16. Reunion

A/N: Hey guys! Here's another update to finish Harry and Hermione's time in Australia! Also, in answer to a question I received, this story will most likely be between 55-60 chapters when completed, and surpass Goblet of Fire in length, maybe even Deathly Hallows. Also, thanks to those of you who reviewed! And please continue to do so!

Chapter 16: Reunion

Within seconds the door was opened by a small woman with shoulder-length wavy brown hair who was wearing, Hermione noted with a pang of amusement, denim overalls. Hermione almost snickered -- her all-too-fashionable mother would never have been caught dead in such an outfit. Her mother smiled brightly, and Hermione had to control the urge to envelop her in a bone-crushing hug.

“Why hello!” Hermione's mother said cheerfully, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Can I help you with something?”

Hermione bit her lip, suddenly aware that she had planned nothing beyond this point. How was she going to convince her parents to let two strangers into their home?

Harry was quick with this realization, however, and promptly stepped forward, his hand outstretched in greeting. “Good morning, ma'am! Mrs. Wilkins, isn't it? What a beautiful home you have!”

Mrs. Granger smiled all the more brightly, turning her attention to Harry. “Why thank you, young man! It's quite pleasant to have your hard work appreciated. Now, if you don't mind my asking, what is it that you want?”

Harry flashed his most brilliant smile. “I sure can't get anything past you, ma'am! The two of us were just wondering if you'd like to learn something about a new line of sweets we're trying to put on the market.”

Mrs. Granger narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What sort of sweets?”

“Sugar-free, of course.” Harry replied without hesitation.

Her demeanor didn't change. “Aren't you two a little old to be selling candy? And too young to be opening a company?”

“What can we say?” Harry said, placing his hand on a bewildered Hermione's shoulder. “We're ambitious.”

A sparkle set into Mrs. Granger's brown eyes, and an ecstatic smile graced her features. “Well I should say so! I suppose it wouldn't hurt to hear a bit of what you have to say.” She opened the door a bit wider to allow their entry as she yelled for her husband.

“A sugar-free candy company?” Hermione said incredulously as she and Harry were led to a small sitting room.

“She bought it, didn't she?” Harry replied smugly. “I suppose it's the dentist in her.”

Hermione's only response was a roll of her eyes. She fought to hold back a smile but failed miserably. Damn his charm.

As soon as Mrs. Granger had settled them onto a soft red sofa, what could only be Mr. Granger entered the room. He was wearing a pair of thin wire glasses low on his nose, and familiar brown eyes peered over them to gaze irritably at his wife. Hermione noted with a shock that in addition to his short-cropped brown hair, he had apparently decided to grow a beard.

“Can't you ever let me read the paper in peace?” he said, waving a newspaper in the direction of his wife. Hermione couldn't help but smile. Same old dad. “I thought you were going out to tend the garden.”

“I was, but these two intercepted me at the door. They have a business proposition to discuss with us.”

Mr. Granger raised his brows. “Oh, really? Let's hear it then,” he said, taking a seat next to his wife across from Harry and Hermione.

Before either could respond, Crookshanks suddenly slunk into the room. Hermione had to suppress a cry of glee as the cat turned its yellow eyes to her. Then the cat, in an unusual show of excitement, dashed to his owner and leapt onto her lap, mewing furiously and rubbing his head delightedly against Hermione's arm.

Mrs. Granger looked a bit surprised as Hermione began stroking the cat, a huge smile on her face at her reunion with her pet.

“That's strange - he never seems to take to people like that.”

Hermione slowed in her petting, and glanced up nervously. “I suppose I'm just good with animals,” she said, removing Crookshanks regretfully from her lap.

“I guess so,” said Mrs. Granger as the cat jumped lightly onto her own lap. “Anyway, what about this business proposition?”

The couple looked expectantly at the teenagers, and Hermione let out a deep sigh. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins, the truth is…” Hermione quickly drew her wand and pointed it at the astonished couple. “You aren't really Mr. and Mrs. Wilkins!”

“Real subtle, Hermione,” Harry murmured.

Hermione's parents stood in surprise (causing Crookshanks to zoom from the room), but before they could do anything she had cast the counter-spell, the force of it pushing them back into their seats. The pupils of their eyes flashed white for the briefest second before returning to their natural shade. Hermione watched her parents anxiously as they shook their heads in a disoriented manner, casting their eyes confusedly about the room.

“What's going on?” Mrs. Granger said, looking with perplexed expression at her own attire. “And what on God's earth am I wearing?”

Hermione grinned in triumph; this was her mother, all right.

“And what's on my face?” Mr. Granger said, looking as puzzled as his wife as he stroked his newly discovered beard. He glanced at his daughter suspiciously. “Perhaps Hermione would like to fill us in?”

“Gladly,” Hermione said, and for the first time in over a year she walked over and hugged her parents fiercely.

She spent the next hour informing Mr. and Mrs. Granger of all that had occurred in the last year. Or most of it, at least. Hermione had always had limitations on what she told her parents about magic, and this was no exception. She told her parents that she had placed them under an identity-changing spell to protect them (“Not from fashion, obviously,” Mrs. Granger had said sullenly. “I would never be caught dead in this outfit.”) and a brief outline of the adventures she and Harry and Ron had had. Mrs. Granger particularly seemed to enjoy the snippet about the dragon (“A real dragon? Right under London? And to think I've been worried about the neighbor's dog getting loose in the street.”).

However, Mr. Granger did not seem quite as thrilled with these adventures as his spouse was. Hermione guessed it might have something to do with the fact that she had shared a tent with two boys for almost a year. She watched apprehensively as her father looked Harry up and down, glaring slightly. Harry didn't exactly look comfortable either.

“So, Harry, is it? Is this all that happened on this little adventure of yours?” Mr. Granger said affably, standing up and placing a large hand on Harry's shoulder. Hermione noticed that her father was at least a good four inches shorter than Harry's six-foot-one. Maybe five inches.

“Yes, sir, I believe Hermione pretty much covered everything,” Harry answered, fidgeting nervously.

“Are you positive about that, Harvey?” Mr. Granger said.

“Benjamin, stop interrogating the boy,” Mrs. Granger said in exasperation. “And you know good and well that his name is Harry. Hermione talks about him enough after all.”

Hermione bowed her head slightly in hopes of hiding the blush that had spread to her cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Granger said, releasing his grip from Harry's arm and turning to his wife. “We were just having a friendly conversation.”

“Sure you were, darling,” Mrs. Granger said. “And if you were any friendlier you would probably be arrested for assault. Now come sit down and let them finish their story.”

Mr. Granger submitted to his wife's request and returned to his seat, mumbling slightly under his breath. Hermione was amused by this newfound side of her father. The usually quiet tempered, thoughtful, scholarly man rarely confronted people in such a rude manner. It appeared that teenage hormones brought out the worst in adults as well.

“Well, I don't think there's much else to tell,” Hermione said, turning her eyes to her mother as Harry also settled himself back into his original seat. “After the war ended, I spent a few weeks at the Burrow with Ron's family, helping with post-war repairs and what not. And this morning I went over to Harry's home and asked him to accompany me to come here and bring you both back to England.”

“So soon?” Mrs. Granger sighed, casting her eyes longingly out of the living room window. “But we've just arrived!”

“Obviously not, Katherine,” Mr. Granger said. “From what Hermione tells us, we've been in Australia for over a year. I think we've been away quite long enough.”

Mrs. Granger sighed exaggeratingly once more. “I suppose you're right,” she said, standing up abruptly and smoothing out the wrinkles in her overalls. “Well, let's get to it, then. No point in dilly-dallying. I imagine my house-plants are dead-as-a-doornail by now.”

“No offense, mother,” said Hermione, “but they probably would have been dead whether or not you were actually at home to water them. I really don't know how you managed to keep that front garden in such good shape.”

“I have a garden?” Mrs. Granger said dubiously, ignoring her daughter's first comment. She scampered over to the window and looked into her front yard. “Huh. Well what do you know! Mrs. Wilkins apparently had quite the green thumb.” She turned excitedly. “Maybe it rubbed off on me!”

“I doubt it,” Mr. Granger said.

“And why would that be?” Mrs. Granger asked, her hands on her hips.

“You've never been able to keep a plant alive for more than a few weeks before. I just don't think a few months with another person's psyche would change that.”

“I think it might.”

“Honey, you've killed plastic plants before,” Mr. Granger said soothingly.

Mrs. Granger's shoulders slumped in defeat.

**********

Harry spent the next few hours helping the Grangers pack up their belongings. The procedure went by much more quickly than it would have the Muggle way. Harry and Hermione would levitate the objects Mr. and Mrs. Granger would set aside into their respective boxes, shrink the boxes, and then place the shrunken boxes into another box. By the time noon rolled around, the house was almost bare and it would appear to any passerby that the Grangers only had a box of belongings to their names.

“The little boxes are so cute!” Mrs. Granger said happily, holding one of sugar-cube sized boxes up to the light. “And to think that my entire shoe wardrobe fits in there!”

“Yes, I would never have guessed it myself,” Mr. Granger said as he placed dinner plates delicately in a padded box (he didn't trust Harry's magic with the fragile china and Hermione was busy with her shrinking charms). “Though, frankly, I'm still flabbergasted that they can fit in the city of London.”

Mrs. Granger sneered slightly at her husband as she replaced the little box. Her daughter quickly added a few more of the little boxes and then sealed the larger box with a final flourish of her wand.

“Well,” Hermione said, “I think that's everything.”

“It appears so,” Mrs. Granger said, surveying the empty room they were in. “That didn't take long at all. We would have been here for hours if it hadn't been for you two.”

“Technically, we wouldn't be here it all if it hadn't been for those two,” Mr. Granger said, and was met with a quick elbow in the gut, courtesy of Mrs. Granger. “I was only kidding!” he groaned, rubbing his stomach slightly.

“We really do appreciate it,” Mrs. Granger said sweetly, patting her husband on the back. “Don't we, Ben?”

“Yes, we do,” Mr. Granger grumbled, and retrieved his wallet from his back pocket as he turned to Harry. “I suppose I should give you a little something for your troubles,” he said, flipping the wallet open and ruffling through some bills.

“Oh, no sir, that won't be -” Harry froze mid-sentence, and swiftly smacked his fist into his forehead.

