”

“That's it, I don't know! I used to hate him, now I don't know! I know I like Hank
Pilsner, that was his glamour. I'm a fool!”

“You're anything but a fool, Hermione Granger. Maybe an over analyzer.”

Hermione sniffled. Luna was correct in that. Her left brain was considering the statement.

“But what should I do? Let me think …. I first disliked Harry when I met him, and he was so rude
at that party, then he snubbed me on the dance floor. He started being nicer to me the next day at
Seamus', I really should have given him a chance then, but I remembered the snub and I
remembered overhearing him saying that I wasn't particularly attractive. That's it! I
thought with my ego! My pride was wounded, and I ignored any further clues that perhaps Harry just
had a bad day when we met. I only sought out things to support my prior hypothesis: that Harry was
a prat. I ignored all the good things like how you would defend him for starters; I should know
that you are an excellent judge of character. I ignored how he stayed by your side when you were at
St Mungo's, and how he is so loyal to Ron. I ignored how he always supported me at work. I
really must stop jumping to conclusions, and be open to differing opinions, and not be absolute in
my beliefs.”

Hermione sat up, a smile broadening her face. It was the happiest Luna had seen her in days. She
started straightening her closet again, with greater focus and speed than before.

“I feel like myself again. Better than myself! I need to be open minded and accepting of
differing opinions. Luna, can you help me do this? Can you let me know straight away if I fall back
on my old ways?”

Luna gave her a hug in reply. “Of course. Now, I think you should test that theory and go with
us this weekend. Ron and I are joining Harry when he visits his godson. You can put your words into
practice.”

“Oh, I'd love to, but I really must go to France. I miss my parents and I miss France,
it's been too too long. Oh, and the food!” Hermione smacked her lips. “*Mon Dieu, c'est
magnifique! Le pain,* the bread is so good! I cannot describe how wonderful a simple loaf of
bread can become manna of the gods, but it is. Maw!” She smacked her lips again as Luna
laughed.

“Another time then. I want you to test this theory.”

“Of course. I think we'll have plenty of time.”

Luna smiled.

***

Please review!

Next chapter: Harry and Hermione get to know each other.

A/N: thanks for the reviews! Sorry if I haven't replied to them all, Real Life is an
overscheduled mess at the moment. But I do appreciate each and every one of them.

And welcome to those who usually don't ship HHr, but the movie opened their minds ;-)

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15. 15
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 15: Duelling**

By AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*(**A/N: I remember Colin Firth in P&P having a nice sweaty duelling scene. Since I
couldn't figure o**ut how to get Harry to do a sigh-worthy* *swim like the 1995 BBC
P&P's Darcy, I snuck* *in* *this scene for us fan girls.**)*

*****

Luna Lovegood knew that she could see things others could not.

She could see the fairy-winged Pusselgroves as they fluttered in front of people's faces
when they told lies. She could see the snap-headed Bobbletops as they jumped about in the long
grass.

She could see how Lavender and Parvati would always scan a room they entered, focus on the
fittest wizard there and introduce themselves.

She could see how Ron's eyes would glow when he looked at her, how his voice would go soft
when he called her his angel.

She could see how Harry would never approach Hermione first, but would stare intently at her all
night.

She could see how Hermione would enter a room, look for Harry, smile, and then walk to the
opposite corner as him, but keep looking up for him every few minutes to make sure he was still
there.

She could see how they played out this duet every time, and how Hermione would approach Harry by
the end of the evening, after she spoke with Padma and Neville, Seamus and Dean, Ernie and Justin,
Cormac and Cho. She would always save Harry for last, like dessert.

And when they approached each other, their eyes would hold fast and little smiles would creep
onto their faces, like they shared a secret. She would reach out her hand and say some common
pleasantry like “Harry, nice to see you again” and he would pull her in to kiss her cheek, but the
kiss would always last a little longer than custom, and she would blush a bit, and Harry would
stare even more intently at her. They would talk, sometimes for just a few minutes, sometimes for
much longer than that, and Hermione would leave him, with another kiss on the cheek. Harry always
had Hermione take the lead. Then she would come to Luna and Ron, and give them huge hugs and just …
glow.

Luna Lovegood noticed these things.

And she decided to push things along a bit.

“Let's stop at Grimmauld Place. I promised Ron I'd drop off a few things,” Luna
mentioned to Hermione one lazy Sunday afternoon.

Hermione was in her room, doing some work, but looked up from her desk. “I really should finish
these notes …”

“We can stop by Flourish & Blotts,” Luna teased. She knew Hermione could never resist
shopping for books, as evidenced by the smile that was increasing across her friend's face.

“You know me too well, Miss Lovegood,” Hermione responded and threw a pillow at her
housemate.

They Apparated to the front of Grimmauld Place where the wards allowed Hermione to enter as well
(she noticed they must have been adjusted, because in the past, she would need either Harry or Ron
to allow her entrance).

“We can just come in, Ron changed the wards so we can do that.” She smiled. “He insisted.”

“Shouldn't we yell or something so they know we're here?”

“Oh, I do this all the time. I just call out. Ronald!” Luna raised her voice as they started
walking through the house. “He's usually in the kitchen or in the drawing room watching sports
on the telly-thingy. Ronald!”

“Over here, my angel,” was the response from deep inside the house. “We're duelling. Ouch!
Harry! Not fair! You hit me when I wasn't paying attention!”

“That's the point,” was the laughing response.

The young women exchanged glances and headed down the stairs.

A large room was fitted with training equipment which seemed to be part of the Auror training
course. Targets, dummies, punching bags, even a variety of Muggle weaponry on one wall, from knives
to swords to maces. The musky smell of sweat was in the air, and the women covered their noses
briefly upon entering.

They were soon distracted from the scent when they saw the occupants of the room. Both were
drenched in sweat and shirtless. Luna spent her time looking at Ron's firm torso with its
freckles and reddish-gold chest hair, and noted that Hermione seemed fixed on Harry's pale yet
muscular torso with its well-developed abdominal muscles and dark hair that spread from his belly
button straight downward, into his trousers.

Keeping his back away from Harry, Ron moved to embrace Luna, but she escaped to the side and
gave him a chaste kiss on the lips. “You smell.”

“You should join us, and then you wouldn't notice,” Ron responded with a wink. Luna glanced
at Hermione.

“You duelled at Beauxbatons, didn't you?” Luna asked.

“Yes, but, I would imagine you're all much more skilled than I,” replied Hermione, careful
not to mention the War, but she saw the shadow pass over their faces.

“It'll be good practice, then. You never know if might need a stinging hex while you're
doing research at the library,” Ron joked.

“What? If I have an overdue book?” Hermione replied.

Luna already started taking off her robes revealing a comfortable outfit, similar to Muggle
yoga-wear. Hermione, not expecting to dual, needed to Transfigure her shirt and jeans into more
appropriate clothing. *I don't want to* *worry* *about* *mov**ing
gracefully* *in jeans* *if I'm* *already* *distracted by Harry's*
*chest*, thought Hermione.

“How about you two girls warm up together, and Harry and I will continue, and then we'll
switch it up a bit? Agreed? Hermione, if you're uncomfortable, think of it as a training
session,” Ron instructed.

Hermione was uncomfortable. Not only was she about to duel with two Aurors, but they were all
veterans of the Second Voldemort War. And she stayed safe in France during the War. Well, most of
it. Regardless, they had the training and experience she lacked. But she wanted to learn.

Hermione could tell that Luna was being safe with her, working with her as if she were a fourth
year, with some stinging hexes and jelly-legs that Hermione could easily shield or deflect. She
tried to get some stinging hexes towards her housemate, but Luna was deceptively fast. Slow-moving
in normal life, Luna could be quick while duelling.

Sweat soon followed and Hermione called a time out so she could grab one of the clean towels
conveniently placed on a shelf and grab some water. She took off her shirt as well and stayed in
her camisole, willing herself not to see if Harry noticed her. He did, because he immediately
suggested a change in partners.

“Ron, why don't you and Luna match up, and I'll work with Hermione.” Those were
Harry's first words since the women arrived, other than a nod in both their directions when
they had arrived.

Luna and Ron easily went into duelling mode, whereas Harry and Hermione stood for a bit and
stared at each other. “Should we … should we just start?” Hermione finally asked, feeling like a
schoolgirl.

Harry appeared to shake the cobwebs from his head. “Yes, of course. Let's just, go for it
and then we'll break and discuss? Do you mind? I noticed a few things that could be improved
when you were duelling with Luna, but let's start? Does that work? And let me know if I sound
too pretentious, I don't want to be.”

Hermione blinked. *He was afraid of sounding pretentious*? She was fully aware that she,
the brightest witch of her generation, was in the unlikely situation of being the worst at
something. Then she remembered all those times she would lecture people on what they `should'
do. Was she being pretentious?

“Yes, yes, that'll do. Right then. Let's go.”

It was one of the hardest twenty minutes in her recent memory. Harry tossed her a clean towel at
the end of it, and apologised again for those stinging hexes that got through to her.

“That canary hex is cute, not sure how often that would get used with a Death Eater, but could
be useful for the everyday. Your use of a shield is okay, but it would slow you down in actual
battle. But, since you're kind of an intermediate level, it certainly makes sense when
you're with a stronger opponent. Then, it would make sense just to defend yourself and find a
way out of there. Don't engage. They could use an Unforgivable and then you're toast.
Water?”

Hermione took the glass and gulped it, not worrying how she looked. Harry would stare at her no
matter what she did. And she was trying hard not to stare at his chest. She was very aware that
they were both near naked, standing in close proximity, already hot and sweaty. She pulled her hair
into a tight bun, and Harry was distracted by how tight her camisole stretched across her chest
when she put her hands behind her head. He swallowed more water.

“Uh, um, your technique is good, I can tell your instincts are good by the type of hexes
you're throwing my way, but you hesitate for a second and that's when you can get hurt,
you're giving your opponent an opening then.

“And if you know your opponent is right-handed, you have a good sense of where the hexes will
fall. You've got a good stance, I can tell you've done some fencing, but you need to get
even smaller, and be less of a target. May I?” Harry moved his hands just above her shoulders. She
swallowed and nodded, as he placed his hands on her and moved her torso so that she was in proper
duelling position. Hermione swore she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her body even
after he moved them. She was sure that her blush matched his.

“I've been out of practice,” Hermione replied. “Not many duels in the Department of the
Regulation of Magical Creatures.”

“Diggory doesn't propose a duel during lunch?” Harry asked, eyebrow raised.

“Gods, Hermione, don't know how you work with such old men! It's a regular geriatric
ward over there!” Ron joined the conversation as he continued duelling with Luna. It broke the
tension.

“They're all right. They have good background knowledge, and I just focus on why I'm
really there, which is not to get dates but to increase rights for magical creatures,” Hermione
responded. She was pleased to notice a small smile cross Harry's face.

“Oy! The greater good! We know that, eh, Harry?”

“Yes, you all have proven that. So maybe you should work in Magical Creatures and retire early,”
Hermione joked.

“Ron in Magical Creatures? He'd be snoozing at his desk or eating at the café all day in no
time,” Harry joked.

“I think Magical Creatures is a wonderful department. Scamander has done a good job heading it.
If I worked for the Ministry, that's where I would be,” added Luna dreamily. “I think Ronald
would be suited for Magical Games and Sports.”

“Unfortunately, ferret boy works there,” growled Ron.

Harry immediately looked for Hermione's reaction. “I haven't seen you with Draco lately
in the cafeteria.”

Hermione looked at him, surprised he noticed her dining companions. Harry only seemed to appear
in the cafeteria and take items to go.

“She's avoiding him,” Luna answered for Hermione. Surprised, the two young men focused on
Hermione, waiting for an explanation.

“I have a lot of work to do. I tend to just eat with my department,” stated Hermione.

“Draco made her very uncomfortable at the ball,” Luna continued to explain. Hermione was tempted
to hex her to close her mouth, but reconsidered that it would just cause more questioning. She
noticed that Harry's grip on the towel tightened.

“Any other long lost secrets of mine you'd like to share?” Hermione noted sarcastically.

Luna paused for a moment in thought, then shook her head. “No.” Her radish earrings swayed.

“Any baby pictures of Hermione you'd like to share? First kiss? First snog? Or, better yet,
have you two girls kissed?” suggested Ron, wiggling his eyebrows.

Luna gasped and Hermione hit him in the arm. “Ow!” he cried out.

“You deserved that one, mate,” Harry laughed.

Hermione started waving her hand in front of her face. “Is it getting hot in here?”

***

After their goodbyes and the women Apparated home to shower and change, Luna walked into
Hermione's room and sat down on the bed, her expression dreamy. Hermione knew there was about
to be a talk, so she sat down next to her.

After some moments in silence, Luna spoke.

“You two have a connection.”

Hermione blinked. “Excuse me? Who two?”

“You and Harry. I haven't felt anything this strong since Ronald and me, but you two,
I'm surprised I never felt it before.”

Hermione smiled and shook her head. “I think we're becoming friends. And maybe you sense
something on his side, he used to love me.”

It was Luna's time to shake her head. “No. No, that's not it.”

“Maybe it's all the pheromones in the sweat in that room. I had to wash my hair again—”

“No,” Luna interrupted. “Your eyes are closed to it, but one day they'll open.”

“You sounded a bit like a Seer just then.” Hermione viewed her friend with a little bit of
apprehension. “Divination was my least favourite class.”

“I'm not surprised since you excelled in Arithmancy. You're quite logical.”

“And you're not, that's why we're a great team.”

Luna thought of someone else who'd make a great team with Hermione, but she kept her mouth
closed and merely smiled.

***

*Next* *Chapter:* *At the Ministry, Harry and Hermione work together.*

*Please read and review!*

*(A/N: Happy Holidays! Which also means things are incredibly busy. Please be patient, but
Real Life is busy beyond words at the moment**. Hopefully things will be quieter past
Christmas.* *O**nly four more chapters! And thanks for the reviews, they're
wonderful!)*

-->



16. 16
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 16: Aurors at Work**

By: AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*(A/N: my first action scene! Feedback please!)*

***

“Granger, could you come in here, quite quickly please.”

Hermione looked up from her desk and heard Scamander summon her in uncharacteristically loud and
firm tone of voice. She clutched her wand as she raced into his office, startling one of the
interns as she hurried past him in the hallway.

Hermione was surprised by what she saw. Instead of potential violence, Scamander stood by the
window by a familiar looking owl. He held a note to Hermione.

“Do you recognise that hand writing?”

Hermione took the note and scanned it. “Looks familiar. May I read?”

“Of course, that's why I asked you in here. Octavious sent it. From Appley. He mentions
you.”

The note was brief.

*Scamander—*

*Need help.* *Death Eaters advancing. Hiding in attic. Tell Granger.*

*-Octavious*

Hermione's heart raced, but she was puzzled. She handed the note back to her manager.

“Why didn't he send a Patronus? And why you? Why mention me?”

Scamander scratched his head. “It just doesn't seem right, but I couldn't put my finger
on why…”

“If Octavious needed help urgently he would have summoned a Patronus and sent it to someone
local. Why send an owl across the country? Better yet, why not Apparate? It's all too
fishy.”

“I'm calling in an Auror—”

“They want the Ministry involved,” Hermione interjected. “That must be it. It's a trap. They
knew you work at the Ministry and you'd call the Aurors. But why?”

“I'm calling them regardless. My friend is in danger.”

Hermione looked over the note. “If there is some way we can verify it's really from him
…”

“Are you suggesting …”

“I'm suggesting we get a bit more info before storming in. It smells like a trap.”

Scamander paced his office, looking at Hermione and the owl. He stopped suddenly. “Do we even
know if this is Octavious' owl or his handwriting?”

“Surely the MLE has a test. Let's call them.”

Lionel Montgomery, the Minister of Magical Law Enforcement himself, came to Scamander's
office. Hermione was studying the note and observed that he brought some Aurors as well: Weasley,
Potter and Reilly.

“Granger.” Each of the Aurors greeted her with a quick smile and head nod, staying professional.
Reilly however, nearly jumped across the room to give her a hug and a kiss.

“Hermione! It's been too long!”

Ron looked puzzled as Harry frowned, crossing his arms over his chest. Montgomery looked
amused.

Hermione laughed and pushed Reilly away. “Now, now, we're at work. Save that for someone
else later.”

Reilly pantomimed a “Hey, at least I tried” expression and settled into his work demeanour,
ignoring the glares that Harry sent his way.

Scamander explained to the group what had happened as the Aurors passed the note between
them.

“And you're not certain that's his handwriting?” Montgomery asked Hermione.

“Well, I think it is, but there's something puzzling about it all,” she replied. “Why would
he owl when he could send a Patronus?”

“Because Patronus' can't lie,” Harry quickly completed Hermione's thought.

“Exactly!” her eyes brightened at his response. “They're hard enough to accomplish as it is,
I've always had trouble with it.”

“You, Hermione Granger, having trouble with a spell?” joked Ron. He stopped laughing when
everyone in the room frowned at him.

“It's not just that he didn't do a Patronus. I mean, imagine that he is being surrounded
by Death Eaters at his home. Why take the time to send an owl, and why send it to someone at the
Ministry whom he hadn't seen in years? I've been to Appley. I've been to
Peasegood's home. He knows everyone in town and they all know him. Wouldn't it make more
sense to Apparate, send a Patronus or owl someone in town? Or some local Aurors? Why
Scamander?”

“Granger, if you think this is a trap, is there someone in Appley you feel comfortable enough
contacting without causing a stir?” Montgomery asked.

Hermione closed her eyes slightly and looked at the bookcase as she thought. “Bingham! Rufus
Bingham! He lives two houses away from Peasegood. I think he's ex-MLE. If I was in
Peasegood's situation, I would contact him.”

“Do you mind Flooing …”

“Not at all.” Hermione stepped over to the large fireplace, with one last glance at the rest of
the room, she threw in the Floo powder, shouting Rufus Bingham's name.

A bearded, burly face appeared in the flames. “Hullo! Who's that? Granger?”

Hermione pulled up her robes slightly so she could kneel comfortably in front of the fireplace.
“Hullo, Mr Bingham. Hermione Granger here. I was just checking if you'd seen Octavious
Peasegood lately.” Her voice was calm and quizzical. Harry admired her grace under pressure. He
would certainly not guess that she was concealing a possible Death Eater plot from her
demeanour.

Bingham appeared to scratch his head. “Let's see, I saw Octavious about supper time
yesterday. No, I passed him on the way to the shops this morning. He looked fine. Do you want me to
go over and check on him?”

“No!” Hermione nearly shouted, then composed herself. “No, don't bother. I'll just send
him an owl. How are you?”

Harry could see Ron roll his eyes when Hermione started a casual conversation which quickly
ended. She soon stood up from the ground and brushed on the powder from her robes.

“Sorry about that,” she said, anticipating their impatience. “I thought if I didn't do some
small talk, he'd be suspicious. He's ex-MLE and I don't want him walking into this
situation alone. He's retired.”

“So, what else is there, Hermione? You look like, like there's more to tell,” Harry asked.
Hermione looked him directly in the eyes for the first time since the meeting started, and smiled
quickly before answering.

“Yes. It's not only the lack of Patronus and sending it to Scamander. It's his asking
for me, and calling me Granger, not Hermione. He always called me Hermione. We got quite close over
the weeks I was there. He was like a grandfather.” Hermione made a small choking noise and Harry
held back the urge to comfort her. Reilly didn't, he gave her a quick squeeze before Ron
spoke.

“Why would Death Eaters target Peasegood?” Ron asked. Harry replied before Hermione could.

“Death Eaters are purebloods. They hate anyone or anything who is not, werewolves included,”
Harry answered. Hermione nodded in agreement.

“So why Peasegood and why now?' asked Scamander.

“That's what I'm trying to figure out. I was there over a month ago. If they wanted to
make a scene, having a visitor from the Ministry would do it.”

“Unless they wanted an Auror from the Ministry involved,” Harry added. “Now that Peasegood has
recent new ties with the Ministry, they decided it would be more believable if he contacted the
Ministry instead of some locals.”

“That could be it,” pondered Hermione.

Montgomery stood up quickly. “Reilly, Potter, Weasley. Get Fox and Bristol. You'll all
Apparate there.”

The men started to exit the room when Hermione nearly ran to block the door. “But what if
it's a trap! And I'm sure it is one!”

“This is what we do,” Reilly answered quietly for the three of them. The answer did not satisfy
her.

“So that's what you do, just show up into traps?” she asked angrily. “Do you even know what
Octavious' house looks like?”

The men exchanged looks and waited to listen to what the witch had to say.

Hermione let out a little huff and shook her head, giving the men a premonition of her doing the
same actions with her misbehaving children one day.

“Right then. I was just there over a month ago. This is the layout of the house and the land
around it.” She moved her wand in the air, as if creating a painting out of nothingness. Whispsy
tendrils emerged forming the interior and exterior walls, doorways, windows.

Ron whistled. “Blimey. We never learned that at Hogwarts.”

“Air painting? Not in Fine Arts?” asked Hermione.

“No Fine Arts at Hogwarts. Muggle Studies and History of Magic,” Ron replied.

Hermione sniffed the air in a haughty fashion. “That would be an easy O for me.”

“I heard everything is an easy O for you, Hermione,” Reilly attempted to lighten the mood.

Montgomery had had enough. “Granger, let's do this in a meeting room. We need Fox and
Bristol as well.”

The group had reassembled in an empty conference room on the second level, deep in the
Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

After Montgomery took the lead and described the situation to the two new Aurors, and Hermione
and Scamander mentioned their concerns, Montgomery asked her to draw the layout of the house and
grounds. Hermione once again waved her wand to create some wispy paint pots, and she went about
sketching the outline of the house and grounds, emphasising the layout of the doors, windows, and
surrounding shrubbery.