“Damn it!” he exclaimed. “Fiddlesticks still has my wallet!”

Mr. Granger looked at the boy oddly. “Excuse me?”

“Dad, Fiddlesticks is a wallaby,” Hermione explained, giggling at Harry's dilemma.

Hermione's father shook his head. “You do realize that clarifies absolutely nothing for me, right?”

“Sorry, Hermione,” Harry said, stepping slightly away from Mr. Granger. “I'd help unpack at your parents' house, but I really need to go take care of this.”

Hermione laughed. “Yeah, I bet Fiddlesticks is maxing out your credit card as we speak.”

“First of all, you know I don't have a credit card, and secondly, the little bugger probably would be if I actually did have one,” Harry said. “How about I meet you there in a bit?”

“Sure, that's fine,” Hermione said. “But you don't have to come over there if you have other things to do.”

“No, I want to,” Harry said. “This shouldn't take too long.” And with a pop he Apparated out of sight.

Mrs. Granger clapped her hands together in delight. “That's amazing! And that's so sweet of him to come and help us unpack.”

“Yes, that is rather sweet of him,” Hermione said, a pink tinge coming to her cheeks.

“And how are we getting back?” Mr. Granger said.

“Do you have your stuff?” Hermione replied.

Mr. Granger simply held up the box in response.

“We're leaving the same way he just did,” Hermione said. “Can one of you pick up Crookshanks?”

Mrs. Granger lifted the cat into her arms, and then went nervously to Hermione's side. Hermione then gripped both of her parent's tightly by the arm and disappeared from the house, feeling that a new life, a life truly free from war, could finally begin.

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18. Scrutiny

A/N: Another update! Hopefully you guys are enjoying it, because I haven't heard from too many of you guys. Thanks to you guys who have, especially AStatine and EmmaRadcliffe for reviewing regularly. I really do appreciate them. Also, in case I haven't mentioned already, I have a large arsenal of chapters saved up, so these frequent updates will be regular for a while. However, it did take me a while to save up such a large amount, so I'll give you a warning when the updates will slow.

Anyway, please enjoy and tell me what you think. Next chapter, Hermione gives Harry a special gift for his birthday. An entirely innocent gift, mind you. Just in case some of you, like my dirty-minded beta, jump to some other conclusion.

Chapter 18: Scrutiny

Harry sat restlessly, fidgeting nervously with the sleeves of his robes. He glanced about at the other young wizards sitting around the room in the Auror office. A thin mousy wizard paced constantly around the room, silently talking to himself in a very concentrated fashion. Another stout dark-haired man sat rigidly in his seat, patting his hand against his leg. One other wizard sat across the room from Harry, though he appeared more-or-less at ease. He seemed to be about the same height as Harry, but a bit more sturdy in build and with thick blond hair slicked back over his head.

Harry attempted to flatten his own hair, against his better judgment - he knew it was a losing battle.

All four men's eyes shot towards the door as a petite brunette witch opened it. She smiled warmly at the wizards before consulting a clip board she held against her chest.

“Hmm. Jeffrey Hannigan?”

The dark-haired wizard stood up quickly and crossed the room in large strides, as if he were worried the young receptionist would slam the door in his face if he didn't get to her in time. She closed the door and the mousy guy continued his pacing with renewed vigor.

Harry sank back into his chair a bit more comfortably and took a breath. He then noticed the blonde man staring at him, his brow furrowed. Harry picked up a magazine sitting on a table next to him and perused it with faux interest, hoping the man would look away.

Of course, instead the man stood up, crossed the room and sank into the chair next to Harry's.

“John Mitchell,” he said, proffering his hand to Harry. “I usually go by Mitch, though.”

“How's it going?” Harry replied, clasping Mitch's hand. He was reluctant to give out his name to potential competition. However, he also noted that Mitch appeared to have an American accent - maybe he wouldn't recognize the name anyway.

Mitch smiled, sensing the unwillingness, and withdrew his hand. “I'm assuming you're here to get into training?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. You too?”

“Yep. I just hate all of this interview bullshit. They'd be better off throwing us together and letting us duke it out. Being able to spout off credentials and spells and other crap won't get you anywhere if you can't really use them in tough situations.”

Harry could practically feel the glare from the pacing wizard boring into the side of his head. So that's why he'd been talking to himself.

“I guess I have to agree with you a bit there,” Harry said. “It's just going to get a lot of people killed if you freeze under pressure.”

“Right.”

“So you think you'll get in?” Harry asked.

“Pretty sure. My dad was Head Auror for the American Agency,” Mitch said.

“What brings you over here?”

“I wanted to make my mark somewhere else, and Britain seemed to be a pretty good place to do some dark-wizard-catching.” He then flashed Harry a somewhat bashful grin. “And the fact that my girlfriend lives here was a bit of a plus as well.”

“So the truth comes out,” Harry said jokingly, grinning as well.

The young receptionist suddenly entered the room once more. Jeffrey Hannigan stepped out and immediately began his trek to the Atrium, a look of pure relief on his face. The witch checked her clipboard, and Harry watched as her eyes widened a little. She composed her face as well as she could as she spoke his name:

“H-Harry Potter?”

Harry stood up and brushed his way past the thin wizard who now stood rooted to the spot and looked rather angry at the loss of an impartial competition. No doubt the conqueror of the wizarding world's greatest threat would get the job.

“How are you doing, Mr. Potter?” said the brunette witch with forced calmness as she shut the door. She was positively shaking as she observed Harry with a wide smile.

Harry responded in a similarly polite manner. “I'm doing fine, Ms….?”

The woman smiled even wider, though Harry had not thought this possible. “Oh! Melanie! You can call me Melanie!” she said excitedly.

Harry's reply was smothered by a loud voice coming from the room down the hallway. “Melanie! I don't pay you to stand around all day! Do I have another interview or not?!” the voice barked.

Melanie jumped slightly and scurried down the hallway, pushing Harry along as she went.

“Yes, Mr. Wahler!” she called ahead of her. Just before Harry was shoved through the door, she halted him abruptly and opened the door rather timidly. He walked in slowly behind her and stood by the threshold as she placed a few papers on an already cluttered desk before a slender man with iron-gray hair.

Melanie quickly retreated as soon as the papers had left her grasp and left the room. “Good luck!” she whispered, and the door shut with a rather ominous click.

Harry stepped forward nervously as Mr. Wahler perused what he could only assume was his application. He perched himself stiffly upon the edge of the chair in front of Wahler's desk and glanced around.

The room was rather blandly decorated - a single picture adorned the neutral toned walls and the only furniture consisted of the chairs and desk he and the Head Auror occupied. The only part of the room that was crowded was a bookcase near the door that was overflowing with all sorts of textbooks - Defense, Potions, Charms, Transfiguration - really anything that could aid a dark wizard catcher in any manner. Harry also noted a name card sitting among the disarray of reports and cases which revealed that Wahler's first name was Alec.

Wahler suddenly made a small, slightly interested noise as he observed Harry's résumé. Dark eyes flashed upwards to study the young wizard.

“Mr.…Potter,” the man said slowly. Harry noted the gravelly tone of his voice and was suddenly drawn to an ugly scar that stretched across his neck.

Harry offered his hand just as Mitch had done to him. “Mr. Wahler,” he intoned back as Alec gripped his hand in a strong handshake. He couldn't help but feel slightly inept before this obvious veteran.

Something about Wahler intrigued him. Harry hadn't been in the room for three minutes and he already held a complete respect for the man. Alec wasn't the biggest or strongest out there, but his demeanor suggested he was an exceptionally tough and competent Auror. Kingsley had obviously picked an excellent candidate to replace him as the head of the department.

Wahler gave Harry a thin-lipped smile as he withdrew his hand. “I can't say I'm too surprised to see you here, Mr. Potter.”

Harry nodded in acknowledgement. Survived the Killing Curse as an infant, exceptionally talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and vanquisher of the darkest wizard ever known. Of course Wahler wasn't surprised to see Harry in an Auror's office.

Wahler stood up suddenly and walked around his desk. He gave Harry a hard look before passing him to stand in front of the bookcase. Their backs were to each other, and Harry fought the urge to turn, instead choosing to stare blankly at the chair Wahler had just occupied.

Silence reigned in the room for several minutes, the only sound coming from Harry's watch. Tic. Tic. Tic. Tic… The quiet was unnerving, but Harry refused to let the tactic faze him. Or at least Harry refused to let Wahler know it fazed him.

Finally, Harry heard movement from behind him; it sounded as though Wahler had begun pacing. Alec's next words came as slowly and deliberately as the rate he walked.

“What are you doing here, Potter?”

Harry furrowed his brow, still facing the empty chair. “I'm here to interview for a job, sir.”

A hollow laugh met this response.

“Do you honestly think I have any other choice but to hire you?”

Harry suddenly felt cold, and he stood up from his chair to face Wahler.

“I don't know what to think, Mr. Wahler,” Harry said. “I came here for just the reason I told you - to interview for a job. I didn't come here expecting handouts because of who I am or what I've done.”

“Well, that isn't possible,” Wahler replied gruffly. “You can't change your identity or your past, and sometimes handouts are given even if they're unwanted.”

Harry took a few moments to reply.

“I expect to be treated the same as any other wizard or witch that has applied for this position. And if you're not willing to do that, I'll just find a different job.”

The young wizard and veteran stood facing each other, glaring into one another's faces. Harry imagined he was about to be thrown out of the office when a cold smile suddenly appeared on Wahler's face. The wizard circled back around and sat in his chair with an air of satisfaction.

“That'll be all, Potter.”

Harry's heart sank, but he nodded resolutely nonetheless and gripped the brass door handle to exit the room, all hopes of his dream career gone in a matter of minutes.

“You start on Monday.”

Harry paused, his hand still on the doorknob, and turned his head to look at Wahler, who still wore a small smirk.

“Sir?” Harry said, unsure if he had heard him right.

“Monday. Eight o'clock. Be here,” Wahler said.

“Really?”

“As I said, I really don't have any choice but to hire you, even if I didn't want to,” Wahler said. “Which I do. I know you'll make a damn good Auror. Hell, you're a damn good Auror already.” There was that smile again. “But, as you said, you expect to be treated like everyone else, and I am more than happy to comply. That's why you need to be here on Monday. That's when training begins.”