“I'm definitely not an artist, but here's the layout of the three floors. The note said
he's in the attic. These are only what were visible to me; there may be secret doors and
stairways I have no idea about,” Hermione said.

The Aurors stood to get a better view. Montgomery spoke.

“Reilly, Weasley, I want you two to team up. Reilly knows Appley and so does Potter, so I'm
splitting them up. Reilly, Weasley, you two do the frontal assault. Potter, Fox, Bristol, you three
handle the outskirts and keep surveillance. Let them know if you see anything.”

“Excuse me, sorry to interject, but how do they communicate with each other?” asked
Hermione.

“Uh, we whisper loudly,” replied Ron.

Hermione frowned. “No communication devices?”

“Like a two-way mirror?” asked Harry.

“That won't work for multiple people. Let me do something ...” Hermione answered.

Upon hearing their negative responses, Hermione huffed, frowned, then grabbed some bits of
broken quill that were lying in the room. She transfigured them into small bits of plastic with
little holes and gave one to each.

“They're like Muggle hearing aids or built in walkie talkies. They fit in your ears. Push
down on it lightly and you can communicate with each other. There's a speaker button too so we
can hear what you hear. I also spelled it so no one with a Death Eater's Dark Mark can
overhear.”

Ron grinned. “Blimey, Hermione, you're a genius!”

“You're our Q in James Bond,” Harry said, adding the Muggle reference.

Montgomery held one in his hand and observed it closely. “How long will these last?”

“I haven't made one in ages, but I can work on permanent ones. These should last twelve
hours.”

Montgomery looked at the witch with renewed appreciation. “Granger, if you ever want to
transfer—”

“Don't ever think about it!” Scamander interrupted. “She's too valuable to us here. We
can loan her out as needed.”

Hermione took some more odds and ends from the rubbish bin and around the room and created
miniature replicas of the five Aurors. “I put mini trackers on the ear pieces so we'll know
where you are. We can observe you from here and help follow your movements. I have no idea where
the Death Eaters or Peasegood are, but if you give us that info, we can try to track their
positions as well.”

Harry watched with appreciation as Hermione created a virtual war room on the conference room
table. There was almost a hologram of a good sized wizarding house, with the surrounding trees and
shrubbery, a basic floor plan and key furniture objects that might be useful for concealment. He
heard that Hermione was the brightest witch of her age, but to conjure this required strong magic.
He thought back on the war years and wished that he'd had her help, particularly in the bleak
final year when he and Ron were on the run. He shook his head quickly. Not that he would wish that
on anyone.

Hermione looked at Harry suddenly, then flushed and looked away. He was aware that he stared at
her far too often; Ron reminded him of that frequently (“Blimey! You look like a stalker!”), but he
was so impressed by her intelligence at that moment. He knew she was witty from the parties. He
knew she had a lovely singing voice from that night at Seamus' soon after they had first met.
He knew that she was loyal to her friends and a brilliant researcher from Luna's stay at St
Mungo's. He knew she felt strongly about civil rights for magical beings from her work, and he
knew she was a decent duellist for someone who was abroad during the war, but observing her in his
element, as part of his work, and seeing her rise to the challenge, and pull out magic he had never
seen before, he was even more deeply in love than ever. And he guessed that it was all showing in
his eyes when she suddenly looked at him, flushed, and looked away. What a woman. What a beautiful
brilliant woman.

Hermione felt Harry's intense gaze and was still shocked when she finally looked at him. No
one had ever looked at her before with such … love. Not this weird antagonistic intensity as when
he announced his feelings at Appley. It was more … human. Deeper. Truer. She felt only goodness and
admiration and adoration. Not intense passion and anger. Something deeper and truer. And it scared
her, so she looked away. She needed to regain her focus.

*Focus.* *Any meetings to cancel?* She knew it would be a long day and there was no
way she was going to walk out of this meeting room until all five Aurors returned. Safe. She had
dinner plans with Padma and Neville that she could cancel. She didn't want to say anything to
Luna in case Ron said nothing. They never discussed the dangerous nature of Ron's work. But …
Hermione remembered that they all survived the war and Luna was in the heart of it, so she was
probably used to it. Hermione was adjusting. She didn't know many Aurors at the French
Ministry, staying with Magical Creature and International Cooperation departments since her then
boyfriend, Laurent, was working in International Cooperation. Since she seemed to be becoming good
friends with these Aurors, and her best friend Luna might be marrying one someday, she would need
to learn to live with loved ones being in danger on a regular basis. And she knew that deep inside,
she had the strength to do just that.

“Let me get some things and I'll be right back,” Hermione said, rising from her place by the
magical hologram.

“Leaving us Granger?” joked Reilly.

“I'll be right back. Need to cancel a couple meetings.”

“You're staying?” Ron asked.

“Of course. I can't just leave you!” said Hermione as she exited.

“Damn fine witch,” Montgomery said after she left.

“Don't you dare steal her from my department,” Scamander warned.

“Once the laws are passed—” Montgomery started.

“I can always find work for her to do,” Scamander interjected.

“Isn't she on loan from France?”

“I'm putting in a permanent transfer for her,” Scamander replied.

“Hermione's just here temporarily?” Harry cried out, forgetting to use the name
`Granger' at work. Ron shot him a look, surprised at his friend's desperate tone of
voice.

“No worries, Potter. There is no way we are sending her back to France. Shacklebolt is already
working with Lacroix.”

“But she does have family in France. That's why she went to Beauxbatons instead of Hogwarts
in the first place,” Harry added.

Montgomery raised in eyebrow. “Potter, no idea you and Granger were such good friends. Yes, we
know that. We're working on giving her her own international Portkey so she can maintain
regular contact.”

Hermione felt all eyes staring at her when she entered the room again, particularly some angry
eyes from the Auror witch, Fox.

“What?” she asked as she hurried to the magical three dimensional floor plan, but it was
unchanged. “Did something happen? Are the ear transistors not working?”

“No, everything's fine,” responded Fox icily. Hermione wondered how in the world she gained
an enemy by stepping out of a room.

Montgomery walked over to the floor plan and they discussed strategy. Ron and Reilly would
Apparate to the house, the other three outside, and they would split up and look for Peasegood.

Hermione sat to the side, trying to hide the knots in her stomach. She wasn't used to
combat. Her life at Beauxbatons had been relatively peaceful, although she did ensure that she was
strong in duelling, since there was a concern that Voldemort would spread to the continent and she,
as a Muggleborn, would be a target. She heard rumours of what was happening to Muggles, but it all
seemed so … evil, that she hoped they were untrue. After the war, Shacklebolt had Truth and
Reconciliation commissions, but everything was closed to the public and the *Daily Prophet*
was more focused on Harry Potter's social life and the re-emergence of the Quidditch World
Cup.

Hermione startled noticing Reilly sitting by her. For once, the joking Auror's eyes were
serious. “Don't worry,” he whispered with a small reassuring smile. “We're going to be
fine. We're trained for this. And I'll make sure he's safe.”

“Who?” she asked quickly.

“Your Harry,” he answered. He gave her a peck on the cheek and patted her knee. Then stood up
and said more loudly, “You owe me a butterbeer, Granger!”

“Oy! Let me in on the bet! What is it?” Ron responded rapidly to any suggestion of alcohol and
food.

“Just get back safe and we'll all go for a round. Reilly's treat,” teased Hermione,
pushing back any concerns or fears.

“Hey now!” Reilly exclaimed.

“Hey yourself, Mr Reilly. We have a mission to accomplish. Comedy can wait for the Yule Ministry
Talent show and pantomime,” Montgomery interjected. “Ready? Everyone have the low noise
apparitions?”

Harry looked at Hermione one last time, sitting to one side, looking bright with a big forced
smile. *She cares*! he thought. Their eyes met for an instant, and he saw her resolve falter
for a moment, then her stiff upper lip came out, figuratively speaking.

“See you all later!” she called out cheerily. “Reilly owes us butterbeers.”

And then he Apparated.

As soon as they left, Hermione rushed over to the floor plan and placed the Aurors into
positions.

Scamander stood to leave. “You'll be here …”

Hermione nodded. “Of course. I can finish that paperwork tomorrow, and I rescheduled the
meetings.”

“Good. Good luck,” he nodded gravely and left the room.

Montgomery turned to Hermione and appraised the floor plan. “You must show our trainers how to
do this.”

Distant voices came from the transmitter Hermione kept in the room.

“Weasley here. We're on the second floor. The house looks unoccupied. We're checking
each of the rooms then heading to the attic.”

Hermione positioned the two miniature Aurors on the second level of the model.

“Bristol here. We landed on the outside. Potter in front, Fox headed north, I'm taking the
back garden. Seems abandoned. Neighbourhood is quiet, too.”

Hermione moved their miniatures accordingly.

“All quiet here. We're headed to the attic stairs,” Ron said, then there were shouts.

“Stinging hex from the attic doorway! Reilly! Take cover!”

“Bristol, you hear that? I want you all to take cover but move quickly to secure the perimeter,”
Montgomery said.

“Roger that.”

“Potter here. Looks like at least two persons in the attic, they passed by the windows. How tall
is Peasegood, because one is quite short.”

“That must be Peasegood!” Hermione exclaimed. “He's about my height.”

“Well, it's him or some other shortie, and they're upright and moving.”

“Can you Apparate into the attic?”

“Is there much cover there?”

“May be our only chance. There's only one way in or out, and that's the stairs.”

“If I only had my broom I could see thru the windows,” muttered Harry. “Wait, I've got my
wizard binoculars. There. Hang on, I'm going in. I can Apparate behind some trunks in
there.”

Hermione clamped her hand over her mouth to stop herself from yelling his name.

“You hear that, Reilly, Weasley? Potter's headed directly into the attic. Make sure you
don't hex each other.”

“Roger that.”

“There're two up here and one has his wand on Peasegood. He's all right, just tied up a
bit,” Harry said.

“We're still duelling down here. Any assistance would be helpful,” Reilly answered
tersely.

“Just stun him!” Ron said urgently.

“Can you see him? You're welcome to if you can see him,” Reilly answered sarcastically.

“There's one down here. Gone!” interjected Fox. “I don't see any more around here.”

“Well done, Fox. Keep checking the perimeter,” said Montgomery.

“Stupefy! Stupefy!” Harry yelled out. There was the sound of two thuds. “Okay, these are gone.
I'm securing them now. Mr Peasegood, I'm Auror Potter. We're here to rescue you.”

Sound of running up stairs. “Potter! That's not—” Reilly's voice yelled.

“Silencio!” a strange voice yelled and Reilly's transmitter was silent.

“Harry! Reilly must have known that wasn't Peasegood!” Hermione yelled as Harry and Ron both
yelled “Stupefy” and there was another thud.

“Hermione, does Peasegood have orange hair?”

“No! Grey! It was a trap!”

“Stay alert! There may be more! Search all the rooms and look for Peasegood!” ordered
Montgomery.

“Attic. All clear.”

“Bedroom there. All clear.”

“Front garden, all clear.”

“I'm bringing these three in for questioning. I'll Apparate straight to the holding
cells,” said Harry.

“Take Fox with you,” ordered Montgomery.

“Potter, I'll meet you there,” Fox replied.

“I'm headed downstairs. Checking the first floor,” Ron said.

Montgomery walked to the hallway. “Henderson! Potter and Fox are bringing in three suspected
Death Eaters!” He soon returned and took his same position by the miniature, his face fierce in
concentration.

“Reilly! Weasley! Bristol! Report positions!” Montgomery barked.

“First floor, drawing room,” replied Reilly.

“Outside, back garden, by the oak tree,” said Bristol.

“First floor, kitchen,” Ron answered.

Hermione move the miniatures into position.

“There's big set of armour in the hallway. Watch out for that,” cautioned Hermione.

“See it. Thanks. I'm headed into the basement,” Ron replied.

“Dining room, all clear,” said Reilly.

“Wait, I think I hear something. Night vision wizard goggles on,” Ron said.

Hermione held her breath and prayed for Luna's sake in particular.

“There's something in the corner. I don't see anyone else down here….” Ron said.

“Reilly, cover him!” barked Montgomery.

“On it, sir,” Reilly replied.

“Mr Peasegood? Is that you in there?”

There was a muffled response.

“Help! Help!” cried a new voice, a voice familiar to Hermione.

“Octavious!” Hermione shouted. “That's him! I know his voice!”

“Weasley, identify!” Montgomery commanded.

“Well, let's see. He's about Hermione's height, grey hair, looks just a bit younger
than Dumbledore.”

“That's him!” Hermione responded. “Just to be sure, ask him what he served me for tea when I
first arrived.”

“Gingersnaps!” Peasegood responded happily.

“You're safe now, Octavious,” Hermione said.

“Mr Peasegood, we're from the Ministry. Do you know what happened? How many Death Eaters
accosted you? Do you know of any that have been near you recently?” Ron asked.

“They took me and forced me to write that note—did Scamander give it to you?—did you know it was
a trap?” Octavious asked.

“Yes, you're all right now, Mr Peasegood. We'll do a Side-Along Apparition to take you
to the Ministry and St Mungo's to make sure you're okay,” Reilly said.

“Weasley! Take Peasegood to the Ministry. Reilly, Bristol, one last look around. Then let me
know before you Apparate back and come back together.”

“Yes, sir,” the two Aurors answered at once.

Montgomery turned to the young woman in the room. “Granger—”

She had already grabbed her bag. “As soon as they all Apparate back, I'll be checking on
Peasegood.”

“You did good work today, Granger. If you ever think of changing careers, we have non-combat
positions available.”

“Thank you, sir, but I'm fine where I am right now. Just keep us abreast of any abuse of
magical creatures,” Hermione responded. “Your department has been quite helpful so far and we
appreciate it. It'll be quite tough once we go forward with the new proposals, but we'd
like to count on your department's continued assistance and support.” Hermione was speaking
like the department head. She may have overstepped her place a bit, but she didn't want this
opportunity to go to waste.

“Done. You have my word. I'm not surprised you're not coming over, but your work is too
important.” Montgomery suddenly turned back to the miniatures. “Reilly! Bristol! Positions!”

“All clear, sir,” Reilly replied.

“Nothing here. Request to return to Ministry,” Bristol stated.

“Request granted. Apparate,” Montgomery commanded, then turned to Hermione. “Thank you.”

Hermione looked at the shimmering model she had created. All the models of the Aurors were
safely away. She felt a flood of relief, but concern that Peasegood was attacked at all. “I'll
leave this up and your team can reverse engineer it, or they can contact me or anyone from
Beauxbatons for the spell. It's a combination of Transfiguration, charms and magical
painting.

“I'll check in on Peasegood and then …” Hermione stopped, wondering if she was about to
overstep her bounds.

“You'll want to follow the questioning. Why don't you go to the holding cells area? You
can meet up with the Aurors there. It may be a long night; we could owl you if anything
breaks…”

“I'll be in my office once I check on everyone. Thanks for saving Octavious.”

“Thanks for helping us, Granger. Good work today.”

Hermione hurried through the building and discovered that Peasegood was not seriously injured,
so he was being treated by a healer assigned to the MLE. Aside from a few bruises and small
scrapes, he was fine.

“What happened? Do you know who attacked him and why?” Hermione asked Ron once she ascertained
that Peasegood was safe.

“Harry's in interrogation right now. He and Reilly have a technique that he calls `good cop,
bad cop.' You can guess which one Harry is,” Ron said, smiling.

Hermione smiled as well. “It's a Muggle term. And I shudder to think of how mean Harry could
be. Those scowls of his! I've been on the wrong side of those too many times.”

Hermione suddenly decided to ignore professionalism and launched herself at Ron. “I'm so
glad you all are safe!”

Ron patted her back. “We're fine!”

“I kept thinking about Luna—”

“Hermione, we're fine. And either you or Reilly owe us a butterbeer!”

Ron watched the bushy-haired witch take a deep breath, square her shoulders back, and raise her
head.

“Right. I'm ready now. Sorry about that.”

“No worries. You're still new at this. You didn't have any of those Singing Nymphs
attack at Beauxbatons, did you?” Ron joked.

“You know about our Singing Nymphs?”

“Fleur bragged about them fourth year.”

“Gods, I meant to owl her! We're supposed to do lunch and I've volunteered to
babysit.”

“You two just want to gossip about all of us in French while we're sitting right there.”

“Well, you could try learning another language, Ron,” Hermione teased.

“As long as I can order food in any language, I'm set,” Ron replied.

Bristol came bursting in then. “Potter thinks the short one's about to squeal!”

Hermione looked wary. “He doesn't … torture them, does he?”

“No! We're not Death Eaters! Potter has his technique,” Bristol replied.

“Bad cop, good cop, then truth serum if that doesn't work,” Ron whispered in Hermione's
ear.

“That makes it faster, doesn't it?”

“And torture may not reveal the truth; it may just have the person say whatever it takes to make
the pain go away.”

“True. I've read those studies.”

“I'm sure you have. I just get someone else to do that part for me,” Ron smirked.

Hermione was taken to an area where she was able to watch what was happening in the
interrogation room, rather like a Muggle closed circuit television.

The accused was sitting in a chair with his ankles and wrists bound. An unknown Auror stood
behind him while Harry and Reilly were in front. Reilly was sitting, seemingly undisturbed, having
a cup of tea while Harry was pacing, asking rapid fire questions seemingly to trip up the accused.
Although Reilly seemed to be oblivious, Hermione saw that he had his wand at the ready, his
half-lidded eyes were clearly focused on the accused and his body ready to move in an instant.

“They're at work, I'll not disturb them. Let me know when you find anything out.
I'll be working late in my office,” Hermione instructed Ron.

“You know, you'd make a great school teacher or mum. You have that female authority figure
voice,” Ron joked.

In response, Hermione rolled her eyes. “Back handed complement if ever I heard one.”

“Some blokes are into that!” he added with a wink.

“I'll be in my office,” responded Hermione.

Much later, a small grey owl landed on Hermione's desk. She was alone in the department, all
the others had left hours ago. She knew her department was always known as the first to leave the
building, and the MLE and Department of Mysteries the last. It was a little disconcerting, so she
always kept her wand ready.

*Granger -*

*If you're still here (and I'm sure you are) meet us for butterbeers at the
Snitch.*

*If you're reading this from home and you've already gone to bed, you still owe us
butterbeers and we'll collect in the morning.*

*-Reilly*

*(and the rest)*

Hermione laughed. This was definitely Reilly. After deciphering fake owl posts, this one was in
his handwriting with his humour. Definitely him. She jotted a note back to him.

*Reilly—*

*I'm here**,* *wide awake waiting for you to buy me a butterbeer. Be prepared
to* *pay up**.*

*-Granger*

It was nearly closing time, but the Snitch was well-known to Aurors, and they always managed to
find a loophole to stay open past official closing. In some cases, it may be entering through the
backdoor which Hermione did. She found the five in a corner booth with some co-workers Hermione did
not know. She saw Harry with Fox leaning into his arm. She gave him a small smile, and gave hugs to
Ron and Reilly.

“You're safe!” Her voice was muffled by their embraces.

“Hermione, you must join our team! You were fantastic!” Ron called.

She smiled and shook her head. “No, no, no! I'll help out as needed, but I see myself as a
barrister eventually, actually. You bring them in and I'll try their cases, deal?”

Harry noticed that Hermione sat in the space that was immediately created between Reilly and
Ron. She was happy, laughing, joking, the tensions of the day released. He wanted to capture that
look, that moment, in a wizarding photo: her head thrown back in laughter, her brown curls bouncing
lightly over her shoulders, eyes bright with intelligence and wit.

She had looked for him immediately upon entering, their eyes met, she smiled, then fell into a
hug with Reilly, then Ron. She was introduced again to Fox, Bristol and the rest; Fox moved even
closer to Harry as if marking her territory. He and Fox had shared a few snogs in the past, but it
was nothing, he was sure it had meant nothing to her, too. Maybe he was wrong, or maybe she wanted
a few snogs tonight, too, and didn't want Hermione to run interference.

Somehow Reilly talked Hermione into buying a round even though the actual bet was never
articulated. She placed a butterbeer in front of him and she smiled. “Pace yourself, Potter.” He
didn't know if she meant the beer or the witch next to him.

The rest of the night was a blur. He couldn't recall what words were spoken, but he
remembered the feeling. The admiration for Hermione's intelligence earlier in the evening, the
notice of her compassion once she ensured Peasegood was well (Harry was in the interrogation room
at the time, but Reilly slipped him a note saying that Hermione was there checking on Peasegood and
was watching them) . Now, contentment that she fit so well with his co-workers, his friends. And
she looked gorgeous in the glowing candlelight.

Hermione felt Harry's gaze on her. She turned to see him look at her with such open warmth,
joy, love, contentment. For that moment, time stopped. She took a deep breath as a warm glow filled
her chest, radiating through her body. She hoped that her look in return echoed his. Then, someone
jostled her arm, and the look was broken, the moment ended. Life went on.

When they were finally thrown out of the pub, everyone said their goodbyes. Hermione was now on
a first name basis with everyone and gave them all hugs, even Fox who managed to relax her grip on
him a bit. Ron volunteered to take Hermione back to her house, knowing full well that Luna would be
there, and he would likely be spending the night. He gave Harry the arched eyebrow that their house
would be empty, if he wanted a bit of fun with Fox.

If Hermione noticed these unspoken looks between the young men, she did not indicate it. She
gave Harry a quick kiss on the cheek; it was their first actual contact since the raid at
Peasegood's.

“I'm so glad you're safe,” she said quickly. Harry looked into her eyes and saw tears,
then she was gone, arm in arm with Ron.

“Good night, Hermione,” he called after her. She gave him a wave before turning back to Ron.

Fox pulled on his robes. “My place or yours?”

“Both. I'll go to mine and you go to yours. But thanks for the offer,” Harry responded.

“It's her then. You know she's practically engaged to Viktor Krum,” Fox said.

“I'm just not in the mood now,” he replied. *Not in the mood to argue or worry about
Bulgarian Seekers*. “Good night.” He kissed her lightly on the top of her head and walked to the
Apparition point.

***

*Please read and review!*

*A/N on this chapter: this has nothing to do with P&P, but I wanted the Trio to have
experience of working together, and imagined a situation like in OotP when Hermione realizes that
Harry is about to walk into a trap. This time, they listen to her.*

*Next chapter:* *Part Three.* *Pemberl**e**y. Return to Hogwarts.*

*A/N: Real Life is a hot mess right now, but hopefully the next chapter will be up in a couple
weeks. Only 4 more chapters left in this story! And thanks for the many reviews. I've been
incredibly busy and unable to respond as quickly as I'd like to, but I do read each*
*& every* *one of them and really appreciate the feedback. Thank you!!*

-->



17. 17
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Part three****: Pemberley**

**Chapter 17: Return to Hogwarts**

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*By: addisonj*

*Beta: DeeMichelle*

*A b**ig thank you to my beta, DeeMichelle, for completing this chapter this week in time
for me to post today, Christmas 2010. Merry merry, everyone!*

*A/N:* *Finally.*

***********

“Hermione, you're not packing enough!”

“I'm only gone a couple of days.”

“I'd ask you to take photos, but Hogwarts never changes,” Lavender giggles. “It's been
the same way for about a thousand years, so the few years we've been gone, it won't have
changed.”

Hermione grabbed some clothes and shrunk them to fit into her shoulder bag. She grabbed some
paperwork as well and some books for leisure reading.

“Aren't you going to be a bit of a threesome?” Parvati asked. “And I don't know why
Padma didn't invite me.”

“Because you spent seven years at Hogwarts. I haven't. I've always wanted to see it,”
Hermione responded in her usual, matter-of-fact voice. “I'm sure you're welcome to join us
if you'd like.”

Parvati jumped back from the bed, as if it might Apparate her directly to Hogsmeade. “Oh, no.
The Heidelberg Harriers are in town. They're rarely in London, we must stay.”

“Gunther should be there. I'm sure he remembers us from their last road trip here!”
exclaimed Lavender.

“Please give Gunther my regards and sorry I won't meet him this trip,” Hermione replied,
hoping she didn't sound as sarcastic as she felt. Seeing no reaction from her housemates, she
felt safe until Luna answered from the other room.

“Apologise, Hermione,” Luna called out. “I heard that.”

“What?” Hermione feigned innocence.

Luna walked in, giving her as severe a look as was possible for Luna Lovegood. Hermione
acquiesced. “Fine, sorry. I was not entirely truthful there.”

“About what?” asked Parvati as she looked through Hermione's shoe collection, shaking her
head at all the sensible heels.

“You say something?” Lavender asked at the same time, looking over the sparse makeup collection
Hermione had on her dresser.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at Luna who just shook her head and gave her a look that a mother
gives a disapproving child.

Padma and Neville had invited Hermione to Hogwarts for the weekend. Neville was interviewing for
a job assisting Professor Sprout in Herbology, and, knowing Hermione did not attend Hogwarts like
the rest of the group, she was invited to join them. Hermione readily agreed. They did not plan to
stay the night, but advised Hermione to bring a change of clothes just in case. It was easy with
the minimizing spell to shrink everything to fit in a small carry-on bag.

They Apparated first to Hogsmeade, where Padma and Hermione spent an hour walking along the
shops, Hermione was quite interested in Scrivenshaft's Quill Shop. The Weasley brothers were
taking over Zonko's Joke Shop, and Hermione stifled a laugh at Madam Puddifoot's.

“Oh my goodness, it's all so … frilly!” she laughed.

Padma shook her head. “It was quite popular with the girls at Hogwarts. Had to reserve a spot
weeks in advance for Valentine's Day.”

“Oh, I don't mean to be rude, it's just not my style.”

“No harm done. Many of the blokes felt the same way you do.”

After some more walking around, Padma suggested they head for the castle. “Headmistress
McGonagall wanted to meet us at 1pm, and she's quite prompt.”

“Oh! We'd better not be late then. Can she still give demerits?”

“May cost my husband from getting his dream job, and that's a bit more important. Come
along,” answered Padma.

Hermione had read *Hogwarts: A History*, but she was still overwhelmed seeing the huge
castle complex in front of her. It was massive, dominating the hillside and the local
environment.

They took a carriage from Hogsmeade around the lake thru the gates (Padma had to request
entrance). She noted the look of awe on her friend's face.

“It's actually most impressive when you arrive as a first year. You're scared to death;
you're eleven years old and leaving home for the first time. Then his huge man named Hagrid
takes you into these boats and you float across the lake to the castle. Then McGonagall takes you
to the Great Hall and the Sorting Hat determines where you'll be for the next seven years.
Amazing. Overwhelming.”

“Beauxbatons is more of a French chateau, not nearly as big. There's a lake, but not this
forest. It does look forbidding!”

“Yes, Dumbledore would always remind us: `The Forbidden Forest is forbidden.' Quite funny,
really.”

“Sometimes I really do wish I had gone here,” said Hermione wistfully.

“But you may not have survived. The War—it was awful for Muggle-born. Awful.”

The light mood had turned dark. Padma looked away and Hermione did not want to reopen old
wounds. She tried not to think about the Final Battle and how this Castle barely survived. Many
people did not survive.

Hermione shuddered. A ghost passed over her grave, that was the Muggle expression. She decided
instead to focus on the architecture of the complex and match the actual building with what she had
read in the Hogwarts history so many years ago.

It was summer, so they did not encounter any students as Padma gave Hermione a quick tour of the
Great Hall, the library (“You would have spent all your time in here, I dare say” Padma teased),
the Ravenclaw tour (“I'm sure you would have been sorted into Ravenclaw, no doubt about it. We
would have been dormmates and Luna the year behind us.”). Before they would be too late, they made
their way to the Headmistress's offices.

McGonagall met them by the large gargoyle entrance. “Mrs. Longbottom! Miss Granger! Welcome.”
She said the password and they entered the offices.

After some customary greetings and tea, the three witches settled in, and while two of them
chatted about their former classmates, Hermione took the opportunity to walk about the office,
observing the portraits of past headmasters (all asleep) and the mix of magical devices.

When there was a lull in the conversation, Hermione finally asked the question that had been
bothering her for years.

“Headmistress, whatever happened with those puzzles I would do? For Headmaster Dumbledore?”

The effect was immediate. Conversation stopped and Padma looked confused, McGonagall seemed to
literally rise to the occasion. “I think before I answer that, let's wait for our other
guest.”

“Hermione, you knew Dumbledore?” asked Padma.

Before Hermione could answer, a chime sounded and McGonagall rose to answer the door.

“Yes, he visited my parents and me after I refused to attend. My grandparents were in France and
ill, so I asked to attend Beauxbatons instead,” Hermione answered Padma's question with
care.

“But Dumbledore never visited anyone, I thought. We only got a letter.” Padma's curiosity
was rising.

“I had no idea. I had just found out I was a witch and my grandparents were quite ill; it was
all rather much to take in.”

“Ladies, you know Harry Potter.”

McGonagall entered with Harry beside her, looking as surprised to see them as they were to see
him.

“Harry?” Hermione and Padma nearly spoke at the same time.

“Hello?” Harry said, equally confused. He turned to McGonagall for answers. “Minerva?”

“Padma, I just heard from Professor Sprout that your husband should be free in a few minutes.
Why don't you go to the greenhouses and meet him? I'll make sure Miss Granger finds her way
back.” McGonagall all but shoved Padma out the door.

“Hermione?” said Harry in a questioning tone.

“Harry? What are you doing here?” Hermione asked.

“I'd ask the same of you. Minerva invited me and she was quite firm about attending, and the
time. And you? Have you even been here before? Do you even know McGonagall?”

“Neville's interviewing to be Professor Sprout's assistant and they invited me along.
Since I didn't go here. I've always wanted to see it in daylight,” Hermione answered
carefully.

The wording of Hermione's response alerted Harry's Auror sensibilities, but he held his
tongue. He had a feeling McGonagall arranged all this to provide answers all around.

“Harry! Wonderful, have some tea?”

“Yes, Minerva, thank you.”

“Hermione, a top up?”

“Yes, thank you, Headmistress, I think I'm going to need it,” Hermione answered.

“Or something stronger,” Harry said under his breath. Hermione stifled a laugh.

Once everyone had settled and pleasantries again exchanged, McGonagall turned to Hermione.

“You asked me a question earlier, Hermione. I think it's finally time we addressed it.”

The room once again felt full of tension and anticipation.

Harry was confused. McGonagall had sent him instructions a few days prior that he simply had to
be at her office today at 145pm. Sharp. She even confirmed with Montgomery that Harry would not be
working that day; he wouldn't have been surprised if she checked with Ron to make sure his
schedule was free as well. Then, to see Hermione and Padma here … He heard through the grapevine
that Neville was a shoe-in for the Herbology position, but did not expect Hermione to be here. He
wasn't sure what to think other than his usual
`gods-she's-just-amazing-and-I-want-to-embrace-her'.

But, years of being nearly killed heightened his Auror senses. Something was about to change
forever.

Hermione sat there looking perplexed and very serious. He could see her choosing her words
carefully. She turned to look at Harry.

“I had just asked the Headmistress whatever happened with those puzzles I would do for
Dumbledore.”

“Puzzles?” Harry was baffled; the statementitself was a puzzle.

“Miss Granger, I suggest you tell Mr. Potter about your Hogwarts and Dumbledore experience,”
said McGonagall.

“You know Hogwarts? Don't tell me the two of you know each other, too? Were you secretly
attending Hogwarts? As a spy or something?” Harry voice was edging on frantic. He was concerned
that the girl he had fallen for was hiding something, and everything that he knew about her was to
be a lie.

“No!” Hermione could see the emotions passing over Harry's face and raced to stop them. “No!
I haven't been lying to you. I'm not a spy! I—I got the Hogwarts letter like the rest of
you. Only, I declined. I told you all this in Linnet. It's true.

“Grand-mère et Grand-père—my French grandparents—one with cancer and the other Alzheimer's.
My mother is an only child and grew up in the South of France. We had just decided to move back
there when the letter arrived.

“It was a very difficult time. I was learning that I'm a witch, my mother dealing with aging
parents, my dad with closing the business and moving. Well, the idea of me suddenly moving to
Scotland to go to a wizard school was all a bit much, so I wrote a nice note declining.”

“You already know all this?” Harry asked McGonagall. She nodded.

“Let the girl continue,” she urged.

Hermione rubbed her head, memories pressing back. “So, I got a visitor. Dumbledore himself came
to my home. I had no idea until recently that it was quite unprecedented. He really urged me to
reconsider and attend Hogwarts. He was pressuring my parents as well.”

McGonagall decided now would be a good time to enter the conversation. “Albus kept me in his
confidence when it came to Miss Granger. You see, Harry, he knew that you would be attending
Hogwarts and he had a very strong feeling that Miss Granger could balance your brashness.” Harry
hung his head slightly and smiled at those words. “Was he not correct, Mr. Potter?” the
headmistress asked with a small smile. Harry nodded and she continued.

“Albus tried. He promised an International Portkey would always be available to Hermione in case
of family emergency where she would need to go to France immediately. He offered his Floo network
anytime, day or night. But it was not to be.”

“Honestly, we had no idea what he was talking about! Floo? Portkey? Apparate?” Hermione added
with a small laugh. “We just learned that magic really exists, so all these other words were so
foreign. All we knew is that it would take a couple hours by plane plus all the wait at customs and
security, so we declined.”

“So, when Albus realised that Hermione would not attend Hogwarts, he arranged that she attend
Beauxbatons and he gave her a gift.”

“My owl! A huge, strong owl I named Fort, it means `strong' in French. Dumbledore said it
could carry large loads long distances. He asked if we could be pen pals. I mean, I was eleven, I
agreed. I know, I know,” she noticed Harry's raised eyebrow. “But he'd send me these
puzzles. I thought it was extra school work and Madame Maxime approved.”

“You actually agreed to take on more homework? And from a school hundreds of miles away?”

`I know! I'm rather silly that way.”

“You're a nutter that way, and I mean it in a loving way,” Harry joked.

Hermione laughed. “I know! It all sounds so silly now, so unbelievable, but I was eleven years
old. I'm being exposed to this magical world. I'm assuming this is normal, that this would
be my new normal.”

“So, the puzzles?” Harry asked, once again getting that ominous feeling that everything was
about to change.

“Oh, some of them I sorted out! I mean, during fourth year when he asked me about how to
approach a dragon and how to breathe underwater. I knew that was for the Triwizard Tournament. I
just assumed it was extra credit. So he'd send me a puzzle, and I'd do research and send
back my response.”

Harry startled. “What do you mean, research? Tell me about the dragon research.”

“Dumbledore asked me about the Hungarian Horntail, and how would one approach it. So I
researched various vulnerabilities and attacks, and mentioned the summoning spell—”

“Summoning?!” Harry's interruption stopped Hermione. “Sorry! Continue! Did you handwrite
these responses to Dumbledore?”

“Yes,” answered Hermione carefully, unsure of where Harry was headed.

“Okay, what other types of puzzles?” he asked quickly.

“Well, there was the potion puzzle first year. That was really fun! It was a riddle
actually—”

“*Danger lies before you while safety lies behin**d**—*” they quoted at the same
time. Hermione stopped, her mouth agape.

“Go on, tell me more,” Harry urged, his impatience growing.

Hermione took a breath, started speaking not to the headmistress, but only to Harry from then
on.

“He sent me that riddle and I sent a note with my response. I thought it was like those brain
teasers you find in a puzzle book. It was fun.”

“How did you respond?”

“What do you mean? I wrote it down and sent it back owl post to Dumbledore.”

“Did you write in English or French?”

“English”

“Cursive?”

Hermione stared at Harry. His questions made no sense. Since when did he care about minutiae
like this? “No, I printed. Well, later on the research got more intense, but Dumbledore sent me a
Fast Writing Quill which helped. The Horcrux research took forever—it was like a doctoral
thesis!”

“Horcruxes!” Harry nearly leapt out of his seat. “You researched Horcruxes? When was this?”

“Sixth year,” Hermione answered slowly. “It was very peculiar, because Dumbledore was killed
soon thereafter, but then I received a note from Professor McGonagall saying she knew all about
this pen pal relationship I had with Dumbledore and asked me to continue, to continue researching
Horcruxes.” Hermione's eyes searched McGonagall and the older woman nodded.

Harry tried to regulate his breathing so he would not cause Hermione any alarm, but the widening
of her eyes and her careful phrasing indicated that she knew something *very big* was
happening.

“Harry. Just tell me. You all know something I don't, and my notes seem to be a part of
this.”

Instead of answering her, Harry continued to question. “How did you research Horcruxes?
That's very Dark Magic that would be in the restricted section of our library here, or in a
private collection of a pureblood.”

“Or in the Durmstrang school library. Not even restricted. I was sent there to do research. The
Headmaster had to grant special permission since I was Muggle-born,” she answered icily. “It
wasn't a pleasant experience, but since McGonagall asked that I continue this research after
Dumbledore's death, I'd guessed that it was much more than an academic exercise, and I had
hoped it would avenge his death somehow.” Hermione looked at Harry gravely. “I think it's time
someone told me what happened to those notes.”

Harry took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Those notes, Hermione, do you know how they
call Ron and I the Golden Duo? Well, I always thought it should have been much more. You know how
so many helped our cause. But even before we were at war, I got help from a third person. Someone
who left me notes in odd places on odd topics. Like how to approach a dragon, what a basilisk
was—”Hermione's eyes widened“—and the nature of Horcruxes. The potion riddle was quite good.
There were also some chess moves if I remember, but I didn't need that particular note.”

“What did the notes look like?” Hermione asked very slowly, struggling to keep her
composure.

“Handwritten. In English. Printed.”

McGonagall decided it was time to interrupt. “Perhaps you can show us an example of your
handwriting, Miss Granger?” She handed the young witch a parchment and quill.

“It wasn't my usual cursive. I somehow felt that I had to print it all out for Dumbledore.
That's why I really appreciated the Fast Writing Quill,” Hermione said as she wrote out the
first line of the Potions riddle and handed it to Harry.

Harry took the parchment and stared and stared and stared. “I'd know this anywhere. When I
first got the notes, I assumed they were from Dumbledore but he denied it. Then I thought it must
be someone else, maybe a Ravenclaw. I had hoped it was Cho, but it wasn't. Luna didn't know
either. So, I just assumed it was Dumbledore, even though he'd denied it.” Harry looked up
suddenly. “You know that Time Turner third year saved Sirius's life? I just wish you had been
around fifth year to spot the trap that lead to his death.” Harry dropped his head, still filled
with the guilt that his brashness caused the death of his godfather.

He felt a small hand on his arm. “Harry.” Hermione was out of her chair and squatting before
him, mere inches away. “Harry.” she enveloped him in a hug. “Harry, I had no idea.”

“You saved us so many times. There is no way Ron or I would have survived without your notes.
You pointed us the way.”

“It wasn't me! I was just doing something fun for Dumbledore! I had no idea!”

“But surely with the Triwizard Tournament? You recognised that your puzzles were connected to
the tasks?”

“I had assumed that since I was one of the Beauxbatons students who stayed in France, that he
wanted me to feel included somehow.” Hermione held her face in her hands. “Oh gods! I had no idea.
No absolutely bloody idea. *Merde*!”

“Hermione. You saved us.”

“I was doing a puzzle!” Hermione turned to the older witch who watched them, bemused.

“You always knew, didn't you?”

McGonagall straightened her back and cocked her head to the side as she smiled. “Yes, Miss
Granger. Albus informed me that you were—what's the Muggle term?—Harry's Deep Throat.”

Both Harry and Hermione coughed at the 1970s Watergate reference. That these witches and wizards
knew about the downfall of an American president was astonishing.

Harry felt an array of emotions: surprise, shock, elation, joy. He grabbed Hermione by the
shoulders and kissed her on the mouth.

“What was that for?” she asked, once she was released.

“Thank you. For saving my life. On too many occasions. Without those notes, I would not have
survived, Voldemort would be alive, and you would still be in France.”

“And France would be under attack, I'm sure. Oh. My. God.” The full weight of the events hit
Hermione like a Bludger, and she sat down to absorb it all.

“Some water?” McGonagall suggested, handing her a glass.

Hermione nodded, and gulped it.

Once her nerves had calmed down, Hermione remained seated in the chair and Harry held on to her
hands. They had reversed their previous roles, this time Hermione needed the comfort.

“Well, this is all rather much. Perhaps some fresh air would help. Harry, you could show
Hermione around the grounds? Hermione, you've never been here before,” McGonagall said.

“Actually, I have,” Hermione whispered, keeping her head down and her eyes focused on her
shoes.

“Excuse me?” asked McGonagall. Harry held onto Hermione's hands tightly.

“Hermione?” he asked.

“Since we're spilling secrets, I was here. Very briefly. The final battle. A group of us
from Beauxbatons. Le Croix du Lorraine—the Cross of Lorraine, from the French resistance during the
Muggle World War. We heard about what was happening in Britain, and we decided that we needed to be
trained in combat, things outside of the normal curriculum,” confessed Hermione.

“Merlin!” exclaimed McGonagall. “We never knew! Students?”

“Yes. We … we had to fight. We knew if it wasn't stopped in England, it would spread across
the Channel. It was wrong, anyway. England is my home,” Hermione finally looked up, her face wet
with tears. “I couldn't let this happen to my home.”

“So you secretly trained?” McGonagall asked Hermione, all the while staring at Harry.

“Well, not terribly secretly. It was a legitimate duelling club, but we only accepted certain
members. They had to pass a loyalty test.

“So, we Apparated here—”

“As students? You were able to Apparate that far?”

“Not all at once! We had to stop in Paris, then Calais, then Dover, then London, then Edinburgh
and finally Hogsmeade. It was very tiring.”

“And still you came,” Harry finally spoke, his voice awed.

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand. “We couldn't *not* come.”

“You faced combat?” McGonagall asked. Hermione dropped to gaze to Harry's feet and
nodded.

“Yes. We were immediately under attack. We ended up near the lake. Some of us … didn't make
it.”

“Merlin,” McGonagall breathed. “We had no idea.”

Suddenly it made sense. That haunted look that would sometimes cross Hermione's face when
the War was mentioned. Harry thought it was only due to her natural empathy. He had no idea that it
was because she was a veteran, like the rest of them.

Her head was bent down, Harry could see the tears falling on the tops of his worn trainers. He
reached up and encased Hermione in a hug. A tight hug. The sort of hug she usually gave to others,
he gave to her. He buried his face in her pumpkin-scented hair. “I am so sorry,” he breathed into
her curls. “I had no idea. I am so sorry.”

When Hermione looked up, she struggled to breathe between her sobs. “Marguerite. Her name was
Marguerite. She was my best friend. She died here. She was killed—” Hermione took a breath and
blurted it out, ignoring the tears and mucus on her face “—she was killed because I was too
*fucking* slow. I was too *fucking* hesitant. I gave a jelly legs jinx to a fucking
*Death Eater* and he Avada Kedavra'd her in response. I should have Stupefied him. My best
friend is dead because I'm an idiot.”

McGonagall handed Harry a tissue that he used to wipe Hermione's face. “And I'm an idiot
who's responsible for the death of my godfather, and Cedric, and Moony, Dobby, and so many
others,” Harry replied simply.

“No, Voldemort is the one responsible—” started Hermione.

Harry looked at Hermione and she knew what he would say. “Voldemort is ultimately
responsible.”