Harry felt light-headed with relief. “Yes, sir. I'll definitely be here.”

***************

When Harry arrived back at Grimmauld Place, he noted without surprise that Hermione's jacket was hanging from the coat rack within the entrance hall. He immediately began walking upstairs, where he was fairly certain he would find her in the library.

Hermione had been living with her parents for the past few weeks, but she often divided her time between Harry's and the Burrow. In the meantime she had grown quite fond of the expansive, well-stocked, and now clean ancestral library of Sirius' family.

He was not disappointed, of course. Hermione lay curled up in one of the chairs within the reading room, skimming through the print of a large history book. When she heard Harry enter, she promptly shut her book and straightened within her chair.

“So? How'd it go?” Hermione asked.

Harry smiled, and came to sit on the arm of Hermione's chair. “Well, technically I found it one of the most nerve-racking experiences of my life. But I got the job if that's what you're asking.”

“That's fantastic, Harry!” Hermione said, hugging him the best she could from their positions on the chair. “When do you start?”

“Training starts Monday.”

“Really? That soon? Well, I know you'll do great,” Hermione said, rubbing Harry's arm.

“Thanks. Let's hope so.”

“There's really nothing to hope for. You did defeat Voldemort, after all. If anything, you're probably over-qualified,” Hermione laughed.

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Being a good duelist is different from being a good Auror. I would never have gotten close to defeating Voldemort if it hadn't been for you.”

Hermione blushed. “Don't be so modest. I know you could've done it on your own.”

“Yeah, maybe in about fifty or so years.”

“I really don't think you give yourself enough credit,” Hermione admonished.

“I could say the same to you,” Harry replied.

“Hardly.”

“Come on!” Harry said. “You're absolutely brilliant and you don't even own up to it.”

“It's hard to own up to something that you don't own,” Hermione stated with an embarrassed air. “As you said, being a good duelist is different from being a good Auror; well, being good at schoolwork doesn't constitute brilliance.”

“Well, you are brilliant.”

“And I think you're a good Auror.”

“Fine,” Harry conceded, putting his hands up in defeat. “Let's just say we're both amazingly fantastic and call it a day.”

Hermione placed her chin between her thumb and forefinger in pretend thought. “I suppose that could work,” she said with a smile.

“It's settled then,” Harry said, smiling back. They held each other's gaze for a moment, then the doorbell suddenly rang from downstairs. Hermione shook her head and Harry rose from the chair.

When he had stepped into the hallway, Ginny's voice immediately wafted from the entrance hall. “Harry? Are you here?”

“Up here, Gin,” Harry called back. He waited a few moments for Ginny to ascend the flight of stairs.

Ginny gave him a quick peck on the cheek before flouncing into the library. She paused when she saw Hermione.

“Oh, hey Hermione,” Ginny said. “What brings you here?” The red-head's ice-tinged tone hinted at the slight animosity she still felt towards Hermione over the two-day disappearing act with her boyfriend.

“I just came by to pick up a book,” Hermione lied, holding up the history book as proof. “Then I remembered Harry's interview was today, so I waited around for a little while until he got back.” All true technically—just in reverse order. The real reason was Harry; the real excuse was the book.

Ginny didn't quite appear to buy this statement, but she dismissed it nonetheless, to Hermione's relief. However, she thought it best to make a hasty retreat in case Ginny rethought her original judgment.

“I was about to leave, anyway.” She quickly stooped and picked up her bag, slinging it across her shoulder as she avoided Harry's questioning gaze. “Congratulations, Harry,” she said as she brushed between him and Ginny, and left the room at a brisk walk, only slowing her pace when she had distanced herself from the stifling house.

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19. Happy Birthday

A/N: Hope you enjoy this update! Thanks as usual to those of you who've reviewed! Just to clear a few things up, this story goes all the way to the epilogue and then a little past it, as I mentioned in the summary. In other words, the epilogue IS going to happen. However, I've just changed the circumstances leading up to and surrounding it to make in H/Hr compatible. So everything is canon, but the purpose of the story is to show that H/Hr is still possible even with the epilogue. :)

Okay, so enjoy! Next chapter, it's Hermione's turn to get a surprise for her birthday. That's right, Hermione's birthday is finally getting some acknowledgment for once!

Chapter 19: Happy Birthday

Hermione stared blankly out of the window in Ron's room, observing the wilted plants that told of the intense July heat. She wiped her brow languidly, wishing she had thought to wear shorts.

Ron seemed equally lethargic (unsurprisingly) and lay face down on his bed, mumbling incoherently. She chose to ignore him, unsure if he had fallen asleep or was simply muttering to himself.

It was only when silence ensued several minutes later that she glanced toward the bed, where Ron was looking at her expectantly. She assumed his last mumble had been the start of a conversation.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that,” Hermione said apologetically. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you'd given more thought to what classes you're going to take at Hogwarts.”

“Um, not really. I figure I'll just take the same courses I would have if I'd gone to school last year.” When she had informed the Headmistress that she intended to come back to Hogwarts to complete her seventh year, McGonagall had generously told Hermione that she could take as few classes as she desired, depending on her choice of career. Considering the fact that she had absolutely no idea what she career she wanted, she imagined she would simply cover her bases by taking all of the basic courses.

“What about you, Ron?” Hermione asked as nonchalantly as possible. Ron had so far shown no indication whatsoever of taking a step towards finding a job, a fact that was beginning to aggravate her. He hadn't given so much as a hint of what he wanted to do. She had refrained from mentioning it to him to avoid seeming insensitive, but now that Harry had taken the initiative to get work, Ron really had no excuse. In fact, she had been immensely surprised when Ron had not signed up to interview with Harry.

“What do you mean?” he said, flipping onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

She furrowed her brow, trying to breach the subject gently. “Well, I'm going to finish my seventh year at Hogwarts. What are you going to do in terms of, you know, finding a career?”

Ron frowned. “I'm not sure yet.”

“You're not going to elaborate on that?”

“There's not much else to say,” Ron shrugged.

Hermione sighed. “Surely you have some idea.”

“Actually…there is something I've been thinking about,” Ron admitted.

“That's great! What is it?”

“I don't know…” Ron hesitated, not meeting Hermione's eye.

“Just tell me,” Hermione said. “Surely it can't be that bad.”

“Well…I've been thinking about partnering up with George at the joke shop.”

Or maybe it could be that bad.

Hermione didn't respond for a few moments, gathering her thoughts before she replied. “That sounds, er, interesting.”

Ron rolled his eyes at her less than enthusiastic response. “I knew you'd react like that,” he muttered.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. “React like what, exactly?”

“All patronizing and stuff. Just dismissing my idea like I'm five or something.”

“Well, considering you wanted to be an Auror the last time I checked, your downsizing to a clerk at a joke shop isn't exactly the most admirable move in the world.”

Ron finally sat up, glaring at Hermione. “But it's my move to make, so you don't have much say in it.”

“Oh, but of course,” Hermione fumed. “Only your mother has any sway in your life, after all.”

Ron turned blood-red, sputtering furiously.

Hermione stood up abruptly, sick of the conversation, and stalked across the small room. “I'll see you tonight at Harry's party,” she spat, and promptly slammed the door as hard as she could.

**************

Harry sipped reflectively on his butterbeer as he observed the crowd in the drawing room of Grimmauld Place. The showing was a bit stronger than usual, due no doubt to his defeat of Voldemort.

The majority of the surviving Order occupied the room, including Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, and Hestia Jones, who were chatting amiably among themselves. Kingsley Shacklebolt towered over Mr. Weasley and Bill as they attempted to pick up a particular station on the Wizarding Wireless Network. Hagrid, of course, also stood apart and was engaged in an animated conversation with Charlie (no doubt about dragons), while Seamus and Dean stood mesmerized before Fleur, who was trying unsuccessfully to engage them in an intelligent conversation. Even Professor McGonagall attended, though she was being bombarded with ridiculous chatter courtesy of Xenophilius Lovegood. Percy was the only Weasley who couldn't attend, and had sent his profuse apologies to Harry.

He had slipped away briefly from Ron, Ginny, Luna, Neville, and, to Harry's great surprise, Hannah Abbott, who had accompanied Neville to the party, to seek some reprieve from the attention. He was also curious as to where Hermione was. The party had been going on for at least half an hour, and there was still no sign of her. Hermione was never late for anything, let alone her best friend's eighteenth birthday party. Harry had questioned Ron upon his arrival about her whereabouts, but he had simply shrugged and pushed past him to reach the food.

Harry was brought out of his thoughts by a sharp rap on the back of the head and he turned to see George Weasley grinning back at him.

“Happy birthday, Harry!” he said.

“Thanks, George,” Harry replied, rubbing his head. “How's it going?”

George shrugged. “Can't really complain.”

“Business been good?”

“Oh, yeah, business is great! I'm actually working on a couple of new products. Not really too inspired, but the show must go on!” he said halfheartedly.

“I'm sure it'll be great,” Harry said. “I heard Ron might be coming to work for you.”

George gave a snort of amusement. “Apparently. He is my little brother. I had to toss the little moocher some sort of a bone.”

“I hope he chokes on it, too,” came a familiar voice from behind him.

Harry laughed as he turned to see Hermione standing behind him with a slight smile on her face.

“I take it you and Ronniekins had a row?” George said lightly.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said as she helped herself to some punch. “What would make you go and presume something like that?”

“Wow,” George chuckled. “Ron sure brings out the nastiness in you.”

“Unfortunately,” she muttered into her drink as George walked away. She then hugged Harry fiercely and said, “Happy birthday, Harry. I'm so sorry I'm late.”

“It's alright,” he said. “I was just wondering where you were.”

She frowned in Ron's direction. “I didn't really go anywhere. I pretty much just walked around for awhile and lost track of the time.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Fair enough,” Harry said. “Who needs emotional upheaval anyway?”

Hermione pursed her lips, suppressing a smile. “Vastly overrated.”

“It's not like talking about your feelings ever helps anybody anyway,” Harry continued dryly. “Bottling your feelings up is way more effective.”

At that statement, Hermione finally allowed the smile she had been holding back to burst forth, but it faded almost immediately. “It's not like there's much to talk about anyway. It's really just the usual nonsense he pulls.”

“If it was just the usual stuff, you probably wouldn't have been late,” Harry countered.

Hermione tugged slightly at the sleeve of her shirt, shrugging. “I guess it just bothered me more than it normally does.”

“Why?”

Hermione thought about it. “I'm not really sure,” she admitted.

Harry raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Hermione turned away slightly, eager to move on to a different subject.

“Anyway, I brought something for you,” she said, picking up a gift from the table that Harry hadn't noticed.

“You didn't set it down when you came in?” Harry asked, referring to the gift table at the entrance of the drawing room.

Hermione bit her lip. “Actually, I wanted to give this one to you in private.”

“Really? Right now?”

“If you wouldn't mind.”

Harry set down his drink. “Of course not. Let's go.”

He immediately grasped her hand and weaved through the crowd to exit the drawing room. Once they reached the hallway, Harry quickly led Hermione into the nearest bedroom, where the booming from the party was much more subdued. Hermione immediately sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her gift nervously in her lap. Harry took a seat next to her.

“Ok,” she said, moving to hand Harry his gift, “keep in mind that this isn't just from me. I just put it together.”

Harry accepted the present, and proceeded to unwrap the dark blue paper that covered it. A sleek, mahogany-colored leather album sat on his lap, not unlike the book he had received from Hagrid in his first year. However, when he opened it, photos were not brought into view - instead, the pages were filled with writing.

He looked at Hermione questioningly.

“It's from before the war,” she answered. “Before we left to look for Horcruxes.”

She left it at that.

Turning his gaze toward the first letter, he began to read:Dear Harry,

I cannot express just how very proud I am of you. It has been such a wonderful honor to watch you become the brilliant young man you are today. I do hope I'm not out of line in saying that I consider you one of my own children - and I know I am not alone in that sentiment. You have no idea how thankful I am that Ronald sat in the same compartment as you on the train in your first year - he could not have asked for a better friend, and I could not have asked for a lovelier blessing on our family.

Very sincerely, Mrs. Weasley

Harry smiled softly at the note. There was no replacement for the mother he had never gotten to know, but he knew that if anyone could possibly come close, it was Mrs. Weasley.

The letter immediately following was from Ginny.Dear Harry,

When I sat down to write this, there was only one thing flashing through my mind, and it was this: I can't believe you're about to leave. I always hoped there would be more time for us to spend together without worrying about all this You-Know-Who rubbish. But, as our Hermione would probably put it, the sands of time have slipped through the hourglass, and our precious time of love and youth is nearly up (I never much understood that Muggle poetry, either).

I really, really, REALLY (hint, hint) wish I could go with you, but I also understand that this is something you need to do on your own. I will be missing you and thinking of you every moment you're gone. Oh, and don't worry about that whole defeating-the-Dark-Lord thing. Whenever the time comes, you're going to tear him apart! YOU CAN DO IT!

XOXOXO (Muggle-code for “hugs and kisses.” Cool, right?)

Love forever and always, Ginny

Harry shook his head, grinning, as he turned the page. Leave it to Ginny to make her letter a pep talk.

The next notes he read through were from other Hogwarts students (primarily Gryffindors). Neville, Dean, and Seamus had all written short letters, as well as Luna, who had included an extensive list of edible plants and insects, most if which Harry was sure didn't exist.

He thought that he had read through every letter until he turned to the final page, where he was met by Hermione's unmistakable and pristine writing. Intensely curious, he bent to read once more:Dear Harry,

You have always been such an important person in my life. And I suppose that is precisely why the thought of you no longer being a part of it terrifies me so much. A short (or maybe not so short) seven years ago, I never would have dreamed of having a friend like you. I never would have dreamed when I read about you in all those history and defense books that I would ever meet you, never dreamed that the scrawny (sorry) little boy in that train compartment would be - and continue to grow up to be - the greatest man, wizard, and friend that I've ever known.

All these years we've been together and you've always been there for me, always been there to rescue me (I'll concede that I never complain when your “saving-people-thing” is benefitting me) from the biggest or smallest of dangers. I can always laugh or cry with you, and can always be myself around you. I'll never be able to fully and accurately put into words how much our friendship - all the times we had at Hogwarts - means to me. I can only hope that my friendship and presence in your life has been worth half of what yours has been to me.

I'll try to leave all my anxieties and fears about your future on this page, so that I won't be the blubbering mess I am right now - so I can be strong for you (and me) on this “mission” we soon leave for. I refuse to write down my principal fear - I refuse to give it the kind of credibility that the written word provides for such absurd thoughts as that. I'll just leave you with this one last comment. This is a short poem from my readings that won't seem to leave my mind until I write it down now: “To live in this world, you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”

I'm afraid that if this is what is truly required to live in this world, then I fully relinquish my hold on it. The first two requirements have come to me frighteningly easy, Harry; but this last duty is not one I am prepared to fulfill. So it is with confidence that I have decided I will not give these letters to you tomorrow as I had intended, but will instead give them to you when all of this is finally done and over with, when all of us come through on the other side unharmed and happy, and, most importantly, side by side.

Love always, Hermione

Harry glanced over towards the window, where Hermione stood with her arms crossed. Her foot was tapping nervously, probably in anticipation of when he read her letter. He stood up from the bed and crossed to her, and she turned toward him when he had neared.

"Did you finish it?" she asked.

Without answering, Harry enveloped her in his arms, and she melted into his embrace, resting her head against his chest. “Thank you,” he murmured into her hair. Hermione didn't answer, only squeezing him harder and burying her head deeper. They stood that way for some time, and eventually returned to the party, where Harry received numerous other gifts: candy from Ron, Muggle clothes from Ginny, a penknife from Hagrid, a collection of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products from George specifically intended for Harry's Auror career (Decoy Detonators, Instant Darkness Powder, Extendable Ears and the sort), and even a Quidditch set from the rest of the Weasleys.

But despite all these gifts, none of them came close to the small album of notes Hermione had given him, heartfelt messages alluding to a more innocent time not so long ago and the friendships that persisted through it.

And though the party lasted long into the night, for reasons Harry could not understand, the lone memory that persisted clearly in his mind was the small moment he had shared with Hermione, holding his best friend in his arms.

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20. Happy Birthday, Part II

A/N: Is anyone besides me a little peeved that Hermione never got any of her birthdays acknowledged in any of the books? Well, Hermione's finally going to get a little recognition. Thanks to AStatine and Meli for reviewing!

Chapter 20: Happy Birthday, Part II

Hermione sat solemnly in the Gryffindor common room, staring blankly out onto the grounds with Crookshanks on her lap, whom she had decided to bring along to provide some temporary company before being returned to her mother. The orange cat purred rapturously, stretching as Hermione mindlessly trailed her fingers up and down his back.

Hermione had just completed her third week of her “seventh” year of Hogwarts, and they were probably the longest three weeks she had ever spent at Hogwarts. Without Harry and Ron to break up the monotony of her days, her days were just that - monotonous. She woke up, washed, dressed, and was out of the dormitory before Ginny and her other roommates stirred. She then went down to breakfast, where Ginny would eventually join her on most days, and classes filled up the rest of her afternoon. After this, dinner was followed by homework and bed.

She had initially made a small effort to befriend her other roommates besides Ginny, but she had quickly abandoned that attempt. She was Hermione Granger, after all, best friend of Harry Potter (whose fame had increased ten-fold since Voldemort's defeat, especially in the eyes of Hogwarts students), and this was pretty much the only topic spoken of when Hermione joined the conversation.

Ginny also received a large brunt of these questions, but she seemed to thrive on the attention. Hermione, however, found the continuous barrage frustrating, annoying, and in many cases inappropriate. To her intense surprise, many of the older students remembered and still believed the rumors that Rita Skeeter had published in her fourth year. Without Harry's presence, students apparently had a bit more courage to approach her on the subject, and Hermione eventually just avoided these little chats altogether.

She missed Harry and Ron terribly, but today she was feeling particularly depressed. It was a beautiful day - cloudless sky of the brightest blue, a pleasant breeze blowing through the trees, the Black Lake calm except for the small movements made by the giant squid drifting below the surface. And to top it all off, it was Saturday as well.

Hermione would have normally been in at least a decently good mood, happy and energized by the brilliance of the day, but today it was impossible. Because it wasn't just Saturday. It was Saturday, September 19. Her nineteenth birthday.

Ginny had greeted her in the Great Hall that morning and presented her with a blouse and skirt from the same Muggle store she had purchased Harry's gift from two months earlier. Marcellus had dropped off gifts and letters from her parents, George, and Hagrid, as well as a large cake from Molly delivered by Errol. Ron had sent his gift (perfume) and a short note along with George's. But no word yet from Harry.

She sighed softly, sinking back further into her chair.

“Why the long face, birthday girl?”

Hermione sat up swiftly, knocking Crookshanks from her lap in the process. She turned her head in every direction to detect where the voice had come from. A dozen or so Gryffindors milled around the common room, but none were paying her any particular attention due to her inconspicuous seating choice near the wall.

She furrowed her brow.

“Did I startle you?” came the voice again, and Harry's head suddenly became visible next to her chair.

“Harry!?” she hissed, glancing around the room once more to ensure that no students had noticed his entrance. “What are you doing here?”

“I'm here for your birthday. Why else?”

“I would hope so,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes. “I mean what are you doing here. In the Gryffindor common room.”

“I had to get you out of here somehow,” Harry answered.

“You could've sent a note with Fitz or something.”

“I wanted to surprise you. And the way you bolted from your chair seems to tell me that I succeeded.” He covered his head with his invisibility cloak and disappeared from view. “You walk out of the portrait hole, and I'll follow you.”

“Fine,” she muttered, standing up. “You better be right behind me, though.”

She strode briskly across the room and firmly pushed the portrait, allowing it to swing open a bit wider than usual. She felt Harry brush against her arm and then shut the portrait hole.

Before she could speak, Harry had flipped the cloak over her, enveloping them both in its folds.

“Happy birthday,” he said, grinning at her through the darkness of the cloak.

She smiled back. “I've missed you so much,” she said, barely having to move at all to hug him. “It's not really Hogwarts without you and Ron here.”

“I've missed you too,” Harry said, breaking away from her and then leading her down the corridor. “I'm sorry I've not written you that much. Training's been kind of intense.”