They held each other until McGonagall cleared her throat. “Perhaps you would still like that
tour.”

Hermione looked up. “I'd like to go back there. Where Marguerite died.”

Harry and McGonagall nodded. Hermione stood up, assisted by Harry. He kept his arm around her as
she took another tissue and dabbed her eyes, then blew her nose loudly. “Oh, I'm not sure where
to—”

“I'll take care of that. Miss Granger, I am so pleased to have finally met you. If you two
would like to come by when your tour is over, I should be here. But if you decide not to, I
understand,” McGonagall said.

Harry kept Hermione held tight against him as they walked through the castle out to the grounds.
As they stood on the steps, Harry stopped. “Which way?” he asked.

Hermione stood, perplexed. “I—let me see, it was dark and we were so preoccupied with staying
alive, let me remember what angle the castle was.” She walked out, stopped, looked around. “That
way.” She pointed toward the lake.

They walked on in silence. Harry was aware that the sobs had decreased, and Hermione was focused
on the task at hand, finding the spot where her best friend was killed. Being at Hogwarts brought
memories for Harry as well. Fortunately for him, his memories of Hogwarts were years and years of
building friendships, playing Quidditch, Hogsmeade weekends. They were not only death. But for
Hermione, Hogwarts meant death. No wonder she failed to mention it to the Old Hogwartians in their
pub crawls or sing-alongs.

They walked for a while. Hermione would stop, look around, stare at the castle then the
surrounding area, and they would change direction or continue the way they were. He felt so aware
of her emotions, her thoughts. He stayed silent. This was not the time to talk.

Finally, she stopped. She looked about, her wet eyes judging the distance from the castle to the
lake to the gates to the forest. She looked at the ground about her, and moved about five feet to
the left. And stopped.

“This is it,” she finally said, but Harry had already guessed that it was from her tightened
grip on his hand and her struggle to calm her emotions.

The struggle ended. She loosened her grip on Harry and sank down to the ground, held her face in
her hands and sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed. And Harry sat down next to her and held her. And held
her. And held her.

When the sobs diminished, Hermione looked up. “I—I didn't tell you everything. I haven't
told anyone this, but I—I think I can tell you. I think you would understand.”

Harry remained silent. He nodded, and kept holding onto her.

“After that Death Eater killed Marguerite, I killed it. I did it—I used the Avada Kavada. I
killed it! I was just filled with so much hate, so much rage. I wanted that bastard to be killed by
a Mudblood. Yes, a Mudblood! I know the term! Not that it matters, but Marguerite was a pureblood
from an old wizarding family in France, the Saint Denis. She was like your Cedric—she was
everything good. She was smart, she was gorgeous, she was rich, athletic, but most of all she was
kind. I was horribly lonely first year, that's when Luna and I started writing. Well,
Marguerite just took me under her wing, introduced me, and she even found the right clique for me,
all the intellectuals. That's where I met, well, my first boyfriend.” Hermione became bashful
and Harry felt jealous.

“After Marguerite died and I killed the Death Eater, I just wanted to kill more and more and
more. That's why I'm afraid to duel. Part of me is afraid to let go, to have the killer in
me come out. Then I'm afraid to be too hesitant, to let someone else die because of my
mistakes.”

Harry held her close and kissed her hair. “It happens to all of us. We don't know how
we'll react in battle, and unfortunately only practice gets us better. I can help. We can
always practice, in private.”

He held her. No more words, not even eye contact. She stayed still, and he knew that what she
needed more than anything else was for someone she knew, someone she trusted, someone who knew her,
the real her, to just hold her. So, he held her.

He held her as her breath grew more ragged and her shoulders slacked. He held her as her eyes
swelled with tears. He held her as the tears spilled onto her cheeks and the mucus caused her to
sniffle. He held her as her mouth opened into sobs. He held her and he held her and held her.

When her sobs softened, he kept holding her. She suddenly realised where she was and who she was
with. “Oh!” she cried out, and before she could do anything else, Harry held her closer and
whispered in her ear, “It's okay. I understand.”

Hermione studied Harry's face. “I know you know.”

Hermione stood up and they held each other awhile longer. Neither watched the time. Harry
noticed the leaves move with the wind, the branches sway, the grass bend. He smelled the pumpkin in
her hair and felt her press against him. He wanted to let her know that she was safe now. That he
was here.

When Hermione was ready, she looked at Harry and nodded.

“Thank you.”

“Would—would you like to see the memorial? It's on the other side of the lake, by the
Forbidden Forest.”

She nodded and they walked silently arm in arm to the marble wall carved with the names of the
fallen of the Battle of Hogwarts.

The memorial was large, black, sombre and overwhelming. One side was a depiction of the final
battle at Hogwarts and the other a list of names of the fallen, not just the fallen from the final
battle, but all the Voldemort Wars.

Around it was the stillness found in battlefield memorials, because it was one. They clung
closer together to blunt the chill.

Hermione found Marguerite's name and pressed her finger against it. *Marguerite*
*Saint Denis.* Someone must have known she was there to have engraved her name on the
stone.

Harry pressed his fingers into the engraved names of *James Potter* and *Lily Evans
Potter*. *Albus* *Percival Wulfric Brian* *Dumbledore. Cedric Diggory*. *Remus
Lupin. Sirius Black*. And many more.

Hermione wrapped her arms around Harry's waist and buried her head into the valley by his
shoulder. She momentarily thought it odd that for two people who had barely touched in the past,
now had been in constant contact for at least an hour, but she simply could not conceive of letting
him go, of letting go of this tangible connection with him. They took turns holding each other up,
comforting each other, quite simply being there for each other.

“Not all the names of the dead are here. I died, too.”

Startled, Hermione looked into Harry's face to see if he was joking, but he was not; his
finger stretched, tracing the pattern of Cedric Diggory's name, his eyes distant.

“Did it happen during the Triwizard Tournament?” she asked.

“No, I onl*y nearly* died there. Well, I nearly died quite a lot. But this is something
only Ron and a couple others know, but I had to die for Voldemort to die. It was the prophesy, and
I was a Horcrux.”

“Merde!”

“I'll show you where.” He reached for her hand automatically, for it had become automatic,
this reaching for each other, this need to be physically close.

Upon realising what he had done, and how easily her hand fit into his, he smiled, and she smiled
back. Big revelations can either strengthen a relationship or damage it, but it could never go back
to where it was. Theirs was stronger. And he didn't want to go back.

They walked hand in hand to the Forbidden Forest. “It's forbidden,” they both said at once,
and had a rare laugh. Then he brought her to a small clearing in the trees. Like Hermione had by
the lake, he looked about for visual markers, then situated himself to a specific spot.

“This is it. This is where I died. I was a Horcrux, so I had to die, and die willingly, for
Voldemort to die. My parents were with me. I had to die.”

Harry's voice was flat, his eyes distant, seemingly almost detached from his words, but his
arms held tight onto her.

“And then?” she was almost too afraid to ask.

“A flash of green and I was dead. And I woke up naked, in Kings Cross station. Dumbledore was
there, and he gave me a choice: to stay or to return. I had to go back. I chose to live.”

The words had a surprising affect on Hermione.

She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him.

On the few times that Hermione attended yoga class, her favourite part was at the end, when
after an hour of stretching and balancing and holding one's own weight in a very wobbly way,
the teacher would tell them to lie on their backs, tighten every muscle and then release. That
release was the best part.

On this day of revelations, of long buried secrets emerging, they were both ready for
release.

She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. She kissed him with all the passion and fear
and anger and joy that she had felt in the past several hours and more. And he returned it with all
the passion and fear and anger and joy he had stored up not only in the past day but for years as
well.

His kisses covered her face then her jaw, her neck, then the triangle of exposed skin at the
base of her throat. His hands lifted her shirt from her jeans and felt for the smooth skin of her
back, as she pulled at his shirt. The weather was a bit brisk—the Highlands of Scotland rarely got
very warm—but they failed to notice.

They were soon on the ground as hands and lips raced to cover rapidly exposed skin. Neither one
was an innocent, but both felt like they were reaching new heights of bliss, and they took their
time relishing the final release of the months long unresolved sexual tension that was between
them*. This, and this, and this.*

Then, later, as the sun approached the horizon, with a nod of assent from her, he entered her
and they came together.

Completed, they wrapped their limbs around each other. Hermione Transfigured her jumper into a
blanket, and buried her head into the crook of his arm.

They faced each other. A bit ashamed, she kept her head lowered as he traced his finger down the
length of her nose and counted her freckles. His fingers then traced her upturned lips. Fairy light
kisses dusted her lips just before his lips tasted them again.

“I've dreamt of this,” he said.

“I hadn't, but now I will,” she answered truthfully, then pulled herself on top of him and
started the duet again.

“This is all so sudden, but, you don't regret this, do you? And you didn't do this
because you felt sorry for me?” Harry asked during a pause to catch their breath.

“No. Absolutely not. And I never do things like this. Never. It—it just felt like the right
thing to do.”

“You know,” he said between kisses much later, “we can do this in an actual bed. I've got
acorns in my back.”

She laughed and kissed the tip of his nose. “Should we just Apparate to a room at the Three
Broomsticks?”

“Very very tempting.”

“Might cause a scandal.”

“But it would be worth it.”

“Mmm, kiss me again and I'll consider the risk reward ratio,” teased Hermione.

They kissed again.

“Changed your mind yet?”

Eyes bright, Hermione sat up on her elbow and smiled at Harry. He smiled back and ran his finger
along the length of her nose, then along her side. She grabbed the finger and kissed it.

“I want to get to know you, Harry Potter.”

“Hmm?” he was enjoying the sensations and not focused on much else.

“I want to know you. I had you all wrong. I was wrong. I was stupid. I believed the worst. Your
letter changed everything, and finding out you were actually my secret pen pal, not Dumbledore …
I'm just amazed, it feels like we were meant to meet, we were meant to know each other.”

“I think I know too much of the wrong stuff. I know what I read about you in France. I know what
lies I've heard here, but I want to know the real you. I want to know *you*, Harry
Potter.”

Harry blinked, and sat up on his elbow as well so that they were eye to eye. He looked at her
intensely and saw no signs of mocking. “You want to get to know *me*?” he repeated. She
nodded. “You don't think you know me? The *Daily Prophet's* favourite cover boy?”

She leaned back and focused on a blade of grass she had just pulled from the ground. “I mean, I
know you, but I was so wrong about you from the start. And now, well …” She turned to face him,
then, shyly dropped her eyes, before tentatively looking at his again, covering her chest with her
arm. “I—I don't do this very often. I mean hardly ever. I mean, there was this boy at school,
and well, other than, I haven't; now you're the third …”

Harry was amused and delighted that he joined an exclusive club of men who had slept with
Hermione Granger. His club had a much larger membership, a fact that he was not proud of. And if in
a moment of post coital intimacy, if any of them had asked to know him, he would have headed for an
Apparition point. But this was different. This was Hermione Granger. And he was still in love with
her.

Hermione continued, “Well, what I'm trying to say is, I hope I'm not too forward, but
I'm thinking this isn't a one night stand—well, one afternoon stand—and I wouldn't mind
a replay in an actual bed as you said, but that's not what I wanted to talk about. I want to
get to know *you*. I get hints of who you are, especially when we were at Appley, but
sometimes—” confidence growing, she was able to meet his eyes now “—sometimes you throw up a wall
and I can't connect to you. That's when I think about the mean, scowling wizard I first
met. I don't want to go back to that. I want to know you. The you who Luna and Ron and Kyle and
Padma know. Because they know you and knew that you were never the man Draco portrayed you to be. I
want to know you.”

“Don't you feel that you know me now?” Harry teased as he ran a finger down her chest. She
swotted it away.

“Oh, I know your body, Harry Potter,” she answered in a thick voice. “I want to know the man I
was supposed to meet fourteen years ago.”

Harry sat up. Her request was something he didn't do. He didn't allow others into his
world, unless they were already there. Ginny, Ron, Luna, Neville, his friends from Hogwarts
experienced the war with him. They didn't need explanation. He could be himself with them. He
didn't need to relive it.

He looked at the beautiful witch beside him. Was it worth it? He had already opened his heart to
her, could he open himself? Be totally himself and let her in? What if it was too ugly, too soiled,
too dark from years of fighting evil, being exposed to Voldemort's thoughts for all those
years? When he expressed his love for her, he meant it. But she was asking for more. She wanted him
to expose himself to her completely, and it scared him.

She leaned against his back and stroked his hair. “No worries,” she said over-brightly.
“Let's just go.”

He clutched her wrist and twisted his body to look at her. “No. I want you … I want you to see
me, the real me, but I'm afraid you may go run screaming in the opposite direction. Because
I'm actually boring and dull, and because I've been exposed to so much, I can be quite
moody and difficult.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I've met that Harry Potter already. I can't imagine you doing
much worse that publicly snubbing me. And boring and dull works for me.”

Harry made a decision. He felt so comfortable with her, like he never felt with any other witch,
not even Ginny or Cho. Maybe Luna.

“Yes.”

The effect was immediate. She grinned. “Really? Are you quite sure?”

“Yes, you're right. I do love you, and I want you to see the real me. Spend the weekend with
me.”

“Excuse me?”

“The weekend. And then we'll see. I'm due to visit Teddy, and there's something at
Shell cottage you should see. And I'll give you a more thorough tour of Hogwarts.”

She stared at him, trying to assess the authenticity of his words. He paused.

“And if you're interested, I want you to get to know me, Harry Potter,” Hermione responded
as she leaned in to kiss his chin.

“I would like that, Hermione Granger,” he replied.

***********

*(A/N: feedback please!!* *Did* *anyone* *guess this? How was the love
scene?* *(I hate writing those, especially since P&P's version was just a kiss. That
won't work in 21**st* *century Great Britain. ;-)*

*Background: w**hen I envisioned this story, this chapter came first to mind, and*
*was* *one of the first ones I wrote.* *I hope it answered some questions that came up
in the reviews that I avoided answering.*

*Next chapter: Shell Cottage and meeting Teddy.*

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18. 18
------



**Magic and Misperception****s**

**Chapter 18:** **A** **Visit to Shell Cottage, and Meeting Teddy**

Author: AddisonJ

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*(A/N: I'm baaack. The last three chapters have been returned from my beta and I'll be
posting them over the next week or two. Hint: it's a happy ending.* *)*

***

Back at the castle, Hermione and Harry met the Longbottoms at the greenhouse. Hermione hurriedly
explained that she would be visiting some friends with Harry and thanks for the trip to Hogwarts,
but Harry would be taking over hosting duties. Padma and Neville noticed their two friends were now
holding hands and readily agreed to the change of plans.

Harry showed her the castle. From the Gryffindor tower to the Potions classroom in the basement,
to the Room of Requirement (which appeared to be a hotel bedroom when they walked in, which made
them blush and walk out again), to the secret passageway to Hogsmeade.

“Thanks for the tour. I really wonder what would have happened if I had attended Hogwarts
instead of Beauxbatons,” Hermione said. “It doesn't help to try to rethink the past though,
does it?”

“Not when the present looks wonderful,” Harry added, squeezing her hand.

Once outside the castle gates, they Apparated to Shell Cottage to visit Bill and Fleur.

“Harry! You're here early. And you've brought Hermione!” Bill greeted them at the front
door.

“Gods, Hermione, did you just fuck?” asked Fleur in French. Hermione blushed and patted down her
hair as Harry looked confused.

“Fleur! Harry might not understand, but the children know French! Watch your language!” Bill
reprimanded.

Fleur ignored her husband and grabbed Hermione by the arm. “Excuse us, we need some girl talk,”
she spoke in English, and then switched to German as she lead Hermione to the sitting room.

“So, Harry?” Fleur asked in German. Hermione blushed.

“Yeah, Harry,” she replied in German.

“Was it good? How does he make you feel? How does he treat you? Does he love you? He brought you
here, this must be serious; and you don't just hop into beds, I know you.”

“Yes, excellent, excellent, yes. Did I answer all your questions?”

Fleur clapped her hands. “Excellent!” She switched to French. “I knew there was a spark between
you two. I could tell at the Burrow. There is a connection there, something we cannot name, but it
was there and you can't suppress it, not without losing your mind. Bill and I have that.” Fleur
sniffed the air. “Merde, do you need to wash up? Use the bidet?”

Hermione wrinkled her nose and sniffed. “Oh gods, do I smell like sex?”

Fleur dragged her friend to her own large closet. “I have been pregnant enough times to have
clothes in every size. Here, take your pick. You want to allure him, but not overpower him like a
cheap Muggle. Here,” she thrust a soft blue blouse and a grey skirt into Hermione's hands.
“Take a shower, clean up, there are lotions and soaps there, choose. You'd recognise them, I
brought them from France. Dress up for your man. You are English but you are French, Hermione
Granger. You should know how to play up your assets but stay true to yourself. Let's pluck
those eyebrows.”

Hermione held up her hands to stop Fleur's wand from reaching her eyebrows. “Later. I really
need some cleaning up now.”

While the witches chatted, the wizards sat in the back garden drinking butterbeers. “So,
Hermione?” asked Bill. Harry nodded. He did not discuss his love life with Bill or anyone really,
and did not plan to start now. “She's a great girl. Smartest witch at Beauxbatons. Fleur thinks
highly of her and I love her, too. If there wasn't Fleur ….” He let the sentence linger as
Harry looked up sharply. “I'm just saying she only deserves the best. And I know you like
you're my younger brother, Harry, but I care for Hermione, too. Since she's an only child,
I'm going to have to step in and be her older brother here.” Bill paused and looked Harry
square in the eye. “You can't just shag her and walk away.”

Harry sputtered his response, his anger growing. “I'm obviously not shagging and walking
away! I brought her here!”

Bill nodded, his scars flushed and his fang earring bounced lightly. He took a swig from his
bottle. Seemed to consider Harry's words, and then nodded again.

“Right then. What's new at the Ministry?”

They settled down to more normal topics when the witches reappeared, Hermione refreshed in a
change of clothes, a dusting of makeup and her hair falling in gentle curls along her shoulders.
Harry stood up and walked over to give her a kiss. “You look amazing.”

“Fleur can work magic,” Hermione responded.

“It's not me. It's being young and in love,” Fleur replied.

Harry watched Hermione flush and look away, but he saw the hope that her feelings for him may be
growing. He took her hand, “There's something I want to show you.”

***

The grave had a simple marker. “Here lies Dobby - a Free Elf”.

“He saved my life,” Harry said quietly. “When we escaped from Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix threw a
knife at me, and Dobby put himself in its path. He saved me and he died.”

Harry sat on the ground and stared at the grassy mound. Hermione echoed his movements, reaching
out to hold his hand, eyes threatening with fresh tears. She kept quiet. She knew when to talk and
when to listen. This was a time to listen.

“He's the one who told me about the Room of Requirement when we needed secret meetings for
Dumbledore's Army. He's the one who gave me gillyweed for the second task; he spied on
Draco for us. He … he's the reason why I'm here today. His last words were my name.”

“Oh Harry!” Hermione could be quiet no longer and flung her arms around him, and held him and
held him and held him. Harry did not bother to brush away the tears from his cheeks. Somehow, in
these sad memories, there was a comfort and safety in her touch. A grip released but still
embraced, he felt her lean her head against his shoulder, and they sat in silence.

Afterwards, when the sun was setting and there was a chill in the air, Harry turned to Hermione
and gave her a tight squeeze.

“Thank you,” he said.

“For what?”

“For knowing what to do, and what not to do. For doing just the right thing, just now.”

Hermione smirked. “I'm sorry to say I actually understood that.”

He kissed the tip of her nose and she closed her eyes. “Yes, I know. Let's walk along the
beach here. It reminds me of Linnet. I would remember this place when we were there. Let's
walk.” He stood up first then helped her up, never losing touch. “I stayed here for a while when we
were hunting the Horcruxes.”

“I always wanted a home by the sea,” Hermione said after they had walked for a few minutes.

“Yes, I know, I remember you said that in Appley, too.”

“Maybe since I'm a London girl, or a Paris girl, but the sea … There's something special
here.”

“It matches my mood,” Harry said, “The wind, the sounds of the sea pounding on the sand, the
roughness, it suited me; it still suits me.”

“I find it invigorating,” said Hermione, her chin upturned as she faced the wind. “It refreshes
my mind. I think it clears all the debris and I can see clearer. In Linnet, it would help me
formulate my plans with the werewolf laws.”

“How's that going, by the way?”

“Well. I think in a few months we'll be ready to forward some proposed legislation and get
some buy-in before heading to the Wizengamot. But I'm quite optimistic.”

“And what about house-elves?”

“Once we get the foundation for the werewolf laws, next year we'll bring forward
legislations for all magical beings. We wanted to start with werewolves; there is strong public
sentiment that if we give werewolves rights, they will start terrorising humans. So we want to
start with protections to give werewolves rights like jobs, access to Wolfsbane, and resources to
accommodate full moon transformation in a safe, secure, humane environment. Once that's set,
we'll introduce legislation for house-elves, goblins, giants, and centaurs. I'm quietly
optimistic, but there is still much work to be done, and we can't take any of this for
granted.”

“I'm impressed that once you set your mind to something, you do it. This might actually
work, after centuries of oppression—”

“Yes! Isn't it fabulous? This sounds stupid and corny, but I do want to leave the world a
better place when I go, and this will be my mark on it. I couldn't quite articulate it with
Montgomery, but I need to do this *now*, and then I can go on and be an Auror or healer or
researcher or professor or what have you, but *now* the mood in the country is ripe for this.
I need to do this. *We* need to do this.”

Harry stopped, held her face in his hands and kissed the tip of her nose again. It was becoming
one of his favourite places on earth. “And you do so fabulously. But what about the house-elves?
Will there be any laws to stop masters from abusing them?”