“I understand,” Hermione said. “It's not like you have to write everyday.”

“I feel like I should. I'm used to seeing you almost every day, so letters are about as close as I can get to that. McGonagall won't let me visit too often, though. She's making an exception for today.”

“She is taking her headmistress duties pretty seriously,” Hermione conceded.

Harry nodded as they made their way across the courtyard. “Doesn't surprise me. She's got some big shoes to fill.”

“Yes - it would be pretty difficult to compare to Dumbledore.”

“Anyway,” said Harry, changing the subject, “have you heard from Ron today?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “He sent me a bottle of perfume and a note earlier.”

“Perfume? Again?” Harry said. “He needs to get a little more creative.”

“Well, it smells better than it usually does. That's a plus.”

“True,” Harry said with a smile. “Did he say anything newsworthy? I haven't spoken to him for a few days.”

“Just wished me a happy birthday,” Hermione said, walking quickly to keep up with Harry's longer strides. “He didn't mention anything about himself.”

“He started work at the joke shop earlier this week. Has he told you that?”

“No,” Hermione said, a bit snidely. “It doesn't surprise me though. I think he's still a little sore that I don't support his choice.”

“He'll get over it eventually,” Harry said.

Hermione didn't respond for a few moments. “When can we take the cloak off?” she asked, changing the subject as Harry had. “It's a little stuffy.”

“As soon as we get past the gates,” Harry answered.

When they had reached this location, he lifted the cloak from them and stuffed it into his pocket.

“Hogsmeade, m'lady?” he asked politely. “Just outside the village?”

“Sounds perfect,” Hermione said.

“All right then. See you when you get there.” He Apparated away, and Hermione followed immediately.

*************

They spent the rest of the day in the village, shopping in any store that met Hermione's fancy. Harry insisted on paying for her expenses, to Hermione's agitation, and he was soon laden down with bags.

After a few hours, Harry suggested they stop in to the Three Broomsticks. Hermione agreed, and they pressed their way into the crowded pub. Harry pushed his way toward the back, where he placed Hermione's purchases below a small table. After Hermione had sat down, he pushed his way back towards the bar, returning moments later with two butterbeers. Hermione took a few sips before speaking.

“So you said earlier that Auror training has been tough?” she said, setting down her bottle.

“Oh, yeah. It's absolutely exhausting. I've finished the Defensive program, which wasn't terribly difficult - protective spells, countercharms. Really just a little more advanced than what we've already learned. Some basics like Expelliarmus and more advanced spells like the Patronus charm.”

“You must've breezed through that,” Hermione said.

“More or less. But we've started the Concealment section, and it's a lot more difficult. We were never taught that much in Hogwarts about disguising spells, so a lot of it's new to me. I was actually thinking about…” Harry paused.

“About what?” Hermione prompted.

Harry drank a swig of his butterbeer. “Becoming an Animagus.”

Hermione's eyes widened. “Really?”

Harry shrugged. “Well, yeah. My dad and Sirius seemed to get pretty good use out of it. And Animagi are considered pretty valuable in the Auror Department. If I need to learn to conceal myself, I might as well do it right, you know?”

“Of course!” Hermione said. “I think it's a brilliant idea.”

“You do?” Harry asked.

“Absolutely. Who knows, maybe your father being one may give you some kind of advantage. Maybe some kind of hereditary predisposition.”

“Hopefully,” Harry said, leaning back in his chair where it was balanced on two legs. “This'll probably be the most difficult thing I do in training. Merlin knows I'm going to need all the help I can get.”

An idea suddenly sprang to Hermione's mind.

“Well, I could help you.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked. “Like walk me through the process?”

“Not exactly. I was actually thinking that I would become an Animagus with you.”

Harry's chair fell back to all fours with a loud clatter. “You want to become an Animagus.”

It wasn't really a question, but Hermione answered anyway. “Sure, why not? It sounds like it would be pretty interesting. Plus, it would be a lot easier to help you if I'm learning with you and know what you're going through.”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head in disbelief. “Leave it to you to decide to learn one of the most difficult forms of magic because it sounds `pretty interesting.' You just want a challenge, don't you?”

Hermione blushed. She gave a barely perceptible shrug, looking at Harry guiltily with a small smile. “And you don't?”

Harry laughed. “Fair enough. So you really want to become an Animagus with me?”

“I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't want to.”

“Alright then,” Harry said. “You're on. When we get back to the school, I'll ask McGonagall about using the Room of Requirement a few days a week.”

“And I'll start reading up about it. Maybe McGonagall would have a book concerning the process.”

Harry chuckled once more at Hermione's enthusiasm.

“It's a date, then,” he said, and Hermione was forced to rein in the beam that spread over her face.

************

Harry ascended the steps toward the headmaster's office. He had just left Hermione at the portrait hole of the Fat Lady, and he figured that he might as well ask McGonagall about the Animagus sessions sooner rather than later.

Harry knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he heard called from within.

Harry pushed open the door and took a precursory glance around the office. To his slight surprise, McGonagall had imposed little of her personal taste in the room. He was also surprised to see Severus Snape staring distastefully down his hooked nose from a portrait behind the desk in which Professor McGonagall was sitting.

She glanced up from the parchment she was writing on, and immediately dipped her head downwards once more.

“Mr. Potter. I trust your day has been pleasant?” she said, scribbling away.

“Yes, very. Thank you, Professor.”

“Well, you know where the Floo powder is. Help yourself.”

“Actually, Professor, I needed to ask you something.”

“All right,” McGonagall said. “Go ahead.”

“I was wondering if I could come here a couple of times a week to study with Hermione.”

McGonagall pursed her lips, but continued writing. “What exactly are you studying that requires Ms. Granger's assistance?”

Harry caught McGonagall's implications, but chose to ignore them.

“Animagi magic.”

That got her attention. She placed her quill in an inkwell and stared at Harry.

“I assume this is for Auror training.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And I would also assume you know the difficulty of that particular form of magic?”

“Yes, Professor.”

“And you still wish to continue with it?

“Yes, Professor.”

“Why?” she stated bluntly. “There are many other simpler spells that will be sufficient to become an Auror.”

“Well, Professor, to be perfectly honest, your skills in that form of magic have always inspired me,” said Harry charismatically.

McGonagall smiled. “Mr. Potter, I hope you don't attempt to lie - I mean charm - your employer so blatantly. But, yes, you may come on Saturdays so Ms. Granger may assist you. And Tuesdays if necessary. You will definitely need the help. And I will also insist upon you continuing to use that cloak of yours to make your way around the castle.”

“Thank you. I'll get out of your hair now, Professor,” Harry said, grabbing a fistful of Floo powder from a tin on her desk.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said as he moved towards the fireplace, “since I am no longer your teacher, you do realize you don't need to refer to me as `Professor' anymore?”

Harry threw the powder into the fire. “Professor,” he said, “since I am no longer your student, you do realize you don't need to refer to me as `Mr. Potter' anymore?”

McGonagall gave him another small smile, shaking her head as she picked up her quill. She glanced up, a Dumbledore-like twinkle in her eyes. “Have a good night, Mr. Potter.”

“You too, Professor McGonagall,” Harry said with a grin, and then stepped into the emerald flames, stated his destination, and disappeared in a flash of green.

**********

A/N: Next chapter, Harry and Hermione start preparing to become Animagi! :)

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21. The Iumentum Elixir

A/N: Hey guys! Yet another update for y'all! I think most of you should quite enjoy this one. Please let me know what you think of it, including the process I came up with for their transformations. Just so you know, their actual transformations take place in the next chapter…this is their prep for it.

Thanks to Happy, Bexis, justduck, and EmmaRadcliffe for your reviews!

Chapter 21: The Iumentum Elixir

Harry stepped gratefully into the cool corridor on the seventh floor, feeling intensely high-strung as he made his way down the deserted hall. Almost a full month had passed since he and Hermione had started their plans to become Animagi, and he was quite anxious to begin the actual process.

When Harry had greeted Hermione in the Room of Requirement a week after her birthday, he had not expected the news she had told him: to become an Animagus, a potion was required that was similar in composition to the Polyjuice Potion - but even more difficult to create.

According to Hermione, the potion, known as the Iumentum Elixir, would essentially alter their chemical makeup in a more permanent and drastic way than the Polyjuice Potion, enabling them to transform. She had spent the three weeks since then brewing the complicated mixture, and, to Harry's pleasure, it would be ready tonight.

He quickly paced the familiar tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy, thinking of the desired room, and the highly polished door sprang into view. When he entered the room, he saw Hermione sitting cross-legged before two bubbling cauldrons, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans (similar to his own attire).

“How's it going?” he said without preamble, sitting down next to her as she added a fistful of fluxweed to each cauldron.

“Only a few more ingredients,” she murmured, brow furrowed as she measured out essence of belladonna. She carefully added equal doses to each potion.

“Could you pass me those vials next to you?” she said, stirring in the belladonna in a counter-clockwise rotation.

“Sure,” Harry replied, picking up two small crystal bottles sitting on a table beside him. One looked as though it contained a clear sparkly fluid; the other was filled with blood.

“Thanks,” she said, taking the vials. “Diluted unicorn horn and dragon's blood. They're only used in the most powerful potions.” She held both vials over one of the cauldrons and tipped them over carefully, allowing one drop from each to fall simultaneously into the elixir. She repeated the step with the second cauldron and then dusted her hands off satisfactorily.

“Done,” she said. “Well, at least as much as I can do. The rest of the steps are personalized.”

“Okay. What do we do?”

“There's a three step process to complete the potion,” Hermione said knowledgeably. “Each step requires a part of the person who will drink the potion and an incantation. After each step, the potion will change to a shade that characterizes a certain aspect of the person's personality and a moonstone of that particular shade should be added.” She paused, gesturing to a small pile of smooth stones in a large variety of shades on the floor behind her. “Moonstones are used for emotional balance, so I presume they ensure that we keep our human emotions when we transform.”

Harry scratched the back of his head. “That's not complicated at all,” he said sarcastically.

“Piece of cake,” Hermione said, smiling. She pulled a large tome onto her lap and flipped it open to a marked page. “Okay,” she said, trailing her finger down the page. “The first step requires…” Her eyes searched the book. `“The hair of the future Animagus.'”

“Easy enough,” Harry replied, reaching over and plucking a strand from Hermione's head.

“Ow!” she yelped, and promptly snatched a hair from Harry's head as well, resulting in a similar bark of pain. Smiling gratifyingly, she dropped Harry's hair into the cauldron nearest him; Harry did the same with Hermione's. She then produced her wand and pointed it at her own potion.

“Amitto Humanus!” she said, and immediately repeated the spell over Harry's potion. The mixtures emitted a soft glow, and then proceeded to change colors: Hermione's to a soft sky blue, Harry's to the purest gold.

“Pretty,” Harry noted dryly.

Hermione giggled, bending over her book once more.

“Alright, let's see,” she said. “Blue…blue…it's says here that this shade of blue indicates `peacefulness, clarity and communication, truthfulness, and intuitiveness.'”

“I'd say that's accurate,” Harry said. “Well, maybe not the peaceful part.” Hermione slapped him in the arm.

“You're just proving my point, you know,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his arm. “Anyway, what's the gold mean?”

A small pause. “Gold… `the color of enlightenment and divine protection. When seen within the aura, it says that the person is being guided by their highest good.'”

Harry scowled. “That's just great. Even my potions fawn over me.”

“You know it's right, though,” she said, searching the moonstones for the appropriate colors. When she found them, she tossed them into the potions, causing them to pop loudly.

She referred to the book once more. “It says the next part requires blood.”

“How much?” Harry said warily, his mind flashing back to the use of his blood for Voldmort's return.

“Just a drop,” she said. “We need a knife, though.”

“Right next to you,” Harry said, amused by the mysterious powers of the room.

Hermione picked up the small dagger and gave her index finger the smallest prick. Harry followed suit, watching as a small amount of blood beaded over the cut. They held their hands over the cauldrons, and after a few moments a single drop thumped heavily into the potions.

Pinching her bleeding finger, Hermione once again pointed her wand to each cauldron.

“Novo Bestia!”

The colors began to shift. After a moment, the sky blue had become bright yellow and the gold had turned into a clear red.

“Gryffindor through and through,” Harry said proudly.

“We'll see about that,” Hermione said, poring over the book. “The Sorting Hat may have been having an off-day. Red's characteristics are… `powerful, energetic, competitive -'”

She stopped abruptly, cheeks reddening slightly before speaking again. “…sexual, and passionate.”

Harry laughed after a moment. “Spot on if you ask me!” he said cheekily.

But Hermione had already turned to her book, still blushing.

“Yellow,” she said distractedly. “Um, creative…intelligent…detail-oriented and a perfectionist. Obvious, really.”

She told Harry to find the appropriate moonstones as she flipped back a few pages to read the next step. When he had found them, he tossed them into their respective potions.

“Consciousness is the last bit,” she said as the elixirs popped again. “A piece of your mind. The book says it's the most important part of the potion.”

“How do we put a piece of our consciousness in there?” Harry asked, intrigued.

Hermione laid the book aside a twisted herself slightly to face Harry. “It's just like a Pensieve, really. Except you're not picking a specific memory. Instead of bringing a memory to the front of your mind, you have to clear it.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Harry mused. “You or me first?”

“Close your eyes,” Hermione said. “I'll go next.”

Harry acquiesced, allowing his eyelids to droop over his eyes. He breathed deeply through his nose, and released them through his mouth. He willed himself to think of nothing, and his mind soon became an empty void. His Occlumency training, though predominantly unsuccessful, had at least given Harry a small amount of efficiency in clearing his thoughts.

He barely felt the tip of Hermione's wand being pressed gently into his skull or acknowledged the sensation as a piece of his consciousness was separated from his mind.

“You can open your eyes now.”

His eyes flitted open in time to see Hermione deposit the silvery strands into his potion. The red became deeper, darker.

“Now you get my thoughts,” Hermione said. “It's easier to keep your mind clear when you don't have to get them yourself.”

“Alright,” Harry said. Hermione shut her eyes. He watched, amused, as her forehead wrinkled in concentration. She bit her lip, her eyes scrunching more tightly. He waited a few moments, watching her face curiously, wondering what she was working so hard to banish from her mind. Eventually her face began to relax, though. Her face was soon smooth and content, and Harry placed his wand gently near her hairline. When he pulled his wand away, wispy strands of consciousness clung to its tip.

“Done,” Harry said, and she opened her eyes. He tapped his wand against the edge of her cauldron and her consciousness floated gently into the sunny brew. As expected, a soft glow emanated from the potion, and then it shifted colors and became green. A bright, emerald green.

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who suddenly looked rather nervous for some reason and didn't meet his eyes. He assumed she was becoming anxious about the accuracy of the potions.

“What do these colors mean?” he said, hoping to distract her from her apprehension as he searched for the correctly colored moonstones.

“Oh, right,” she said. “Deep red means that you are -- grounded, realistic, active, ambitious and strong-willed. The green… it says greens are `extremely bright, efficient, and strong-willed. They love to set goals and are determined to achieve them. Green represents growth and balance and most of all...something that leads to change.'”

Harry dropped the final moonstones into the cauldrons. Hermione had an unreadable expression on her face.

“What do you reckon that last bit means?” he asked.

“I'm not sure,” Hermione said, still not looking at him. “Guess I wouldn't know until it happened.” She snapped the book shut.

“There's only one other spell,” she said. “But it's supposed to be directed at the Animagus after he drinks the potion. The spell activates it. And I think it would be best if we took it one at a time. The book doesn't detail the immediate effects of the potion, and if something goes wrong one of us needs to be able to deal with it.”

Harry nodded. “I'll go first, then.”

Hermione seemed uncertain about this. “Are you sure? After all, if something goes wrong it'll be my fault.”

“Doesn't matter. If something wrong does happen, at least it's not going to happen to you,” Harry said. “Plus, you're the one who made the potions - there's absolutely no way there could be anything wrong with them.”

Hermione couldn't suppress the smile that crossed her face. But she still didn't look at him. At least directly. She seemed to be focusing on a fixed point just beyond his shoulder anytime she faced him.

“Well,” he said, filling a tumbler with the dark red liquid. “Bottoms up.”

He pressed the glass to his lips and tipped it upwards, feeling the elixir slide down his throat, warm and surprisingly tasteless. He set down the glass and stood up.

Hermione stood up as well. They walked a few paces from the cauldron and then stood facing each other. She raised her wand and pointed it to his chest, looking extremely focused.

“Tandum Coadunatio!” she cried, and a white light shot towards his chest. As it collided with his body, Harry realized he hadn't been at all prepared for the sensation that was flooding through him.

The sheer amount of pain was almost unbearable.

The moment Hermione's spell had connected, his skin began burning furiously. The blood pumping through his veins was like liquid fire. He couldn't think or process his surroundings at all - his head was pounding too fiercely against his skull. He barely acknowledged that he had clawed at his shirt in a desperate attempt to escape the heat, causing the buttons to pop away from him, barely felt himself fall hard to his knees, bent double and clutching his head as if it were about to explode.

And all he could do was wait until the terrible fire inside him stopped.

**************

Hermione watched helplessly as Harry fell, the pain evident by his contorted expression. She gripped her hands tightly, forcing herself to stay still as he ground his teeth together, eyes shut tightly.

When he had been ripping frenziedly at his shirt, she had been on the verge of running to him and shoving a bezoar down his throat in hopes of canceling the potion's effects, but was stopped when she saw that his chest still bore the disfiguring, bruise-like mark that she had first seen so many months ago. The mark, though it seemed slightly smaller than before, was just as dark and permanent as ever. She ached with curiosity and concern as he thrashed around, and she felt tears well in her eyes as his convulsions became worse.

But just as his shaking reached an all-time high, his body seemed to almost collapse into itself in exhaustion. His face relaxed, and his shoulders slumped.

Then he stood up.

Feeling deeply relieved, she began to approach him, glad that the potion's effects had lasted such a short time (chronically, at least - emotionally it had felt much longer). But something about his stance made her freeze.

His breaths came rapidly, deep and calculated. A thin film of sweat coated his face and chest, the shirt he had torn off laying forgotten on the floor. He began to walk toward her slowly, his expression unreadable. Just before he reached her, her eyes finally met his, expecting to see the eyes she had tried to avoid, those eyes of the exact emerald green as her potion.

However, nothing of his emerald irises could be seen just now. His pupils were dilated to the point that all Hermione could see was black; his eyes were unusually bright and undeniably…feral. Her instincts were telling her to move, but something in his gaze held her in position. She felt her breath catch as he stared intensely into her eyes, her heart beating more rapidly with each step he took towards her.

And suddenly, his lips were pressed forcefully upon hers.

Hermione felt herself go rigid, too startled to do anything as Harry kissed her. `What in the world is he doing!?' she thought to herself frantically, uncomfortably aware of his bare chest pressed against her. She had thought of him kissing her countless times, but this wasn't quite what she had in mind.

He pushed her roughly against the nearest wall, snapping her out of her initial shock and proceeded to attack her neck hungrily. A moan fell unwarranted from Hermione's lips, but was cut off as Harry recaptured her mouth once more.

Still bewildered (and very reluctant), Hermione finally managed to tear her face from his. She quickly ducked below Harry's arm and dashed across the room, but before she could glance over her shoulder he had overtaken her once more. They fell to the floor together, and Harry pinned her to the ground, beginning to kiss her with renewed vigor.

His hands slid up her arms, until one was behind her neck, holding her face closer to his. His other hand remained on her shoulder, and she gave a squeak of surprise as she felt the collar of her shirt rip.

“Harry!” she squealed, muffled by his lips. “What are you doing!?”

But Harry was far too gone to hear her. His most primal instincts were at the forefront of his mind, and no human hesitations slowed him down.

Pulling her arm free from Harry's weight, she felt around madly around the floor for her wand, which had fallen from her hand as she had been knocked down. Thankfully, her hand connected with the smooth wooden handle after a moment and she yanked it towards her. She jabbed it forcefully into Harry's side, causing him to jerk away from her slightly.

“Repello!” she yelled frantically.

Harry was blasted across the room by the force of the spell, where he slammed into the wall before landing in a heap on the floor. Unfazed, he immediately sprang up, but Hermione was too quick for him.