Hermione's eyes sparkled. “Yes! That's exactly what I was thinking, and having Gaby and
news of the abuse will help turn the tide. Then we can push the Prevention of Elf Abuse laws. It
has taken me a while to realise that many house-elves want to be owned and don't consider
themselves slaves, they should be protected with basic rights and freedoms. Wrapping it in abuse
prevention is a start, then giving them the right to find other employment is another. Baby
steps.”

Smart, compassionate, articulate, Harry could not think of anything more he could want in a
witch. He was amazed that he once confused her with a fangirl. He kissed her soundly on the lips
and she returned the kiss with a hint of hidden passions. He couldn't wait to be alone with
her. It wasn't just lust, it was so much more. He realised that they hadn't stopped holding
hands or touching in some way since they were reunited. When their lips parted, he kissed her hand,
then looked at her, beaming.

“I'm happy,” he said, feeling a bit foolish, saying the obvious.

“So am I, Mr Potter,” she replied with a smirk. “A smile really suits you.”

“I only save them for when I really mean it. I feel like I've only a set lifetime allotment,
and I shouldn't let them go to waste.”

Hermione reached up and kissed him again. “Then I shall try to make you go through your
allotment and borrow more.”

They didn't just kiss, they talked, comparing stories of the War and her Dumbledore notes,
then feelings after the War and trying to cope with the new world without loved ones. For Hermione,
the demons were the loss of her friend, and knowing she was capable of killing someone. For Harry,
there were so many demons since he had years of war, of being on the run, of being nearly killed so
often and losing so many. He spoke of how the Weasleys were like his surrogate family and how much
he felt at home at the Burrow, but it still wasn't a real home to him. Nowhere was, not even
his current home, Grimmauld Place. He was considering moving back into Godric's Hollow, or
perhaps find someplace new entirely.

“That's why I don't mind travelling so much. I don't feel rooted anywhere. The
Burrow and Grimmauld Place are the closest to home, but they're not really mine. The Burrow is
for the Weasleys and Grimmauld was Sirius's home, the home for the House of Black,” Harry
explained. “Sirius willed it to me, but I think it really belongs to Teddy; but Andromeda
doesn't want to live there.”

“Are you planning to travel again soon?” asked Hermione tentatively.

Harry looked at her worried face and kissed her again. Any excuse for a kiss would do.

“No!” he answered emphatically once he finished kissing her, and she smiled. He kissed her
again. “What about you? Are you going to go back to France once your laws are passed?”

She tipped her head to the side in thought. Harry held his breath for her answer. If needed, he
could handle a long distance relationship, it would be easy enough for him to get International
Portkeys, but he would rather not.

“No,” she answered slowly as Harry exhaled. “But I must admit, at first I had planned this to be
a temporary transfer.” She looked at Harry. “I do plan to make it permanent. I love it here.
I'm half French, I've lived half my life in France, and I do miss my friends and my family
there, but I feel like I'll miss England more than I miss France if I should move back. Not
sure if that made any sense—”

Harry shut her mouth again with a kiss. “Yes, it made sense,” he said between kisses.

After more kisses and talk, they walked arm in arm back to Shell Cottage where Fleur, Bill,
Victoire and the new baby, Dominique, were waiting in the back garden, looking like a picture
perfect family.

Hermione turned to Harry suddenly. “Kids? One day, do you want them? Not necessarily with me,”
she added suddenly when a look of shock crossed his face, “but in general. Just curious, getting to
know you, and all that.”

Harry's face turned from surprise to intensity. He kissed her again, this time open-mouthed,
long and slow. It was several moments before he answered.

“Yes, absolutely. Four, I think. I'm the last of the Potter line, and I always wanted
sibling.”

A teasing smile grew quickly on Hermione's face. “Four's a lot. What if the mum is
working outside the home as well?”

“Three then,” he said between kisses. “There will be freed house-elves and nannies helping.”

“If it's all imaginary, just have five kids and three house-elves. I heard a rumour that you
can afford it, Mr Potter,” she teased.

Harry laughed despite himself. He never mentioned his wealth; it was a sore subject for him, an
inheritance based on the deaths of his parents and godfather, but Hermione was one of the few
people he knew who was not interested in his wealth, and felt free enough to tease him about
it.

He kissed her again. “Rumour based on fact. Then, in this imaginary world, I'd want more
children than the Weasleys, and live in a huge house much more stable than the Burrow, here by the
sea, and have a beautiful and adoring wife who could simultaneously help raise the children,
support me in my work, and in return, I'd support her saving the world.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Both of you saving the world? That's quite busy. That
doesn't leave much time for raising children.”

“It's imaginary. Multi-tasking and being organised helps.”

She laughed. “Come along, I see Fleur waving at us.”

“You're staying for supper,” Fleur said in English the moment they were in hearing distance.
“And you should stay over. You can see Teddy and Andromeda tomorrow. Just Floo them , you're
staying the night.”

“We don't want to be an imposition—” Hermione began.

“Nonsense! I've already had the guest room prepared for you,” Fleur answered in English,
then switched to French. “I'm sure you'd like to lie down somewhere other than the forest
floor,” she said as she plucked a pine needle embedded deep in Hermione's curly hair.

“Most of us can still understand you,” Bill called out while Harry stood, looking puzzled.

Hermione turned. “Is that all right Harry? To stay here?”

“I already put a silencing charm on the room,” Fleur added, and watched in amusement as both
Harry and Hermione blushed. “You're a screamer, are you?”

“Fleur! The children!” called out Bill.

“P-shaw! In France, we children know our parents make love, *n'est* *ce pas,*
Hermione?”

Hermione blanched at the thought of her parents having sex. The Doctors Grangers were rather
prim.

Seeing her distress, Harry approached Hermione and put an arm around her, answering for them
both.

“Thank you for the offer, Fleur; we'll stay. I'll just use the Floo let some people know
so no one worries?” asked Harry.

“Of course, of course. Our home is yours,” Fleur answered.

Hermione was saved from further conversation by Victoire's approach. “Tante Hermione, piggy
back!” the little girl demanded in a combination of French and English. Hermione complied.

In his peripheral vision, Harry watched Hermione play with the children as he told both
Andromeda and Ron of their changed plans. He also told Ron to let Luna know that Hermione was with
him, in case she was needed (he knew full well that an owl could reach Hermione, but he still had
some Muggle habits).

Hermione was firm, but very loving with the children. She played with Victoire and indulged the
child, but was not afraid to set boundaries when Victoire wanted sweets before dinner with a firm
“Non!”

“Uncle Harry! *Comment* *ç**a va*? How are you? You must learn French!” Victoire
called out when Harry approached.

“Now, we wouldn't want him overhearing our secrets, would we?” Hermione teased the girl.

“Is he your boyfriend now?” Victoire asked with the candour of a child.

While both Harry and Hermione looked stunned by the question, Bill and Fleur leaned in to hear
the answer.

“I suppose you need to ask him that,” Hermione managed to sputter a response, as she looked at
Harry.

Harry smiled and wrapped an arm around Hermione. He kissed her soundly on the cheek. “Yes,” he
said, winking at Victoire.

Hermione looked at him at grinned. “Correct response, Potter,” she teased. “That means
you'll have to break off with all of your other paramours.”

“You, too.”

“There are none. Friends, only.”

“Well then, we'll have to make a public display of affection in a well-populated spot to
make sure the whole wizarding world knows you're off limits.”

“Using the he *Daily Prophet* to do your dirty work again? Why not give Rita Skeeter an
exclusive: The Chosen One Gets Girlfriend.” Hermione pantomimed the headline.

“Dinner is served!” the house-elf interrupted the conversation.

Dinner was delightful and Harry could not remember having such a combination of love, joy,
friendship, and humour combined with good food in a very long time.

After dinner, they sat in the garden and watched the sun set whilst drinking dessert wine.

“Bill! Let's retire now, and give Harry and Hermione some privacy, no?” Fleur stood up and
reached her hand for her husband to follow. The children were already in bed, and there was an air
of romance as lanterns lit the back garden.

“Yes, right, of course,” Bill sputtered a reply. Remembering the new status of Harry and
Hermione's relationship, he added, “You did put a very strong silencing charm on the room,
didn't you?”

Hermione gasped in response and Harry feinted a hand to his wand. “Don't speak ill of my
girlfriend!”

*Girlfriend.* He liked that word. It all happened so quickly over the past few hours, but
had taken months to get to this stage, over hurdles of their own creation.

“I'm right here! There may not be a need for a silencing charm if you keep that up!” scolded
Hermione. The men immediately put on their serious faces, albeit with a twinkle in their eyes.
“Maybe you should check your silencing charms as well?”

Bill grinned and moved to swot Fleur's bottom, but she quickly manoeuvred away. “Quidditch
reflexes,” she taunted him.

Moving quicker, Bill wrapped his arms around her and gave her a passionate kiss. “Head Boy
privileges.”

As the married couple exited amid their increasingly amorous kisses, Harry and Hermione
exchanged looks.

“Well,” Harry started to speak, but faltered, the awkwardness of the moment growing.

“Well,” she answered, shyly meeting his eyes. “Um, I admit I'm feeling a bit out of sorts
now.”

“Me, too!” Harry was grateful for her honesty. “It's not that I—well, I don't want to
presume, I mean, I don't often—well, I do that often enough, but not with someone like you and
… bugger, all, I can't speak! I sound like a bleeding idiot.”

Hermione blushed, leaned forward, and gave him a quick kiss to silence his rambling.

“Will you always kiss me when you want me to shut up?” he asked.

She kissed him again as proof. And the kiss deepened, as lips parted and a warm glow overtook
both of them.

“Blimey!” Harry's eyeglasses were askew and Hermione corrected them. Harry stopped her hand.
“Bugger it; I think they'll be coming off soon.”

“That and a few other things,” she mumbled, but Harry heard. Their eyes met and they shared a
laugh.

The walk to the guest room was short, but was lengthened as Harry chose moments to push her
against walls and kiss her soundly. “I don't think they have silencing charms in the entire
house,” Hermione would gently scold her lover and he would silence her with kisses as well.

“Bloody hell!”

Harry opened the door to the guest room of Shell Cottage and immediately thought of the Room of
Requirement. He heard how some students would use the room for their own amorous encounters. Well,
the guest room looked exactly how he'd imagine the Room of Requirement would appear for an
amorous encounter: candles everywhere, rose petals along the floor, forming a trail that lead to
the bed which was covered in petals as well. Soft R&B music played from a hidden source.

“Fleur!” Hermione exclaimed once she saw the room. She looked at Harry and blushed. “I don't
think we're meant to be playing Exploding Snap in here.”

“Good, because I don't see any in here.”

“I don't see much in here. Lighting a bit dim, oh, gods!” Hermione noticed the basket by the
bed. “Is that—oh, my!”

“Do you think they're edible?” Harry followed her gaze. “I think I've seen a few of
these in Bangkok.”

“If not Knockturn Alley. Not that I'd been there,” Hermione hastily added. She held up the
chocolate body paint and silk scarves. “I may be a bit old fashioned, but—” Before Hermione could
continue, Harry flicked his wrist and the basket was whisked into the closet. Hermione sighed.

“Thank you Harry,” she responded with kind eyes. “I was starting to feel a bit of performance
anxiety.”

He grabbed her by the shoulders and covered her mouth with his. No tentative kisses at first any
longer, it was the kiss of experienced lovers, and she responded as such. Her hands pulled at his
messy hair to bring his lips closer, his hands raced along the sides of her body as breathing
deepened.

“Glasses.” Hermione took them off and placed them (with as much care as she could summon in such
a moment) on the night stand.

“Clothes.” The temptation to use a vanishing spell was strong, but Harry preferred the Muggle
way of slowly undressing and kissing each bit of skin as it was exposed.

Lust overwhelmed them as hands, lips, legs were all engaged in undressing, finding erogenous
points and increasing pleasure.

The silencing charm was put to good use several times that night.

Afterwards, they talked. They shared their secrets, the secrets Hermione had shared with Luna
and those Harry had shared with Ron. They talked about hopes and dreams, all those intimate things
one discusses when lying naked next to someone who is terribly terribly precious to them, and you
don't want the night to end because *it's so wondrous and special and
oh-my-**G**od is this really happening and how wonderful and it's been so long and
I'm so happy and I don't want this to end. Ever.*

The next morning, they didn't talk much, not to each other. Yet, they just couldn't be
away from each other. They had to touch. Hermione would be in the kitchen helping Fleur, and Harry
would walk by for no apparent reason, his gait would slow as he passed Hermione, as his arm would
brush along her exposed arm and covered backside. She would look at him, and he at her, and they
would smile. Small, deep smiles that said so much as their eyes met and they seemed to communicate
without words. Then he would continue his walk and Hermione would return to whisking eggs, but she
would first pause, sigh and smile, then continue with her work.

`*They're in love*,' Fleur thought as she watched them. `*They don't know it
yet. Well, Harry does, Hermione not yet. But she will, and soon.'*

They sat side by side at the table, legs touching, hands touching when possible. They engaged in
conversation with everyone at the table (even Dominique, although she was too young to join in),
but their own language appeared to be in looks and touch. Fleur glanced and Bill, then tilted her
head towards the new lovers. Bill nodded. The married couple had their own language as well.

After a walk along the beach which brought back happy memories of Appley, they Floo'd to
visit Andromeda and Teddy. Hermione had never met Teddy, but had heard about him.

“Uncle Harry!”

A sandy haired boy ran up to Harry and gave him a huge hug. His hair then changed to black as
Hermione watched his features alter to resemble a smaller version of Harry.

Hermione had heard about Metamorphmagus, but had not seen one in a long while. It was uncanny.
At first, the boy had a heart shaped face and sandy hair with grey eyes, then he had messy black
hair and green eyes. He was only missing the scar. It was as if seeing a young, scar-less
Harry.

Teddy seemed to notice Hermione just then. Andromeda already had, and walked over to introduce
herself.

She was a striking woman, long black hair and an aristocratic air. *Pureblood*, Hermione
thought, then felt shameful that she was typecasting.

Introductions had to be made, and Harry found his voice.

“Andromeda, let me introduce Hermione Granger, my girlfriend. Hermione, Andromeda Tonks,
Teddy's grandmother.”

An eyebrow rose at the pronouncement of their new relationship; Teddy noticed the word as
well.

“Girlfriend!” The boy leapt out of Harry's arms and into Hermione's, impeding
Hermione's offered handshake with his grandmother. “Uncle Harry never had us meet a
*girlfriend* of his before. Well, Aunt Ginny doesn't really count because she's like
our aunt anyway. Girlfriend! Will you be my aunt, then?”

Harry blinked and rubbed his head in frustration, trying to find an answer. Hermione, sensing
his discomfort, leaned in to stage whisper to the boy.

“It's all a bit too soon to ask, actually. He only just asked me to be his girlfriend
yesterday. You don't decide to marry someone so soon.”

“But if it's true love—” the boy started, but was interrupted by Harry.

“Andromeda, have you been filling his head with stories?”

The grandmother's eyebrow rose again. “It has been known to happen. When James saw
Lily…”

*Gods, I had forgotten th**at Harry's parents' story is a* *great tragic
romance of the wizarding world,* Hermione thought to herself*. How could we compete with that?
Wait, why am I even asking that, assuming that…*

“Yes, yes, we have all heard that story. Hermione doesn't need to hear it, nor does Teddy.
Teddy, what are you doing?”

Upon hearing Harry's startled voice, Hermione glanced up and saw the reason. Teddy's
hair, once messy and black, turned curly, and his nose changed from Harry's to hers. His eyes
were still green but he had her freckles …

“*Oh, Merlin*,” Hermione breathed. She dared not look at Harry, but felt his gaze on
her.

“Teddy! Stop that! You're just making mischief now! Stop that this instant!” Andromeda
scolded her grandson and his features went back to as they were when the couple first arrived.

Sensing Hermione's unease, Harry squeezed her hand. Hermione exhaled.

“Teddy, show Harry and Hermione your new toys,” Andromeda commanded.

The boy, easily distracted, jumped up and towards his rooms. “I have a dragon that shoots fire
sparks! So cool!”

The rest of the day was spent playing with Teddy. It was a respite for Andromeda, she was able
to spend some child-free hours while Harry and Hermione played house. And it was surprisingly fun.
When Harry was more indulgent, Hermione was firm and vice versa. They complemented each other.

The sun was beginning to set when Harry and Hermione were bidding their farewells.

“I had a lovely time,” Hermione said as she clasped Andromeda's hands in her own.

“You must come back with Harry again. He comes by at least once a week, if not more,” the witch
replied.

“Yes, Aunt Hermione, you must come by! You know the funniest Muggle stories!”

“And she's scary smart. Don't want to cross her,” joked Harry. Hermione gave him a
playful nudge.

“Eww! Don't kiss in front of me!” pleaded Teddy.

Harry laughed and pulled Hermione close to him. “We'll save that for some privacy. Give your
Auntie `Mione a hug.”

“Love you, Auntie `Mione,” said the now raven-haired boy, as he gave her a tight hug.

“Love you, too, Teddy. Be good to your grandmother, we'll see you soon.”

“Take me to Muggle London?” he asked. Hermione looked at Andromeda who nodded.

“If you're a good boy. We'll take you to a big Ferris wheel.”

“I want to try that underground train! Or watch a movie-thingy.”

“Yes, yes, we can do that and more. If you're good. Start making a list and we'll
compare notes next time, and see what your grandmother suggests.”

Teddy fell into Harry's arms and gave him a tight hug as well. “Love you, Uncle.” This time,
the voice wasn't light and fun as when he said the words to Hermione. With Harry, the words
were tense and full of depth and meaning. It was the love built over time and obstacles and
hardships, yet enduring.

As Hermione contemplated the difference in tone, she noticed Teddy's features turn into a
blend of her own and Harry's, then back to just Harry's before the hug was broken.

“Does he do that a lot?” Hermione whispered to Andromeda.

“Just for you, dear,” she whispered back.

As they Apparated back to Grimmauld Place (Harry taking Hermione in a full frontal sidealong),
she noted the hint of sadness in the slump of his shoulders. She squeezed his hand.

“You all right?” she asked, knowing the answer, but wanting a conversation opener.

“I wanted them to move in with us, but Andromeda, she only has Teddy now. She lost everyone she
loved in the War. Her husband, her daughter, her son-in-law. I offered the house to them. Gods, I
could just live in a flat, I don't need all this, but she insisted. I wish I could do more.

“And I'm gone so much. When I was in the Far East, I did get international Portkeys on a
regular basis to come back, but still… I know what it's like to be an orphan, and I want
what's best for my godson.”

Hermione was getting upset with Harry's self-recrimination. “Stop hurting yourself over
this. You're doing the best that you can. You're not responsible for Teddy being an orphan,
and you ended those responsible for that. What you need to focus on now is to continue to make sure
that Teddy knows he's loved, and he *knows* that. *That's* bloody obvious. And
that's what matters.. So stop beating yourself up over this. I simply won't tolerate
it.”

Harry looked down at the fierce look on Hermione's face and his love for her just grew. She
looked like a woman warrior, defending his psyche against himself. He adored her for it.

Love. He knew he still loved her, and that his love for her was changing and growing. His love
for her encompassed so much: from a love for her intelligence, her looks, her compassion, her
loyalty to her friends and family, her fierce passion for civil rights and the underserved.
Yesterday, he learned of the depths of her commitment to what was right, from Dumbledore's
`riddles' that saved him and Ron over and over, risking her wellbeing by researching Horcruxes
at Muggle-hating Durmstrang, to the amazing discovery that she formed her own Dumbledore's Army
in France and they actually flew in to join them in the Final Battle, at the cost of her best
friend.

Veterans. He and Hermione did not have the shared history that he and Ron had (and he was glad
that as a Muggle-born, Hermione did not have to go into hiding as fellow Muggle-born Dean Thomas
did), but they shared the Final Battle. They shared the experience of combat, of dealing with Death
Eaters and the deaths of loved ones. And they both survived.

With an arm around her waist, he pulled her into a deep languid kiss, pressing himself against
her. She tangled her hands into his hair. They were both quickly learning each other's bodies
and touches, unaware that their privacy was about to be interrupted.

“Blimey! Oy, there, Harry! Is that Hermione?” Ron's shocked tone caused them to pull apart,
but Harry kept Hermione pressed against his side.

“Hermione! How did you enjoy Hogwarts?” Luna glided into the room, sailing past a stunned Ron as
she sat down on the sofa in front of the couple. “Ronald, close your mouth, dear.”

If Harry had suddenly sprouted wings and danced about the room in a pink tutu and polka-dot
umbrella, Ron would not have been more amazed.

“What? When?” Ron choked out.

“You must have found the Hoy-gong Speckles. They're quite common in Scotland this time of
year. Latch themselves onto couples in love.”

“Love? Harry? Hermione?” Ron babbled. *What will Ginny say?* he thought.

“We're together now,” Harry said as an explanation. He took Hermione's arm and they
shared an armchair, Hermione in his lap, leaning against his strong chest, feeling his heartbeat
through his body into hers.

“Yes,” was all that Hermione cared to contribute to the conversation at that moment.

“But what? When? How?” Ron continued to babble.

“Ron, you'll never believe, but remember those notes Dumbledore wrote us at Hogwarts? The
anonymous ones? They weren't from Dumbledore, they were from Hermione!”

“What? The ones that explained Horcruxes to us, and those notes that helped during the
Tournament?” This change of topic allowed Ron to regain his senses as he joined Luna on the
couch.

“Hermione? You helped them? While you were at Beauxbatons?” asked Luna.