“Incarcerous!”

Ropes sprang towards him, and swiftly wrapped their way around his body. With his legs strapped together, he fell to the ground once more. He began to struggle the instant he collided with the stone floor, his arms flexed and tense as he strained to remove them from his sides.

After he had struggled fruitlessly for a few moments, growling in frustration at his predicament, he fixed Hermione with another intense stare as he continued to fight viciously against his restraints. Veins stood out in his neck from his savage thrashing, and his hair was damp with sweat.

Hermione sat down shakily and leaned against the wall opposite from Harry, staring down at her lap as she waited for his struggles to cease. Ten minutes passed before she noticed his movements growing weaker and weaker, and he eventually lay quite still.

Still shivering from Harry's advances, she approached his prone form cautiously, stopping when she was a few feet from him.

“Harry?” she said, twiddling her wand in her hand. “Are you okay?”

Harry turned his head towards her, and Hermione was relieved to see that his eyes had returned to their beautiful emerald state. He was still breathing deeply, but more from fatigue than anything else.

“Are you okay?” Harry questioned back weakly.

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked as she released the binding spell, hoping against hope that he didn't realize the effects of the potion.

“Hermione, don't play innocent with me. I know something just happened. I don't know the exact details, but I know something happened.”

“What exactly do you remember?” Hermione said, skirting around the issue.

“I remember burning. I felt like I was on fire, and then it went all fuzzy. And then I come to, tied up and rather sore on the ground clear across the room from you - who I must say looks pretty damn flustered.”

Hermione remained silent, and Harry surveyed her closely. His eyes fell on her ripped shirt.

“Wait a second - what happened to your clothes?” Harry asked, startled. “Did I - did I attack you?”

Hermione turned her face so Harry wouldn't see her smiling at the irony in his statement.

“Something like that,” she said.

“What do you mean `something like that'?” Harry asked. “Either I attacked you or I didn't. Tell me.”

Hermione sighed, resigning herself, and began speaking in a rush.

“Well, first-you-collapsed-on-the-floor-and-you-seemed-to-be-in-a-lot-of-pain-then-you-tore-off-your-shirt-and-after-a-few-minutes-you-stopped-struggling-and-kissed-me-and-then-you—”

“WOAH, wait a second!” Harry sputtered as he pulled himself into a sitting position, looking aghast. If he had been sitting in a chair Hermione was sure he would have fallen out of it. “I kissed you!?”

Hermione gave a curt nod.

Harry's eyes were wide. “I… I…I never…I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't…”

“It's okay,” Hermione said quickly, cutting him off. “You couldn't control yourself -- you didn't realize what you were doing.”

Harry slumped against the wall, stricken. “No wonder you blasted me across the room.”

Hermione smiled at his distress, but the smile faded as her eyes fell once more to his blemished chest.

“Harry…” she said, “why didn't you tell me that that mark wasn't going away?”

Harry seemed confused for a moment, and then glanced at his bare torso.

“Oh,” he said. He looked up at her. “Well, it has been going away.”

Hermione glared at him.

“Okay,” he conceded, “so maybe it hasn't been healing at quite the rate I was expecting.”

“You think?” she said sarcastically, finally sitting down on the floor in front of him. “It looks almost the same way it did a few months ago.” Her eyes flicked down to the mark again, and she paused, confused. “Actually…it does seems to have gotten smaller…”

“I told you,” Harry said. “It's just taking a while.”

“No,” Hermione replied. “It looks smaller than it did when you first ripped off your shirt -- half an hour ago.”

He shook his head. “That's impossible.”

Hermione seemed unsure. “Maybe...”

“Do you have my shirt?” Harry said, ignoring her uncertainty. Hermione flicked her wand and the shirt flew across the room. She caught it and held it out to him.

Harry frowned as he observed the tattered article of clothing. He allowed his head to flop back against the wall. “Shame, really. I ruined two shirts within the span of an hour. Nice shirts, too.”

Hermione fingered the seam of her ripped blouse, her thoughts turning unwillingly to the second phase of Harry's potion. `Very red, indeed,' she thought to herself, her cheeks reddening furiously for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

***********

A/N: Next chapter, Hermione takes her own elixir, and their Animagus forms are revealed!

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22. Animagus

Chapter 22: Animagus

After Harry's little “incident” with the Iumentum Elixir, Hermione thought it would be best if she took her own potion in private.

Harry silently agreed, though he did not speak his apprehensions out loud. It was one thing to have kissed Hermione and not been aware of it; it was quite another to be on the receiving end of such behavior.

Though he had brushed off his earlier actions as nonchalantly as possible in Hermione's presence, he was secretly reeling from the thought. He had kissed his best friend - and clearly not in the mildest of manners.

Hermione appeared generally normal aside from that initial shock he had registered on her face when he'd first woken up, but Harry couldn't help but feel slightly ashamed of himself. After all, he wasn't really an animal, even if the potion had made him behave like one.

Hermione now ladled her emerald concoction into another tumbler.

“I suppose you should leave now,” she said, swirling her glass around and eying its contents nervously.

“You don't need me to perform the spell?” Harry said.

“No,” Hermione said. “It would be simpler that way, but I don't know if the effects of the potion will have the same timing as yours.”

“I don't know…” he said uncertainly, remembering the intense pain from the elixir. “Maybe I should stay until the first bit stops…”

“No,” Hermione said, more firmly this time. “I know if you're in here at the beginning you'll want to try to spare me some of the pain. Which you can't.” She paused at the continued look of worry on Harry's face. “Perhaps the pain won't be as bad for me, anyway. I doubt the symptoms will be completely the same.”

Harry knew she was saying this more for his benefit than anything, but he nodded mutely.

“Alright, then. You'll just wait outside in the corridor until the elixir subsides. Yours lasted less than half an hour, so mine shouldn't vary too much,” Hermione explained. “I won't be able to get out. And under no circumstances will you open this door until that half hour is up. Understand?”

Harry nodded once more, curious at the adamancy in her tone, and reluctantly left the room. He saw Hermione raise the potion to her lips just before the door snapped shut, trapping her inside the room.

He noted the time on his watch, and sat down to wait, pressing his back against the wall opposite the Room of Requirement.

However, a moment later a terrible, drawn-out scream erupted from within the room. Harry restrained himself from leaping up and running into the room as the scream echoed in his ears, making his blood run cold. Unwillingly, Harry's thoughts jumped to that dreadful night in Malfoy Manor, as Hermione was tortured…her cries were frighteningly similar and still cut through him like physical pain.

Hermione screamed again, and Harry buried his face in his hands, trying to drown out the noise. But quickly the yells subsided.

He did, however, hear a soft voice calling his name from within the room. Relieved, Harry stood up and placed his hand on the doorknob.

“Harry.”

He paused, hand frozen in place, as he heard his name again. Inexplicably, Harry felt the urge to check his watch. Less than fifteen minutes in. But surely the process was finished?

“Harry.”

Harry pressed his ear against the door, hearing Hermione's voice just beyond it. She must have been next to the door as well, because he heard her words quite clearly.

“Harry,” came Hermione's voice softly once more. “Please open the door.”

Hermione's voice had an oddly silky quality to it, a sweet tone that fell on Harry's ears like music. He suddenly found it very difficult to concentrate.

“You said to wait half an hour,” he said blankly. “It's hasn't even been fifteen minutes.”

“That doesn't matter,” Hermione purred. “I told you that the timing would vary, didn't I?”

“Yes,” Harry admitted, “but you also said -”

“Forget about that. Obviously it's done - I'm speaking to you coherently, aren't I? You can let me out.”

Harry stubbornly leaned against the door, suddenly forgetting why he couldn't let her out but feeling that it was of some importance.

“I can't let you out,” he said. “I'm sorry.”

“Oh,” came Hermione's sad reply, “I understand. You're only doing what I said, after all.” She sounded close to tears. Harry felt intensely sorry for her.

There was silence for a moment. But then she spoke again, this time sounding pleasantly surprised.

“Oh! I've just thought of something!” she said brightly. Harry could practically see her beaming in the other room. “Since you can't let me out, why don't you come in here?”

Now there was an idea! Harry felt quite enthusiastic about this plan, because he did desperately want to get inside the Room of Requirement. Why hadn't he thought of this?

“It must be awfully chilly out there in the corridor,” added Hermione silkily. “It's really quite pleasant in here. So warm and cozy…”

Harry suddenly felt very cold despite the thick sweater the Room had provided him. Since when had the corridors become so drafty? Surely it would be warmer in there. Hermione had told him so, after all.

But something still held Harry back.

“I don't know…” he said uncertainly.

Hermione's voice came tenderly through the door, making Harry shiver as if she were breathing the words into his ear instead of through four inches of wood.

“I do wish you would come in here.”

Harry's fingers itched on the handle, which hadn't budged since Hermione had begun to speak to him. He turned the knob slowly, his eyes feeling rather heavy-lidded. Such an enchanting voice…

Suddenly Hermione's voice, the real Hermione's voice, came blaring back into Harry's mind: “And under no circumstances will you open this door until that half hour is up. Understand?”

Harry's jerked back his hand from the doorknob as though it had burned him.

“No!” he said rather loudly. “I won't let you out!

Hermione gave a shout of anger from the next room. “Fine!” she growled furiously. “See if I ever help you again, you infuriating son of a-”

But exactly what Harry was a son of, he never found out, because she suddenly gave a strangled cry and a small thud sounded from the room.

Harry, knowing that Hermione's side effects were finally over, quickly entered the Room of Requirement.

However, he didn't see her anywhere when he opened the door. He glanced around, bewildered, and turned just in time to see Hermione darting out of the door.

“Damnit!” Harry muttered to himself, and sprinted after her. “Hermione, COME BACK!”

But Hermione didn't spare a single glance over her shoulder as she flew along the corridor. Harry, however, was too quick for her, and overtook her just as she was about to hurtle down the stairs to the next floor. He had the oddest feeling that she was headed for the Forbidden Forest.

He slammed into her, feeling a sense of déjà vu for some reason as he pinned her against the wall.

But Hermione didn't answer as she thrashed about, her dark eyes flitting every which way as she tried to escape him.

“Hermione!” Harry shouted, struggling against her furious efforts. “Hermione, will you just CALM DOWN!?”