“I know, amazing, isn't it? We just found out ourselves. McGonagall knew, Dumbledore knew of
course, but the rest of us were in the dark.” Hermione proceeded to explain Dumbledore meeting with
her, insisting that she attend Hogwarts, then the gift of the owl, the puzzles, and so on. Harry
added his own perspective as a recipient of the letters, and Ron joined in as a witness to Harry
receiving them, and Dumbledore denying responsibility.

“How delightful! When you were writing me, you were writing Harry as well!” Luna laughed. “It is
like it was all meant to be, you were meant to be our friend.”

“That might be, but I won't discard my years at Beauxbatons. I learned so much there and
made some wonderful friends.” A shadow passed over her eyes and Harry squeezed Hermione's hand,
finally understanding the source of the momentary pain. She looked up at Harry and the shadow
passed, replaced with a warm glow. “But I'm glad I'm here,” she answered Luna, but looked
only at Harry.

The four friends spent the evening at home talking, comparing stories of the past, of their
weekends, of how Hermione's house mates would react to her new status. Then they retired to
their rooms, and silencing charms were used in both bedrooms.

*Please read and review!*

*Next chapter: the public reaction* *and Wickham/Draco returns.*

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19. 19
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 19:** **The Press and Wickham**

By addisonj

Beta: DeeMichelle

*Disclaimer: The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

A/N: Wickham returns.

“Potter, huh?”

Hermione was in the Ministry cafeteria three days after her wonderful weekend with Harry. She
was busy—not working one weekend would do that to one's to do list—but blissfully happy. Her
co-workers noticed but didn't comment on her new habit of humming anytime and anywhere: whilst
reading reports or simply walking through the hallways. Her blissful mood came to a halt when she
noticed who was standing next to her in the queue.

Draco Malfoy. She was certain he had been avoiding her since Ron held the ball for Luna's
safe return, and for that she was grateful. As much as Hermione did not avoid confrontation, she
did not welcome it either. And the fact that she had ignored her own best instincts and the opinion
of her friends to listen to Draco's lies about Harry… well, it was now water under the bridge
but Hermione Granger did not forget.

“Yes, Draco, what about Harry? Cat got your tongue? Come to apologise for slandering my
boyfriend?” she drawled, echoing the vocal tones Draco often used when disparaging others.

“Making your way through celebrities, Granger? Doesn't seem like your *modus operandi*,
but then I did hear Oliver Wood likes brunettes.”

“Upset that you're not his type, Malfoy?”

Draco sneered and moved away. “I did assume you had better taste, thought you'd appreciate
someone with intelligence, not just amazingly good luck.”

“Malfoy, I could litter an owl's cage with all the misinformation you fed me. You're
lucky I don't hex you back to Malfoy Manor.”

“Promises, promises, Granger,” said Draco as he walked away, but Hermione had a feeling that it
wasn't over yet.

***

“Look at this one, Hermione! Your hair doesn't look so bushy there!”

“But my arse is huge! Who are these photographers? Why do they only publish photos with Harry
looking wonderful while I look like an ogre?”

Luna, Parvati, Lavender and Hermione were sitting around their kitchen table comparing articles
in the *Daily Prophet* and *Witch Weekly* about the wizarding world's most eligible
bachelor being off the market. Headlines proclaiming “The Chosen One has Chosen” and “The Boy Who
Loves” with photos obviously taken whilst the couple was unawares, taking stolen kisses. One photo
was even in Hyde Park.

“Since when does the *Daily Prophet* send reporters into Muggle London?” Hermione asked. It
particularly infuriated her that it included Teddy. She always thought that children should be off
limits to celebrity paparazzi, but that rule did not seem to apply in the wizarding world.

“Oh look! This article actually did some research. There are timelines comparing Harry's
love life to yours. My goodness, Harry gets around! They even interviewed some witches in Australia
and Singapore. I think there's even a Muggle in here, Harry dated her a couple times in New
Zealand,” Luna said.

“Let me see that,” Hermione grabbed the paper and scanned the article. “Oh! Once again they just
focus on Viktor and Harry, and assume I'm a fame seeker. Why don't they realise that
*personalities* matter as well?”

“Are you going to write a letter to complain?” Lavender asked eagerly, crunching her toast.

“No, it'll just make it all the worse. No matter what I said, they'd twist and spin it,
and it'd just prolong this agony. Nope, won't do it,” Hermione responded with finality and
pushed the paper aside. Parvati grabbed it.

“Look, it says they tried to interview Viktor before a game and he only said `no comment'.
They lost the match,” Parvati said.

Hermione's eyes widened and she took a drink of her pumpkin juice. She hadn't heard from
Viktor at all. She knew she should have told him before the media circus hit; it would make sense
for it to come from her. And she did write him, a quick note about what was happening in her life
and happened to mention dating Harry, but he never responded. She sighed, wishing she was a better
friend to him.

“Look at all these models Harry dated, and Ginny. You're not his type,” Lavender stated,
scanning the photo spread of tall thin models who appeared on Harry's arm over the years. Then
there was a picture of Hermione leaving work in her Ministry robes, lack of makeup, and obviously
tired and tense after a long day.

“See? They find the worst photo of me. I look like the tomboy sidekick,” grumbled Hermione. “Oh
gods, all of Harry's ex's have straight hair!”

“Oh look! They quoted Draco! He says you came on to him last fall,” Parvati added.

Hermione snatched the newspaper from Parvati's hands. “That's a lie!”

“There are numerous sources stating they saw you two spending lunches together at the
Ministry.”

“Since when is lunch a date? And we've been avoiding each other for months now. Argh! This
is maddening. See? They twist the facts to form whatever so-called `truth' they want!” Hermione
was tempted to incinerate the paper, but knew her flatmates would just find another one. And she
should be aware of what types of lies were being spread about her.

“Oy! Cormac's in here! He said he knew you only went for celebrities when you stopped dating
him for no reason. He says you were obviously setting your sights much higher,” Lavender read.

“That prat!” stormed Hermione. “I stopped dating him because he was an egocentric wanker. Oh!
Damn him! Where's my wand? He needs to be hexed!”

“Calm down, he's not worth it. If you hexed him, the press would have a field day with
that,” advised Luna. “Oh look, they tried to interview Laurent, but he refused to answer questions
as well. You've got a few good guys in your corner, dear.”

Laurent. Her first love. Hermione looked at the photo. He hadn't aged much. He was standing
next to a bookish yet beautiful blonde.

“That's his fiancée, Monique Gauthier. She runs—”

“The largest wizarding bookstore in Paris, yes, I know her. We were all friends. I had no idea
they were engaged, or that they were even dating,” Hermione completed Luna's sentence
wistfully. She frowned, stood up and started pacing. “I think, I think I need to go for a
walk.”

“Why don't you Apparate to Harry's? I'm sure he'd love to see you,” suggested
Luna.

“Yes, mmm, maybe later. I think I'll see if Fleur is up and about.” Hermione threw some
powder in the fireplace and Bill's head appeared.

“Hermione! We were just talking about you! The press is rubbish, don't worry. Do you want to
talk to Fleur?”

“Yes, mind if I come over for a bit?” Hermione asked.

“You're always welcome. Come along.”

“If Harry comes by, I'll let him know where you are,” Luna said unnecessarily as Hermione
entered the fireplace.

“Thanks, *chère**,*” she responded as she disappeared in the green smoke.

“I know, I know! They make you look horrible! But you must fight back! We can give you a
makeover,” Fleur suggested after Hermione settled in with a cup of tea.

“No, I'm not going to not be true to myself if I do that. I'm just upset that my friends
are being hounded as well.”

“You mean *Viktor et Laurent, oui*? I saw that article. At least they didn't talk.”

“How is Laurent? Have you talked to him or his brother lately? Wasn't Philippe your
year?”asked Hermione.

“Yes, I heard about the engagement. Did he not tell you? Did you two stop writing?”

Hermione ignored the obvious question. “I haven't been writing as often as I should…”

“You two were never right for each other. Oh, you were right, but not perfect. One day, each of
you would have found someone else, and you would be happier elsewhere, *non*? You were a good
couple, but not crazy love, *oui*? Not *forever* love?”

Hermione took a sip of tea. “I should be getting back.”

“Wait, wait. Let me at least loan you some robes. You hide your figure too much, *ma
cheri*e.”

“Oh! It's obvious I'm not a model and never will be!”

“Yes, but you have assets they are not aware of. And they are not all just your brains. Use the
*Quibbler*. Show the wizarding world the other side of Hermione Granger. I'm sure Luna
would help.”

“Yes, I hate to abuse our friendship—”

“Pshaw! That is what friends do. She can write a disclaimer that she's known you for ten
years, but *because* she's known you for ten years she feels compelled to write. Call it
the Opinion page, but then she can be sure to have only beautiful photos of you on the News page.
*Oui*? No ethics are compromised then.”

As Hermione pondered Fleur's suggestion, there was a loud popping sound and Harry
appeared.

“Oh, Hermione! There you are! I've been looking, oh, hello Fleur! Sorry to drop in and all,
gods, what a day! Hermione, I must speak to you,” Harry rushed his words while holding a
parchment.

“Harry, have a seat. What is the rush?” Fleur asked.

“Harry, is everything all right?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Yes, no, well, I've read those article and, gods Hermione, I have to do something. I hate
the press! They thought I was delusional fifth year and now they're attacking my
girlfriend.”

Hermione got out of her seat and held onto Harry's agitated hands. She was upset, but did
not want him to see her distress and have it feed his own.

“Harry, this will all blow over. Once someone else has a scandal or whatever, this will be
forgotten. Must be a slow news day.”

Harry appeared to weigh her words, but then he held up the parchment. “I've written a
rebuttal.”

“Oh, Harry!” cried Hermione.

“*Mon dieu*!” added Fleur.

“You really don't need to do that. I don't think it will help, it'll likely do the
opposite,” Hermione added carefully, trying to keep her feelings of alarm in check.

“But you don't understand, I must do *something*. I can't have them paint you as
some fame seeking nothing. And to hint that I deserve better? And that some shallow ideal of beauty
is better? Hermione, you're so much more than any of those other girls. I want the world to
know that.”

Hermione could see the earnestness, the determination in every look, every move, and every
wordfrom Harry. She knew he *did* have to do something, that he could not sit still when a
friend was slighted. She understood that, it was the same motivation that led her work for magical
beings.

“Harry, I understand what you're doing and why. And I *really* appreciate it, I truly
do. But is it needed? It won't change how we feel about each other, and it won't matter to
our true friends.”

“Will you at least read it?” Harry asked with a puppy dog look. Hermione could not say no.

Several revisions later, they arrived at the compromise text.

And the next day Harry's response was published in the *Daily Prophet*. And the paper
responded with its own opinion piece.

“They think you put Potter under an Imperius curse, that's why he wrote the pro-house-elves
letter months ago,” Scamander said as he arrived in Hermione's office.

It was early morning, but Hermione was already in her office, head in hands.

“I know,” she wailed. “This is bloody ridiculous! When I dated Viktor, it was all about my
looks, I understand that. But to attack my *work*? And to indirectly attack this
*department's* work and the new direction of the Ministry? *Merde!*”

As Hermione had her head in her hands and Scamander was shaking the newspaper, Shacklebolt burst
into the office. “This is bullshit. I don't get involved in the personal lives of my employees,
but this stops *now*.”

“I am so sorry! I had no idea dating Harry would jeopardise our work in any way,” Hermione said.
“This is insane. They're connecting dots that don't exist. There is no causality here and I
did not do an Unforgivable on Harry!”

Shacklebolt settled himself on one of the office chairs. “We need a strong offensive, make a
strong statement that this ends here and now.”

“Some friends of mine suggested a group letter, but I don't want any more of my friends
being dragged into this. Bad enough they're interviewing ex-boyfriends. This really is
appalling,” Hermione added. She then took a deep breath, and sat upright. “Okay. Let's take
care of this. Luna Lovegood from the *Quibbler* is my best friend and flatmate. She already
offered her paper's services. I'm thinking of giving them an exclusive of something …
something to take eyes away from the *Daily Prophet* and onto the *Quibbler*.”

“I'm thinking of a measured Ministry response. I don't want to be involved because
it's already blown out of proportion, but I can have a trusted third party write and assure
everyone that Harry is acting of his own volition. And that the Ministry supports your work, not
just lovesick young men.” Shacklebolt winked at Hermione for that last comment.

“A neutral third party…hmmm…” Hermione thought aloud.

“Montgomery!” Hermione and Shacklebolt said at the same time.

Shacklebolt found an intern wandering down the hall. “Winterbloom! Get Lionel Montgomery here,
please.”

“We'll need Harry, too; I want him to know what's going on.” Hermione was about to tell
the intern to contact Harry, when she suddenly said, “Bugger this!” and pulled out her cell phone,
to Shacklebolt and Scamander's surprise.

“Harry? It's me. Can you come to my office? Yes, it's all rubbish. Shacklebolt and
Scamander are here and we're getting Montgomery. You're already at work? You see him? Can
you have him come down? Lovely. Thanks much. See you in a jiffy,” Hermione spoke into the phone,
then looked at the surprised looks of the two men. “What? Some Muggle things are quite
efficient.”

“Is that the latest model?” Shacklebolt asked, reaching his hand over to examine.

“Yes, it's got tons of apps. Reception is still spotty here especially, but this
network's the strongest,” Hermione explained as she handed her mobile over to the
Minister's examination.

“Is that a telephony-thingy? It's so small. They've changed since I last saw one,”
Scamander said, looking over Shacklebolt's shoulder. “My goodness!”

Montgomery and Harry arrived shortly thereafter while Hermione was still showing the other two
wizards her favourite smart phone apps; Montgomery was looking concerned but Harry was livid. He
exchanged glances with Hermione as she made sure to remain in her seat behind her desk; holding
back her desire to cross the room and embrace him.

Montgomery sat in the last remaining chair in the room as Harry stood, leaning against the
doorframe. “Well, you two got yourselves into a pickle! Already told Harry posting a rebuttal was a
waste.”

Hermione and Harry exchanged looks, his contrite, hers understanding.

“Montgomery, we need a neutral third party to put this to rest. Explain how Harry has absolutely
no signs of an Imperius curse, the mere thought of which should not be taken lightly, and that
*all* departments here support the work being done in the Department of Magical Creatures, and
that's that. No personal comments on their relationship *at all*. Not even a hint of it.
Hermione, what are you doing?” Shacklebolt noticed Hermione writing at her desk. She handed him the
parchment.

“I just quick Quilled it. Find someone in marketing to edit it once you all review. I'd
suggest we review it one last time before Montgomery owls it to the paper. Harry, I think Luna
wants to do an exclusive interview with you about all this,” Hermione said.

“Yes, something about how you saved the wizarding world, just want some privacy now, and please
don't focus on external factors of beauty for true beauty comes from within,” added Montgomery
drily.

“Says the wizard with the witch half his age,” joked Shacklebolt. Hermione forced herself to
keep her features even.

“Ten years difference. No cradle was robbed,” Montgomery retorted.

“I think I should stay out of this; I don't want the emphasis to come back to me,” Hermione
redirected the conversation to the original topic. “However, Luna agreed to post some more …
favourable photos of me.”

“Gods, who found those dreadful pics of you before? That was obviously biased,” Scamander
added.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “As much as I'd love to sit here and discuss my personal
appearance, I think we're done? Sorry, but I really just wish to forget all about this and get
on with my *real* work.”

The men took the clue and stood to leave, each in turn commenting on the nasty turn of events
and how they'll take care of things, until just Harry was left.

He shut the door to her office, placed a silencing charm and crossed the room in few steps.
Hermione met him halfway.

They were suddenly shy. “Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” he responded. He watched her resolve crumble and he took her in his arms. “I am so sorry
I'm such an idiot. You tried to warn me.”

“What's done is done. This will be salvaged. How are you doing? Are photographers hounding
you? Rita Skeeter working on getting an exclusive?”

“Sometimes I wonder if they're pushing all my buttons just to force me to do an exclusive
with her.” He grimaced. “Vile woman.” He kissed the top of her head, then, placing a finger under
her chin and lifting it, he placed a lingering kiss on her mouth.

“I missed this. I missed you last night,” he breathed.

Hermione was feeling her insides warm up and tried to remember she was at work with only a door
between them and the rest of her department. She looked into his gorgeous green eyes and smiled.
“We'll make up for it tonight then.”

“Promise?”

She nodded and he kissed her again.

“We'll need to use more backdoors and Apparate more often in the next few days.”

“Until some sort of scandal breaks and the press find something else to bother themselves
with.”

***

The fates conspired to get the Harry-Hermione story out of the headlines.

The two couples were having a quiet evening at Grimmauld Place when Molly Weasley's voice
came through the fireplace.

“Ron! Come home now! There's been a catastrophe!”

Words of that sort to an Auror means Death Eaters, so Ron and Harry grabbed their wands and
immediately went to the fireplace while Luna and Hermione followed shortly thereafter.

The Burrow was a hub of activity. Arthur, George, Charlie, and Bill were pacing as Molly sat in
a chair and moaned, “My little girl!” Angelina, Fleur and her daughters were trying to comfort
their mother-in-law. Hermione looked about to see who was missing. Ginny.

“He kidnapped her!” wailed Molly. Hermione rushed to the group of women, ignoring an inner voice
asking if she should even be present when there was a Weasley family crisis. She wasn't part of
their family, but she was close to some members of it, and was always accepted at family functions.
Arthur and Molly were becoming *loco parentis* to her, and if there was anything she could do
to help, she would.

“What happened?” Hermione asked Fleur in a whisper.

“Ginny sent a note that she ran off with Draco,” Angelina answered.

“Bloody hell!” Luna exclaimed. Everyone looked surprised that the young Ravenclaw knew such
language.

“By `run off', was this voluntary?” Hermione asked.

“No! My baby would not go off with that, that villain!” exclaimed Molly between sobs. “Why?
Why?”

Hermione took Angelina's elbow and distanced them a bit from the rest.

“Angelina, you're closest to Ginny. Is this possible? I don't think I ever saw them
together,” inquired Hermione.

“If you ask me, there was always a bit of attraction there. You never noticed?” asked Luna,who
followed.

“I don't think I even saw them in the same room,” said Hermione.

“At the ball Ron had a few months ago, didn't you see them dance together? They only had
eyes for each other.”

Hermione tried to recall that ball, but unpleasant memories of Draco standing too close to her
came up. She looked over at Harry and Ron who appeared to be getting a debriefing from a distraught
Arthur Weasley. They exchanged glances and Hermione walked quickly to his side.

“She's with Draco,” Hermione said.

“I heard,” was Harry's equally terse response.

“Did you know they were seeing each other? Is this as much of a surprise to you as it seems to
be to the others, except Luna?”

“My sister would have nothing to do with that … that ferret!” exclaimed Ron.

“What's the note say?” Hermione redirected the conversation to less subjective course.

Arthur sadly handed Hermione the short parchment.

*Dear Mum and Dad,*

*I've decided to run away with Draco. I love him and he loves me. Don't look for
us.*

*Love,*

*Ginny*

Hermione handed it back. “Any thought of Imperius?” she asked.

“How would we know for sure unless we saw her?” Bill responded. “Let's focus on reason.
What's in it for Draco? Assuming Ginny is lovesick and doing this, would Draco be conning her
for his own reasons? If so, why?”

“You mean, follow the money?” Harry asked.

“Ginny hasn't a lot of money. If he was after money, there are lots of single witches who
are wealthier,” George said.

“Okay, if it isn't money, what else would he be after? Revenge? Prestige? Reputation?
Deliverance?” Bill asked.

“Money, sex and power. Those are the prime motivators of human behaviour,” Hermione added.

Arthur grimaced at the word `sex' and Molly wailed. Hermione mouthed `sorry'.

“Okay, well, can we trace them somehow? Can we find out where they are? It might be easiest just
to ask them why,” George asked.

“Wait, just to be sure, we know this is her handwriting?” Hermione asked.

“Yes, I performed a spell on it already. It's hers,” Bill advised.

“How did you receive it? Did she drop it off? Was it owled?” asked Hermione.

“Owl,” replied Arthur wearily. He ran his fingers through his thinning hair, shoulders slumped.
“The owl came during tea.”

“Well, you're the Aurors, any suggestions?” asked George snarkily.

“We could put out a bulletin asking if anyone has seen them. We can check the usual places,
Malfoy Manor, his flat in town, check with her other friends , her co-workers. Let me alert the
Ministry, we can say it's a suspected kidnapping. We can put the word out as well to Draco
through his associates that he needs to come out with Ginny and assure us that there's no harm
done, that this isn't a kidnapping, or it'll all be much worse for him,” Harry advised.

“Let's get to the Ministry then. We don't have a moment to lose,” Ron said.

He and Harry were headed for the Floo when Hermione grabbed her bag and said, “I'm going
with you.”

Harry stopped and looked at her. “Hermione—”

“Harry look around, I can't do any good here. I think I can help more at the Ministry,”
Hermione said.

The Weasleys looked at Hermione, then looked around the room. “You know, I think she's
right,” Arthur said. “I think we have enough people sitting about worrying.”

“I mean, I could stay and help Luna with the children…” Hermione started.

“Hermione, thank you, but I can handle the children. You go help at the Ministry,” Luna
said.

Hermione looked at both Molly and Arthur who nodded. “Okay,” she said. “We will find them.”

At the Ministry, Ron and Harry explained the circumstances to Montgomery, who offered the
Ministry's services. Hermione worked with the Department of International Cooperation to learn
if any International Portkeys had been used by Malfoy and Ginny. Ron contacted Aurors around the
country and Harry investigated possible leads.

It was the wee hours of the morning when Harry approached Hermione with a cup of coffee (no
sugar). She was lying on a couch in his office, taking a short nap while waiting to hear back from
some of the Asian ministries.

“I'm awake! I'm awake!” she sat up quickly and nearly spilled the hot liquid. Harry cast
a quick anti-spilling charm so that the coffee remained in the mug.

“Bloody hell, Hermione, it's okay to take a nap. You can go home, too. Luna came by earlier
with sandwiches. You're welcome to lie in your own bed. I'll let you know if anything turns
up or if we need anything from you,” Harry said as he placed the mug in her hands.

Hermione put the mug on the desk and arched her back in a cat stretch. Harry tried not to stare
as he remembered her nude in a similar pose.

She rubbed her eyes and gave him a small smile as she took a sip of her coffee. “Perfect,
thanks. You read my mind.”

“Just the way you like it,” he said lightly as he tried not to think about what he would rather
be doing with her in a room late at night.

“Well?” she asked after they both drank coffee in silence. “How's Ron holding up? And Molly
and Arthur? It must be a terrible shock for them.”

Harry took a sip of coffee before he answered, “Yeah, Ginny's their little princess, the
youngest girl of six brothers. No one expected anything like this to happen.”

Hermione studied how Harry refused to look her in the eye. She knew they had a history. “You
know her much better than I do. What do you think? Was it kidnapping? Imperius curse? Or is the
letter true?”

Harry shook his head and he looked down at his coffee. “Damned if I know. I mean, if she was in
love, she'd want a huge wedding at the Burrow. This isn't her style.”

“Is that what she wanted for you two?” Hermione asked quietly.

Harry's head shot up. “How did you know?”

It was Hermione's turn to look down. “I didn't know. You just told me.” She had no idea
why his past relationship with Ginny bothered her now. “Maybe, just maybe, if I was the youngest
girl of an all-boy family. And maybe, maybe if I was going to marry the prince of the wizarding
world I'd have a huge fairy tale wedding with all the stops out, rather like Princess Diana in
the Muggle world. But, perhaps, if that dream fell through and I actually fell for the former
prince of the dark world instead, I don't think I could face my family if I really wanted to
marry him. I'd be afraid my brothers would challenge him to a duel or something, so I'd run
and hide, and marry him in secret, then come back already married so it'd be much harder to
undo. Just maybe,” she said quietly, watching Harry's reaction.

Harry didn't say anything. He did frown slightly when she said, “prince of the wizarding
world” but he seemed contemplative. Then, he sat next to her on the couch and just held her against
his side as she wrapped an arm around him and rested her head on his chest.

“You didn't know Ginny at school, but she was one of the prettiest, most popular, most
athletic girls there. She always had a boyfriend, and she was always brave, being part of
Dumbledore's Army with us. I remember seventh year when Ron and I were looking for the
Horcruxes, I would think about her at Hogwarts and miss her terribly. So when the War was over and
we both survived, it was natural that our relationship would continue.

“We were boyfriend and girlfriend for years, all the way through Auror training and the year
after. But, it wasn't the same then. It was easy in a way during the War, because everything
was black and white. You are for the Light or for the Dark. But after, all the little stuff became
more important. And the War impacted us quite differently.

“I wanted to go away, escape to the Muggle world for a while and I did, but Ron was starting
Auror training and I wanted to join with him. McGonagall gave us automatic passes for our
N.E.W.T.s, so we were allowed in. I'd see Ginny on weekends and, I dare say I loved her, but it
was the love of a young man who was happy to be alive and thrilled that a pretty young witch was
crazy about him. But, that's not enough. I didn't want the press, the attention, the
awards, the parties. Ginny did. I just wanted a normal life for once. Ginny had normal, she wanted
extraordinary. I'm actually a very boring bloke. If Voldemort didn't exist, I'd be just
an average wizard, quite ordinary except rather good at Quidditch and duelling, but like so many
other fellows, and that's fine with me. But if Ginny had her druthers, she'd be a fairy
princess or something or a supermodel, but that's not the life I want.”

“You certainly dated quite a lot of models, if the press is right,” Hermione added under her
breath.

Harry pressed a kiss to the top of her head before continued, “Did you also notice in that
timeline in the paper that none of those were relationships? They were arm candy, no more, no less.
I knew the paparazzi would be there and I just did the easiest thing. For people I really care
about, I wouldn't let them go through that circus. I could have asked Padma or Luna or Katie,
nearly any of my Hogwarts female friends, but I didn't want them to deal with the aftermath,
the gossip, the speculation. So, I'd have some model go with me. Like an escort service but not
necessarily including sex.”

“`Not necessarily',” quoted Hermione.

Harry tilted Hermione's head towards his own and looked deeply into her eyes before kissing
her softly on the lips. “I'm honest with you, Hermione, I'm not a monk. And I didn't
expect you to be a nun before we met.”

“Fair enough,” Hermione replied once her lips were parted from Harry's.

“But Ginny is my friend. She knows me better than most. We look out for each other. We thought
we were looking out for Ron but we bungled that. Badly. Oh! I wanted to tell you but it's a
secret!”

Hermione sat up. “What?”

“Ron is shopping for a ring. For Luna. You absolutely cannot say anything though. It's meant
to be a surprise, but he already asked her father for her hand in marriage.”

Harry was not sure what Hermione's reaction would be. Positive, he was sure, but he did not
expect her to nearly leap off the couch and into his lap, pulling him into a tighter embrace than
they were already in.

“Gods, Harry, that's wonderful! Oh, I shall certainly keep this secret,” Hermione nearly
giggled with glee. “When will he ask her?”

“Soon. Well, not soon now. He was going to do it next weekend when they go to her father's
home, but now…”

Hermione nodded, filling in the words in her head. Now, with Ginny and Draco missing… other
things took priority.

A tip came in with daybreak. A pair matching their description had checked into a hotel in
Wales. Aurors took them to the Ministry and kept them in separate holding cells.

“But he's my husband! I demand to be with him!” Harry heard Ginny's cries as he ran to
the interrogation rooms.

“Shut your yob, Ginny! You have no idea what you're saying. He's put you under a spell,
I'm sure of it,” Ron pleaded with his sister.

“You don't understand! I love him! Didn't Dad show you the note? I want to be with
him.”

“You're mental, Ginny; you don't know what you're saying. Mum and Dad will be here
in a sec and will take care of you.”

Harry entered the room to find Ginny standing in the centre facing her youngest brother, looking
beautiful and fierce. If he had any sort of romantic love for her, well, there was none, but his
seventeen year old self would have been bedazzled.

“Harry, can you talk to Ron? Can you make him understand?” Ginny's voice was calmer as she
addressed her former lover.

Harry took a seat, and made himself comfortable. “Understand what exactly, Ginny?”

“That I love Draco. That I married Draco. That I'm Mrs Malfoy now.”

The last sentence sent Ron into a rage. He nearly lunged at his sister, but the reflexes of
everyone else in the room were quicker and she deftly moved to safely.

Harry put an arm around Ron's shoulders. “Ron, mate, maybe you could wait outside for a bit.
Let me handle this.”

Ron gave Harry a look, glared at Ginny, and left.

With her brother gone, Ginny was noticeably calmer. She smiled at Harry, using some of her old
charm. She patted her hair and smoothed her robes. “I must look like a wreck,” she said.

“You were always beautiful, Ginny,” Harry replied.

Her vanity satisfied, Ginny took a seat at the table across from Harry. “What do you want to
know?”

And she talked. They had been seeing each other in secret since Ron and Luna got back together.
It was like one of those Muggle movies, the ones where the couple starts out hating each other, but
then fall madly passionately in love. She said that Draco was reformed, he renounced his dark past
and only wanted to embrace the light in the future. They were both strong-willed, passionate,
attention-seeking, high maintenance, high living, pleasure-seeking individuals who embraced the
things Harry rejected: namely, the spotlight. For the first time in her life, she knew what love
was and they found no reason to wait.

Harry listened to this, thinking of the agony that Ron, and likely the rest of the Weasleys were
going through as they watched and listened through the other side of the two-way glass. He remained
neutral, acting as if this was any other case, but at the end, Ginny became quiet and reached for
Harry's hand.

“It would never have worked between us, I know that now. I knew you said it years ago, but I
couldn't believe it, didn't want to believe it. But it seems to obvious now. I know Mum and
Dad will be disappointed, my brothers will be furious and probably challenge Draco to a duel, but
this is the life I want. This is my love. And I hope they eventually accept him, because I could
not bear to have to choose. I don't want to go there.”

He nodded slowly and said, “All right, Ginny,” before rising from his chair and knocking on the
door to leave. A female Auror replaced Harry in the room as he walked out to face the Weasleys, and
Luna and Hermione. The tears on the faces of Arthur and Molly said enough. Even Ron stopped his
belligerence, and instead leaned into Luna.

Hermione and Harry's eyes met, and she rushed into his arms. He had no idea he had been so
tense listening to Ginny for the past hour, but once he was in Hermione's arms, he felt he
could finally relax and be safe.

The normally boisterous family was quiet, each clinging to their spouse or partner. Harry asked
where the children were and Hermione whispered that Andromeda was caring for them. Eyes were wet
with tears; the prior anger fell to the beginnings of acceptance.

“And Draco? What has he said?” Harry asked. Ron just jerked his head towards the interrogation
room. Harry took Hermione's hand and they walked to the two-way mirror there.

Fox and Bristol were tag teaming, doing the good cop, bad cop routine. Harry knew it well, he
practically trained them.

Draco was demanding a lawyer. He was demanding to know why he was interrupted from his
honeymoon. He demanded to see his wife. He demanded a lot.

He still had his superior tone, speaking as if he were above everyone else. But there was a
worried undertone, especially when he spoke of his new wife.

“I need to see Ginny. I need to know that's she's unharmed. I need her!”

Bill and Fleur exchanged looks, then Fleur spoke quietly to Arthur and Molly. “She's not
cursed. Ginny's doing this of her own free will.”

“We can have it confirmed, but from my experience, neither one is cursed. It's real,” Bill
added. Arthur shuddered and Molly wept.

“Cheer up! Think of the pranks we can pull on the ferret at Christmastime,” George joked. The
family groaned and Angelina poked her husband.

“Stuff it, George,” she muttered.

Fox left the interrogation room, and talked quietly to Ron and Harry, then Montgomery. They then
spoke to the Weasleys. Hermione watched Ron's hand tighten and loosen, and Luna grab it into
her own.

“We need to release them. There are no charges, there is no crime. They're certainly of age,
and acted of their own volition. We tested and neither is under an Imperius curse. If we keep them
any longer, I'm sure Malfoy will charge the department with abuse and we don't need that
type of publicity.” Montgomery looked at the tense faces of the Weasley clan. “How about we have
you all meet in a private room? We'll bring Ginny to you first, then Draco. Do I need to take
your wands?” Montgomery attempted a joke, but from the looks on the male Weasley faces, it was
unwelcomed.

A room without a two-way mirror was found, and the family was ushered inside. Hermione stayed on
the outside and watched with heavy heart as the usual boisterous family was reduced to shells of
their former selves.

Luna stood outside with Hermione, but Ron wordlessly took her hand and brought her into the room
with the rest of the family. Harry was unsure of his place, but Arthur said, “You're part of
our family,” and he entered the room as well. Hermione stayed outside, so she was the first to see
Ginny escorted from the interrogation room to the more private conference room.

Their eyes met. Ginny: fierce, proud, beautiful, but fear and worry etched in her eyes. When the
door to the interrogation room opened and she was released, she seemed surprised to only see
Hermione in the hallway. “In there,” Hermione said, and indicated the door down the hall. Ginny
nodded, mouthed “thanks” and headed to the room.

Just before entering, she stopped, looked at Hermione one last time, and opened the door.

Hermione waited in the hallway. She was not sure why. She was certainly unproductive. She did
not bother opening her satchel which always contained some sort of means of occupying her time:
reports to be written, books to be read, research to review. Instead, she simply stood there and
waited. She breathed. She looked vacantly at the wall opposite. She simply existed for those
minutes, until Draco's door opened and he, scowling, glanced about the hall, his eyes resting
on Hermione, scowled some more, and was escorted to the room which held his wife and family. It was
then that Hermione collapsed into the chair that had always been at her side, and she closed her
eyes.

“Napping, Granger?”

“Reilly. Good to see you,” Hermione opened her eyes to see one of her favourite Aurors.

He handed her a take-away cup of tea.

“They're all in there? How's it going? Any shouts? Wands confiscated?”

“They're all quite well-behaved actually,” Hermione admitted, taking a sip of tea, and then
making a face.

“Not the way you like it?”

“Too much sugar, but thanks, I needed this.”

“I'd give you a neck massage, but Potter would hex me, methinks,” Reilly said with a twinkle
in his eye. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Flirt.”

The door opened and Harry exited. His eyes scanned for hers, and he gave her a small smile.

“You're still here?” he asked, a hint of pleasure in his tone.

“Where else would I be?” asked Hermione.

He nodded to Reilly, then took Hermione's hand, raising her from her chair, as he took the
cup from her hand and gave it back to Reilly.

“Shall we go?” he asked.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Home,” he said, and they Apparated to Grimmauld Place.

***

*Please read and review!*

Next Chapter: the last chapter (!!), our Happy Ever After, plus an appearance by Viktor
Krum.

(A/N: yes, I combined Caroline Bingley and Lydia. Aren't Ginny and Draco an excellent
couple?)

-->



20. 20
------



**Magic and Misperceptions**

**Chapter 20: Truth Revealed**

By: addisonj

Beta: DeeMichelle

Disclaimer: *The following story is based on situations and characters owned by J.K. Rowling,
Jane Austen, and their publishers.*

*(**A/N:* *T**his is it, the end, our Happy Ever After.* *You know
P&P. You know what happens. And Viktor gets to be Lady Catherine. Without the dress.*

*It**'**s been a great journey.* *Thank you all who are still reading this
fic!* *Longer A**/**N at the end.**)*

***

Ronald Weasley proposed to Luna Lovegood on an overcast day with a sprinkling of rain. The
couple were visiting Luna's father, and Ron pulled a box from his inside pocket, bent down on
one knee, and asked her to marry him. Luna responded with a “Yes, Ronald” and the couple sealed the
agreement with a kiss. Then, they all went to the Burrow to celebrate.

It had been several weeks since the elopement of Ginny and Draco, and the Weasleys were becoming
accustomed to their new in-law. Lucius was still in Azkaban. Narcissa lived a life of self-imposed
exile at Malfoy Manor. Draco was adjusting to a new, larger, boisterous family full of multiple
generations and in-laws.

“Slytherins. There's a definite lack of Slytherins here,” Draco drawled during one of his
first visits to the Burrow as Angelina and Fleur's children drooled on him.

Harry knew the day Ron was to propose, so he made sure Hermione was at the Burrow when Ron and
Luna returned with Xenophilius in tow.

Hugs and congratulations were exchanged as Molly started planning Luna's wedding. “If you
want any say in this at all, you need to speak now or forever hold your peace,” Angelina warned
her.

After some Quidditch and the usual large Molly-prepared feast, Harry took Hermione's hand
and led her to the frog pond.

“They're quite loud this time of day,” Hermione noted, listening to the cacophony of
ribbits.

“Maybe they want to be heard over all the other noise,” Harry guessed, and they watched Draco
yelling at one of the garden gnomes. “You know, I think this might work out.”

“What, Mr Potter? The frogs? The new Mr and Mrs Malfoy? Us?” teased Hermione.

Harry's face grew serious as he said, “Hermione, you know I—”“

“Auntie Mione! Uncle Harry! Uncle Ron and Auntie Luna want you right now!” Victoire ran down to
the pond, grabbed their hands and brought them back to the house.

Hermione laughed at the girl's antics. “Harry, were you about to say something?”

“It can wait.”

***

Once again, Hermione was the last one to leave her department. They were closer to a bill to
prevent house elf abuse—it was decided to start with that proposed law before the werewolf laws—it
was seen as a no-brainer to pass the Wizengamot, and Hermione was making sure every “`I” was dotted
and every “T” crossed. It was with surprise then, that a certain Bulgarian Seeker arrived at her
office door.

“Hermione,” he said, as he rushed into her office. “Is it true? I heard it and I could not
believe it. Say it's not true.”

“Whatever do you mean?” asked Hermione, puzzled.

Agitated, Krum paced the floor, running his long hands in his black hair. He finally stopped in
front of her, took both her hands in his and pulled her to his feet.

“You must tell me if it's true. Are you engaged to Harry Potter?”

Hermione almost laughed at the absurdity of it, but Viktor looked quite disturbed. “No, it's
not true. I'm not sure who your source is, but they're wrong. Ron Weasley and Luna Lovegood
are engaged, Draco Malfoy and Ginny Weasley are already married. Perhaps you have us confused?”

Viktor shook his head. “No, I am quite sure. My sources were quite clear, you and Harry were
engaged. I left training camp as soon as I heard. I had to hear it from your own lips.”

“Well, it's not true. You can go back to camp now, Viktor.”

Relieved, Viktor let go of her hands and Hermione was about to sit back at her desk, when he
turned and faced her again.

“So tell me it would never be true.”

Any amusement in Hermione's eyes left. “I can't say that, Viktor.”

He turned pale and gripped at her wrists. “You can't mean that.”

She twisted out of his grip. “I mean what I say. I can't say I'd never marry him. I
*can* say that we're not engaged.”

“Then you are going to be?”

“I'm not engaged. We're dating. That's what I know. I cannot plan the rest without
discussing it with Harry.”

Viktor tried to pull her close, but she resisted. “But us, our agreement—”

Hermione gazed at his brilliant dark eyes, the strong nose, and the shiny black hair. She
admired his mind, his athleticism, the kindness he always showed to her. She loved that he loved
her, that he cared for her. Often she wished that she could return those affections. But, these
past few months, she knew there was a reason she could not.

“Viktor—” she started, but her eyes said everything.

He dropped her hands, and backed away, avoiding her touch.

“Viktor—”

He held up his hand to stop any more words from her. “It is over then, for us.”

“Viktor, we're *friends*.”

Wincing as if receiving a physical blow, he held up his hand in defence. “Please, Hermione, no
more. My heart cannot bear it. I will go. Tell Potter congratulations. The best man won. I will
leave now.”

He turned to go and Hermione followed. “Viktor! I don't want our friendship to end.”

He turned quickly and glared at her. “I cannot do this anymore. This ends. Give me some time to
heal, but leave me alone. If this thing with Potter does not work out, do not expect me to wait for
you.” With that, he left.

Melancholy filled her veins. Her limbs felt weak and she sank into the nearest chair. She spent
the past two years dodging Viktor's advances, and now it was over. She had lost a friend.
Hermione was a witch who valued her friendships, who always remembered birthdays and anniversaries,
who always sent notes and kept in touch. Now, she just lost one of her dearest friends.

She sniffled, then, with a new resolve, wiped her eyes, smoothed her robes, and went back to
work.

***

“Where are we going?”

“It's a surprise! I think you'll like it.”

“You won't even give me a clue?”

“No, but you're so smart, you'll probably guess anyway.”

Harry and Hermione were queued at the Apparition point near the Ministry. It was Friday
afternoon and everyone seemed to be leaving for an early weekend. She faced him, and he held her
tightly for the side-along. She was smiling and he looked happy, but his smile tense.

They arrived at a small village. It reminded Hermione a bit of Appley, there was the main
street, only a couple blocks long but contained all the necessities one could want. There was a
park with a war memorial. Upon closer look, it turned into a statue of a man, woman and child.

“Harry, it's—oh!” Hermione gasped as she realised she was standing next to the grown version
of the baby; his murdered parents were immortalized in stone. “We're in Godric's Hollow,
aren't we?”

Harry nodded, there was tightness in his smile and he squeezed her hand. “Oh, Harry!” Hermione
only felt a rush of empathy and squeezed his hand hard, back.

Harry walked her through the refurbished house; he was very attentive to her reaction.

Hermione liked it. She noted it didn't seem like a bachelor pad at all but a family home,
very cosy, a mix of old and new.


He then took her to a spare room that was covered in bookshelves--empty bookshelves. He remembered
that he had the foundation reinforced because of the anticipated weight of all the books that will
be on those shelves.


Hermione stared at him, knowing he never owned that number of books, only she did.

Harry, suddenly shy, rubbed the top of his head, then the back of his neck. He had difficulty
looking her in the eye. And she stayed still, very still.

“Harry, is there something I should know?” she asked softly, her eyes fixed on his.

“Well, um, I'm not sure how to say this. It was much easier when I practiced in my head.”

He moved a step away from her, and she moved a step forward to close the distance.

“So, actually, well, I kind of, well, I kind of had you in mind when I had the house refurbished. I
thought you might like to move in with me.”

Her eyes grew large and she stayed silent. Taking that as encouragement, Harry continued.

“I know I told you ages ago that I loved you, and you basically told me to piss off and I'd be
the last man on earth, well, I thought about that then and you were right. I was being a prat. I
didn't then realise or say how much you mean to me, or *why* I loved … I love … you.

“I love how compassionate you are, like when you stayed at the hospital when Luna took ill, and how
you always look out for and defend your friends, regardless of what prats like me may think or
say.

“I love how you are so helpful. You helped us save Octavious, you helped us find Ginny and Draco,
you helped us find a cure for Luna, and you helped develop tools for us Aurors. Regardless that
you're already making the wizarding world a better place by advocating for the rights of
magical beings and changing laws, and taking on thousands of years of prejudice, you wilfully
volunteer your time and energy and knowledge for everyone else.

“I love how bloody brilliant you are. Do you realise when I have to a problem now, I say to myself,
what would Hermione think? What would Hermione do? Because you're the smartest person I
know.

“I love how brave you are. Really. You assembled your own Dumbledore's army and Apparated into
a battle! A battle that did not impact you in France but you did it anyway, at horrible cost.

“I love how you were always with us, with your Dumbledore puzzles, as you say. I would never have
figured out what a basilisk was in the Chamber of Secrets second year without your help, and how
you went to Durmstrang, realising they don't even *admit* Muggle-borns, but you did all
that just to do research for *us*?

“I love how you accept me as I am. You don't treat me like a hero or a fool. You just accept
me, and want me to be a better person because you deserve all that's best.

“I love you how fit in with my friends so well, and you're friends with all, regardless of
bloodline or House.

“I love how you're the person I think of when I go to sleep at night and when I awake in the
morning. I love how regardless of how much time we spend together, there's not enough. I love
how we can just sit in silence or talk for hours. I love how I can tell you anything at all about
me, no matter how foolish or stupid or embarrassing and you just accept me as I am.

“I love how when you touch me, I feel unconditional love.

“This is all the stuff I should have said months ago, but am saying it now. Hermione Granger, I
love you, and I'm guessing since you haven't told me to stuff it yet, you might feel the
same way about me.”

Harry finally stopped talking at looked at his love. Her eyes were bright; she was biting her lower
lip and taking deep breaths. When he planned all this, he was quite sure that she loved him too,
even though she never actually said the words. However, regardless of how sure he was of that, the
immediate fact that it was taking her so long to respond was quite disconcerting.

“Harry,” she finally started to reply, “I've loved you for weeks now. I'm absolutely
totally, 100% madly in love with you. Oh!”

She launched herself into his arms and they hugged tight, he buried his face in her generous curls.
Then, they shared a long, passionate kiss.

“Did I tell you that Viktor came by to see me?” Harry asked when there was a pause in the
kissing.

“No,” Hermione answered cautiously. “Why did he come by?”

“He asked if we were engaged, and then he told me that he asked you the same thing, you had
responded same as me, that we weren't, but you also refused to say that we'd *never*
be engaged. That gave me hope.”

“Oh,” Hermione said knowingly. “Well, my!”

He kissed her again. “Then I started daydreaming that we shared a home together. This home. This is
where I was born, and nearly died, but I wanted to fill it with better memories, with memories of a
new start, a new life with a new family.” He looked Hermione directly in the eye so she knew
exactly what he meant. And her look back did not waver.

Hermione looked around the room again. “I'd like that. It's a fine home. Seems like a
lovely town.”

“There's a lot of history here. You'd love it.”

“And it seems fitting that a Potter comes back to live here,” Hermione added.

“Yes.” Harry kissed her, glad she once again thought the same as he did. “And we're only a mile
from the sea. I would have preferred a house right on the sea, like Shell Cottage, but we're in
the same part of the country as Shell Cottage, and Ottery-St-Tadpole and Appley-on-the-Green. And
we can Apparate or Floo to the Ministry each day if you'd like, or stay at Grimmauld
Place.”

Hermione's huge smile was her response.

“I have to ask you,” Harry continued, asking a question that had been on his mind for months. “How
did you know it was me? How did you know Hank Pilsner was me, at Appley? No one else has ever seen
through my glamour before.”

Hermione paused before answering. Harry could tell she was seriously considering the question.

“I don't know, I just knew. Maybe it's like that quote from the Little Prince:
*`**on ne voit bien qu**'**avec le cœur. L**'**essentiel est
invisible pour les yeux.**'*** It is only with the heart that one can see
right. What is essential is invisible to the eyes.”

Joy filled Harry's heart and he pulled her into another tight embrace.

Hermione laughed.

“I'm so glad I can finally say it! I love you Harry Potter! I love you so very much!”

The kiss was passionate. They each filled the kiss with all the love they had for each other.
The love, the passion, the hope of a bright future. Together.

“Do you remember the coin you gave me? To remember you? To summon you?” Hermione asked when
there was a pause in the kisses.

Harry, half-lidded and drunk with desire answered, “Mmmm? Yes?”

“I've kept it.” Tucked in her pocket, she reached in and pulled it out, smiling as she held
it up for him to see.

He smoothed it between his fingers and smiled as well. “You didn't throw it out? I was quite
sure you wouldn't read the letter and just toss this, but I had to try.”

She reached on tip toe and kissed the tip of his nose. “Oh, I was tempted! But, well, I read
your letter and it was so wonderful, it made me think and realise I'd been a fool. It made me
question everything I've thought about. It made me grow up a bit and be less prideful. And this
coin, I never needed to use it, I think because lately we've always been together. But I shall
hold onto it, Mr Potter.” She took the coin out of his hands and put it back into her pocket. He
feinted at wanting it back, reached across to her pocket and gave her a kiss.

“Miss Granger.” Another kiss.

“You know why I love this coin? Not just because it came with a letter that smacked some sense
into me and showed me that I had been wrong about a certain young wizard. It's because the coin
is so *you*, and it's me as well. Look at this.” She held it up again so they both could
see it well. “The words: Truth, Equality and Love. Those are the most important things, aren't
they? And that's how I feel as well. That's why I'm doing the work that I'm doing,
and not going into research or a professorship like so many have suggested for me. But I know
there's more to life than books and cleverness. And this coin represents that. And, that this
coin would summon you? I had been cruel to you, but you still gave me *this*, you said that
you'll always be available to me and you would always aid me. That is *huge*, Harry.
It's so self-sacrificial, so kind, so…” At a loss for words, Hermione decided that even better
than *telling* would be *showing*, so she planted her lips against his, an action he
appeared to favour.

“You know my parents adore you.” She attempted another conversation. “When you Portkeyed to
France with me that time, my mother took me aside and said you were a very honourable and decent
young man. I tend to agree. And my father loves how you help out with his home repair work.”

“I like your parents. They're—they treat you like an adult. You can tell they love you, but
give you your independence,” Harry stammered a bit.

“That's good because I quite love them, too. And it helps that my boyfriend loves them,” she
smiled.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Boyfriend?” he asked. “I think we're beyond that, don't
you?”

“What are you suggesting, Mr Potter?” she asked with a happy smirk.

He kissed the tip of her nose. “I would think that the brightest witch of her generation would
be able to figure this out.”

The kiss was slow and languid, as if they had all the time in the world.

When there was a pause in the kiss, and their foreheads touched, each panting, Hermione, with a
twinkle in her eye, responded, “You're my housemate then?”

After the laughter, Harry set about proving he was more than just a future housemate.

***

“Marriage?” Parvati and Lavender cried together. “You're getting married?”

“How wonderful,” Luna added, her voice warm with affection. “We could have a double wedding. Or,
maybe not,” she quickly added when she saw Hermione's reaction.

“It's just that we want something small, and a long time from now. We plan to have a long
engagement. We want to live together first and just enjoy being—” Hermione suddenly coughed out the
word “—housemates.”

Luna looked bemused while Parvati and Lavender wrinkled their noses.

“Housemates?” asked Lavender. “We're housemates. You plan to argue about who drank the last
of the milk and forgot to replace it?”

“With a bloke, you'll argue about him leaving the toilet seat up,” Parvati giggled. Then,
she looked at Lavender. “But I doubt you'll be doing much arguing.” The two began making
exaggerated kissy noises at each other as Hermione considered what hex to throw at them.

“Be that as it may, I won't officially leave the house until you find another housemate. I
mean, with Luna leaving as well, I feel poorly that you two will be left in a lurch—” Hermione
began, but was interrupted by the other two.

“Oh, it's all settled, actually. We kind of anticipated this, so we made inquiries,” began
Lavender.

“And Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet plan to move it,” added Parvati.

“They travel so much, that they were looking for someplace inexpensive but fun to stay when
they're in London,” Lavender continued.

“And they will introduce us to more Quidditch players,” concluded Parvati. Then the two of them
looked at each other and said in unison, “Yum!”

“Since when did you two begin sounding like Fred and George?” asked Luna.

***

“Married?”

“Yes, married. I proposed and she accepted.”

“Bloody hell, Harry, that's excellent! We're both taking the plunge!” Ron exclaimed.
“This calls for Firewhisky, not butterbeers!”

The two friends were at the Leaky Cauldron relaxing after another day of work. Harry had planned
to tell Ron at home, but Ron was never home. Work was too busy, so Harry suggested they have a few
beers before going to see their respective girlfriends/ fiancées.

“To marriage!” Ron toasted them both.

“To us, the luckiest wizards here to have such fine witches agree to marry us,” Harry responded
with his own toast. In their celebration, the two Aurors failed to notice the camera that flashed
until it was too late and the reporter raced out of the pub.

“Bloody hell! Why does everything in my life end up on the front page?” Harry asked in
anger.

“Front page? Aren't you assuming too much? Not page three?” joked Ron.

Harry rolled his eyes and pulled out his cell phone. “I need to let Hermione know right away so
she can tell everyone she needs to tell before it ends up in tomorrow's edition.”

***

“Yes, Harry. I understand. No, it's not your fault. No, really. I've just been
postponing the inevitable but now I'm forced to do it, aren't I? Luckily my parents
don't get the *Daily Prophet* or we'd have to Portkey to France right away so you can
ask them before anything gets published. Yes, I still expect you to ask my father for my hand in
marriage. Yes, I'm old fashioned sometimes, we modern witches have that prerogative. See you
soon, take your time with Ron; I've got to write some letters now. Love you.”

Hermione ended the call with Harry and sighed. Luna, who was sitting beside her on the couch,
raised an eyebrow, waiting for explanation.

“I know it's not about the false Rumtuck Boodle sighting in Wales,” she said.

Hermione shook her head. “I wish that it were. No, Ron and Harry were toasting our engagements
at a bar and a reporter overheard. It'll likely be in the paper tomorrow, so I need to tell
everyone tonight.”

“Everyone meaning Viktor. The Weasleys already know and you told everyone at work, and I'm
sure Seamus spread the news among the Old Hogwartians.”

Hermione sighed again. “Yes. Viktor. I feel dreadful.”

Luna stood up and headed for the kitchen. “There's nothing like a good cup of tea to help
settle one's mind.”

Hermione frowned. “I'm not sure what to write. I mean, I know what to say, but not sure how
to say it. Usually my letters are so long, I'm not sure if I should explain myself away and
tell him every detail of how Harry and I just happened, or go over the good times Viktor and I have
shared, but that doesn't seem right. Or should I just say it and leave it, but that seems a bit
cruel. I don't know how to do this without hurting Viktor, but that isn't possible, is
it?”

“Hermione, if you were Viktor, which letter would you prefer to receive? Knowing that your love
is marrying someone else? What would cause you the least pain?”

Hermione thought for a moment, her body still and her head cocked to one side. And then she
picked up her parchment and quill and wrote.

*Dear Viktor,*

*I am so sorry to have to send you this letter and so quickly, but I understand the* Daily
Prophet *will have an article about Harry and me in tomorrow**'**s
paper**,* *and I need to tell you this soon. I would prefer to tell you in person, but
unfortunately, it cannot happen that way.*

*Harry and I are getting married. We**'**re in love and want to spend the rest
of our lives together. I think you may have guessed this would happen when I saw you last. I do
love you and consider you one of my closest, dearest friends. However, my feelings for Harry are
beyond mere words. I**'**ve never felt this way before and know I never shall
again.*

*But know this: know that I will always hold you in my heart as a warm, kind, generous man
whose strength, compassion and love has few equals. And I do love you.*

*With love,*

*Hermione*

Hermione showed Harry the letter later that night when they were snuggled up in her room. “No
secrets,” she said as she handed him the parchment.

His brow wrinkled as he read the short letter. Frowning, he handed it back to her. “I don't
like how often you use the word `love',” he said.

“I love him like a brother. I love you much differently,” Hermione responded and promptly
demonstrated with lips and hands on skin.

“Oh gods, how you distract me! I have to post this now before it's too late.” She summoned
her owl and tied the parchment to its leg. “To Viktor Krum,” she told the bird. “And don't wait
for a response unless he needs to.”

Once the bird flew away, she and Harry settled down to more snogging. Then she sat up suddenly.
Again.

“Merlin, how you distract me! What were we saying? Oh! Does everyone know? We'll visit my
parents this weekend, but does everyone else know?”

“Yes, we already told Teddy and Andromeda, all the Weasleys—and don't forget Molly insists
on hosting a celebration dinner for us—work, classmates, you've told your friends in France?”
Seeing Hermione's nod, he continued, “I'd like to tell McGonagall in person since she
practically set us up that day.”

“What a wonderful day that was! Could be my best day ever,” she said.

“Yes, the first time we had sex. Best day with more to come.”

“More than sex happened that day, Harry Potter. Oh! How did Reilly take it?”

“Very `I told you so'. Padma and Neville?”

“The same. Oh, did you speak to Ginny and Draco?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Yes, actually. She was visiting Ron, so I told her. She's actually quite happy for us.
She's madly in love with Malfoy, and he's happy for us, too.”

“I'm still getting used to them as a couple,” admitted Hermione.

Harry laughed. “Yes, their parents feel the same way as well. I can't believe the Weasleys
and the Malfoys are now in-laws!”

***

The headline read: “The Chosen One has Chosen: Wizarding World's Hottest Bachelor Chooses
Former Beauxbatons Student, Hermione Granger, as His Future Wife.”

“Could be much worse,” Luna said as the housemates read the paper over breakfast.

“I notice they actually printed nice photos of me this time. I guess Harry gave them a talking
to.”

“So, I hate to combine work and pleasure, but is the *Quibbler* going to post anything? And
you know that whatever you need, we'll give you the exclusive,” Hermione said.

Luna smiled. “I had a feeling you'd say that. I'm scheduling an interview with you both
at 11am today and he *Quibbler* wants your engagement photos.”

Hermione gave her friend a quick kiss on the cheek. “Anything for you. Have you told Harry?”

“Sent him an owl this morning. He already responded. What a morning person you're
marrying!”

“He's only a morning person if he has to be. Oh dear, here they start!”

Owls began arriving at their window. Hermione had never received so many owls in her life, more
than when she dated Viktor and that dreadful photo of her looking a stone heavier and hair bushier
than usual appeared in the local paper.

“I'll get out some water and treats for them,” Luna called as she went to fetch said
items.

“If I'm getting this many, Harry must be getting more,” Hermione thought out loud. She went
to the fireplace.

“Harry! Are you there? Did you see the paper? Are you getting owls?”

“Yes to both. Mind if I pop over?” her fiancé responded.

“Yes, please do,” Hermione answered, and she soon found herself with a soot-covered handsome
wizard.

“I don't know why I can't ever seem to make a graceful entrance via Floo,” he muttered,
dusting himself. Hermione performed a quick spell to remove all the soot. “Oh, hullo, thanks for
that.” She gave him a kiss. “And that, too.”

They held hands as she led him to the growing pile of parchment and owls.

“Should I be worried about anything other than howlers?” Hermione asked cautiously. “I was
thinking of doing a spell to detect dark magic, but thought I might be a bit paranoid.”

“No, you're not paranoid, you're quite clever. Here's a spell Ron and I use
ourselves at home.” Harry held out his wand and did an incantation Hermione was only vaguely
familiar with.

“Oh, that's a good one! I'll have to remember that. How are you? I'm sure you have
more posts than me.”

“Yes, and I'm ignoring them all. Somebody eventually will decide I should at least read the
ones from friends, but everyone I'm close to already knows, so I feel fine just ignoring them,”
Harry replied.

“Clever boy. But you know I'll be sorting through mine and yours eventually.”

He kissed her cheek. “Yes, I expected that. Did Luna tell you about the interview?”

“Yes, are you free?”

“For Luna, yes. Have you decided what to say?”

“The truth, but only as much as I'll share with total strangers. You?”

“The same.”

Parvati and Lavender arrived in the living room at the same time, rubbing sleep from their eyes,
which widened considerably upon seeing Harry Potter before them.

“Harry Potter! It's a bit early, isn't it? Sleep over, did you?” asked Parvati.

“Wonderful, those silencing charms,” added Lavender.

“They're like Fred and George,” muttered Harry aloud.

“Oh! Look at all the owls! For you, Hermione? Oh! The paper! They announced your engagement,
didn't they?”

“May I?” Lavender started scanning the posts. “You don't know a Mrs Eleanor Gobstop of New
Ferry, or Mr Horace Henfield of Devonshire?”

“Or Miss Wilma Ruggles of Hull?”

“No to them all. I'll look at them later,” answered Hermione. “I have to finish getting
ready.”

“You're not wearing that, are you?” asked Lavender as she eyed Hermione's simple skirt
and blouse.

“Well, these are clothes on my body, so the answer is affirmative,” Hermione replied
smartly.

“Well.” The posts ignored, Lavender and Parvati began circling Hermione. “Since this is your
first day out in public since the announcement,” Parvati began.

“And you know the reporters and photographers will be out,” continued Lavender.

“You really ought to look your best. And this is not your best,” finished Parvati.

Hermione shot Harry a look and he held up his hands in surrender as a response. “I'm not
getting involved in this at all.”

“Come along, Hermione. We'll fix you up! Periwinkle blue suits you better. And the grey
skirt, the slinky one. Shows off your legs,” Lavender said as the two lead Hermione towards her
closet.

“And let's tame your hair a bit, shall we?” Parvati added.

Hermione mouthed *Help me*, to Harry who only laughed and went to make himself a cup of
tea.

Half an hour later, Hermione emerged looking like herself, but in more amendable colours and
styles.

“We've decided that you need a stylist,” Lavender said.

“And a publicist. You two are pretty thick when it comes to the press,” continued Parvati.

“And we can help you. We've read enough gossip magazines to know what to do—”

“And not to do,” finished Parvati.

Hermione looked at Harry. He looked amused by it all. Not angry, not sullen, just like a laugh
was about to explode and he was trying to hold it in. How he had changed from that sullen brooding
man at the Puddlemere gala! She could only smile in response.

“I guess we could accept some consultation on an as-needed basis,” she replied warily.

“If you keep us true to ourselves,” added Harry.

The two newly-appointed publicist/ stylists clapped their hands in glee. “Oh! Excellent! We
heard Luna is doing an interview today. We'll be there. Luna! A word!” called out Lavender as
she and Parvati headed for the kitchen where their fourth roommate was last seen.

Alone again, Harry gave his fiancée a hug. “Whatever have we gotten ourselves into?”

“I wouldn't think you'd appreciate aiding the engine known as the press,” mocked
Hermione in lofty tones.

“Nor you. But, I figure it won't be for long. I'm sure some scandal will come along to
chase us off the front pages.”

“And relegate us to the back pages?”

“Or none at all, hopefully.”

“Once we're in Godric's Hollow, it'll be much quieter.”

“And I'd rather be in the press for stopping bad guys,” said Harry.

“Or passing laws for the rights of magical beings,” added Hermione.

Harry paused, and looked at his love deeply in the eyes. He suddenly saw a life with her. A life
filled with love, with hope, with children, with warm companionship, lust and love, with shared
dreams and ambitions, with common friends and interests. Together. Forever.

“Birth announcements,” Harry said quietly.

Hermione's eyebrows raised in surprise, but she smiled. “Yes. Our wedding and our
children's children.”

“An announcement that magical creatures are given full rights thanks mostly to Hermione
Granger-Potter.”

“And how Harry Potter found and imprisoned the last of the Death Eaters.”

“And their children headed off to Hogwarts.”

“To be Sorted into Ravenclaw”

“And Gryffindor.”

“And Hufflepuff.”

“And they played Quidditch and received top marks and were very well loved by their
parents.”

“Who continued to stay out of the public eye as much as possible, spending time with friends and
family in an undisclosed location—”

“—by the sea.”

“By the sea.”

“And they grew old together, happy in their quiet lives. Walking along the beach holding hands
as the winds blew in the salty fresh air.”

“And she would still kiss him every moment she could. Even forty years into their marriage.”

“Or fifty years. Or sixty.”

“—Until one day when they are quite old and after they had seen their children and
children's children and their children grow up, that they would one day not wake up but slip
from this world, and fade into the next.”

He silenced her. “Together. Their love is what matters.”

She smiled. Her heart, her home, her love was all in him. “Together.”

**

The End.

*Please read and leave your final review!*

That's it. This is the story I envisioned and wrote winter/spring/summer of 2010. Before DH
Part 1 movie was released.

Background/Muggle Historical references:


I envisioned the role of Muggle-born in wizarding France like African Americans in France during
segregation; that France would be a place without the restrictions and prejudices of their native
country


The Beauxbatons students who joined to fight Voldemort, I was influenced by the French
resistance during World War ll, in particular La Croix de Lorraine, the symbol of the Free French
Forces, the group led by Charles de Gaulle. The cross is named after Joan of Arc's and was used
as their answer to the Nazi swastika.


Hermione's friend, Marguerite, was named after a saint who spoke to Joan of Arc, Saint
Margaret. Marguerite's surname is Saint Denis, after another patron saint of France who was
martyred.


HUGE thank you to DeeMichelle for beta'ing me. She doesn't do HHr so I'm especially
grateful that she agreed to spend so much time and energy on this fic, especially when we both have
big RL commitments as well.

And thank you for all the readers and especially the reviewers. I have never received this many
hits before for anything I had written! I'm thrilled and honoured, and glad that others found
this story appealing as well. I just write for myself, then wonder if others would like it,
too.

So, I'm not planning any more fanfiction at all at the moment. I participated in National
Novel

Writing Month last November and really loved creating my own original characters and stories, so
I'll be focusing on that in the near future. If anything comes of it, I will certainly post a
note in my Bio. But bear in mind I only became a HHr fanfic reader fall of 2009, and when I
registered into Portkey as an ickle firstie, I said I wouldn't be writing any HHr fanfiction.
Another case of never say never.

Regardless, huge thanks everyone! I've really enjoyed writing this fic and especially
reading the reviews. I've written for two fandoms now and I feel best about this fic in
particular (probably since it combines my loves of Harry Potter and Jane Austen). I'm glad to
see others enjoy the blend as well. And it's a welcome break from my angsty one-shots.

See you on Portkey.org and HarryHermione Livejournal sites.

Hugs,

A.

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