She finally stood still at his tone, and fixed her eyes on him. She licked her lips, almost imperceptibly, and Harry found himself drawn to her mouth. Before he could pull himself together, she lunged at Harry, planting a kiss on his very surprised lips.

`Oh, Merlin!' Harry thought, mentally kicking himself for opening the door. In an effort that took a surprising amount of strength, he pushed himself away from her and quickly ran back towards the Room of Requirement. Glancing behind him, Harry was relieved to see that Hermione was following him eagerly.

She launched herself at him again when he slid to a stop next to the room, but had barely managed to attach her lips to his before he had shoved her rather forcibly through the door. He slammed it shut and leaned against the wood, breathing deeply.

He checked his watch yet again. Twenty-five minutes. Only five minutes more and all this would be over.

A loud crash suddenly came from the room, as though Hermione had just chucked their cauldrons into the wall.

`On second thought, better make that ten,' Harry thought nervously.

********

To say the least, Hermione wasn't too pleased to hear that Harry had opened the door during her Iumentum trance; she was even less pleased to hear that she was a seductive, flighty tramp while in said trance. Harry relayed all the details as soon as she had recovered, now rather amused by Hermione's irrational desire to be freed from the room (when rationally she should have realized that she was only required to be there for half an hour).

Whenever the entire Iumentum process was over, it was well past midnight. Harry and Hermione, both extremely exhausted, quickly reviewed the remaining steps for Animagus transformation and agreed to continue to meet on Saturdays until they transformed.

The entirety of the remaining stage, to Hermione's surprise, had very little to do with magic at all. Rigorous meditation was required to first accomplish the transformation, and the two soon found out that this was not nearly as simple as it sounded.

To become Animagi, they needed to focus their minds on all of their energies, and allow themselves to be taken over by this animal being that now resided within each of them. Harry and Hermione both spent every spare moment of privacy in deep concentration, but the Christmas holidays had come and gone before they began to make even the slightest progress on becoming animals.

While in meditation, both began to get the oddest sensations: Harry had unmistakably heard Hermione muttering to herself about a Charms essay - while she had been climbing the stairs two corridors away - and he had also been astonished to have smelt her strawberry-scented shampoo from this distance as well.

Hermione, in turn, claimed that she was staying up unusually late, and found herself sneaking down to the kitchens for a midnight snack with increasing frequency.

By the time March rolled around, Harry was intensely agitated that neither he nor Hermione had made a breakthrough. He was aware that it had taken his father and godfather three years to complete the transformation, but surely it wouldn't take he and Hermione so long. After all, James and Sirius had been practicing illegally and with limited help and resources, not to mention the fact that they had begun at the age of thirteen.

Harry and Hermione, being eighteen and nineteen respectively, quite magically adept, and following the process legally, felt that it could certainly not take nearly so much time.

He stormed into the Room of Requirement with just these thoughts zipping through his head and found Hermione in much the same state he had greeted her in for almost half a year's worth of Saturdays. She sat cross-legged on a rich purple pillow, her eyes closed and hands entwined in her lap.

Harry stomped across the room, agitated, and flopped himself as noisily as possible on another pillow near her. One of Hermione's eyes opened narrowly and fixed him with an equally irritated glare.

“This really is difficult enough without you stomping around in here.”

Harry didn't answer, fidgeting to become more comfortable.

Hermione's eye closed once more. “Have you spoken to Ron this week?” she asked calmly.

“Yes,” Harry replied, now shutting his own eyes. “I sent him his birthday present earlier this week.” He peeked over at her. “I still don't understand why you don't want to tell him about these lessons.”

“I just don't think he'd be too pleased by the fact that he wasn't included in this,” Hermione said indifferently. “It's nothing against him - I'd just rather not tell him until after we manage to transform. And it's not like you've told Ginny.”

“That's different! If I told Ginny that I've been coming into the castle every Saturday -”

“She'd be just as peeved as Ron.”

Harry couldn't argue against that.

“Well, I think Ron's getting suspicious about where I go every Saturday night. Probably thinks I'm falling into a bad crowd, drinking constantly, doing drugs and the sort. Or that I'm hanging out with Mitch.”

Hermione smirked, thinking of Ron's newfound jealousy of Harry's Auror friend. “I think he'd prefer the first option.”

“Better for me to be corrupted by a gang of shady warlocks than thinking he's been replaced by an American bloke.”

Hermione giggled, and then silence fell over them as it usually did.

Harry inhaled deeply, trying to make his breathing as regular as possible. He let the silence wash over him, calming his emotions, stilling his thoughts. The minutes slid by.

He felt his heart beat sluggishly in his chest.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

The sound became louder and louder in his ears, and soon drowned out his breaths.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Gradually, his heart rate began to climb, so gradually that Harry didn't notice until it beat against his chest like a drum.

BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM.

Harry became suddenly and acutely aware of a tingling against his skin, a tingling that soon permeated his muscles and sank into his very bones. He felt as if vibrations were coming from his very core.

The tremors gave way to a horrible pain in his shoulders and hips as he felt the joints realign themselves - his fingers and toes suddenly felt numb - he felt as if someone was molding his face like clay, and then a warmth spread through him that seemed to radiate from everywhere -

Harry's eyes shot open, and he was startled as he gazed around the room, which had somehow become rather color distorted. He shook his head, confused, before his gaze fell on Hermione, who stood watching him in astonishment. She bent down slightly, and her face broke out in a huge grin as she surveyed him.

“You've done it, Harry! You've done it!” she said happily, and her voice was strangely magnified as they reached his ears.

Now feeling rather astonished himself, Harry trotted up to a large mirror that had appeared on the nearest wall. He reared back in surprise as he came into its view.

A large grey wolf was looking back at him from the mirror, bewilderment evident in its features.

***********

Hermione stood behind Harry-the-wolf as he surveyed himself in the mirror. She was quite amused as he sat down, peering at himself closely and cocking his head from side to side.

Eventually Harry glanced over at her, an undeniably smug look on his wolfish face.

“Oh, don't gloat!” Hermione told him. “Come over here. I want a better look at you.”

Harry obediently stood up and turned towards her, standing at attention so she could examine him.

Hermione walked slowly around him, taking in Harry's beautiful coat, varying in shades of grey, silver, tan, and the familiar jet-black of Harry's real hair. She ran her hand gently along the soft fur, studying the triangular pointed ears and elegantly shaped head.

She traced a finger along the wolf's forehead, where the faintest darkening of fur in the shape of a lightning bolt was the only indication of Harry's scar. She doubted she would have even noticed it if she hadn't been looking for it. And then she reached his eyes.

Harry's emerald green eyes stared at her, and Hermione blinked several times as she took in the sight. She was quite used to seeing Harry with such brilliant irises, but it was another matter entirely to see them in the eyes of a wolf.

She knelt in front of Harry and scratched him behind the ears. His tail began to wag wildly. He whimpered pathetically when she removed her hand.

“Don't be such a baby, Harry,” she said as the wolf's tail drooped sadly. “You've done really well. I'm so proud of you!”

His ears pricked up happily, and he placed a large paw on her knee. The gesture clearly stated, Couldn't have done it without you, though.

Hermione smiled and gave Harry a final pat on the head before standing up. “Okay, now transform back. It should be much easier now.”

Wolf-Harry gave a nod, and was about to mutate back when Hermione gave an alarmed squeak.

“Wait!” she said hurriedly, and pointed quickly toward a sofa. “Behind there.”

The wolf obeyed immediately and loped behind the couch. Within moments a fully-grown human Harry stood up, looking down at his bare torso.

“Ah,” he said thoughtfully. “I forgot about the whole clothes issue.”

Hermione nodded somewhat bashfully. “Me too. I just so happened to notice your shirt and jeans right before you turned. I'm pretty sure there's a charm that allows you to transform with your clothes.” She bent and picked up said articles of clothes and tossed them towards Harry.

She averted her eyes as Harry slipped on his clothes. She really had seen Harry's chest with far too much frequency recently, and was quite frustrated by the fact that she didn't mind in the slightest.

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23. Moving On

A/N: Hey, guys! Got another chapter for y'all! Just to warn you, this chapter marks the end of the sort of "post-Voldemort" section. The next chapter will take place about two years from this one. Anyway, enjoy, and please review!

Also, for those of you who are wondering why I chose a wolf as Harry's form:

A, wolves are cool. B, I thought since Sirius played such a big, though brief, role in Harry's life, it would be fitting that he would transform into a similar animal. C, the whole lone wolf vs. pack mentality, both of Harry exercises in my opinion. D, a wolf is an excellent animal for an Auror to become. Not only are they less conspicuous than other animals, but they are also born hunters and have little trouble defending themselves if need be. And E, wolves apparently choose one mate for life, which I thought was also fitting. Also, his form technically coincides slightly with Hermione's form, as you will see in this chapter, which is a plus. Quite close species wise and habitat wise.

Chapter 23: Moving On

The following weeks welcomed abundantly good weather, and Harry was quite sore about the fact that his Auror training prevented him from enjoying it - and the fact that his Auror training still made him sore in general.

His training had increased in such frequency and difficulty that Hermione had insisted he no longer attend her Animagus sessions, claiming his snores were more distracting than his presence was helpful.

He stretched his aching legs languidly in front of him, lounging in the library of Grimmauld place. A patch of sunlight bathed his chair, and his stomach was satisfyingly full after having eaten a large breakfast provided by Kreacher; it was extremely comfortable, and he was exhausted after a full week of training…

He jerked from his doze at the sound of a loud rapping. Turning his head toward the window, he noticed a beautiful snowy owl waiting expectantly on the ledge. The owl gave the glass another sharp tap when he saw that Harry was looking.

Yawning, Harry proceeded to the window and opened it. The owl hopped in and immediately stretched out his leg, to which a small scroll was tied.

“Thanks, Marcellus,” Harry said, stroking the owl's head. He slit open the letter and read it through quickly:

Harry,

It's the last day of classes. Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sinistra, Sprout, Slughorn, and Hagrid send their best wishes to you and Ron, and they've said we're welcome at anytime. You actually might want to write Hagrid - he cried quite a lot when I went down to visit him. I expect he feels like we're abandoning him or something. My last class is Arithmancy (which I'm about to go to now) and Professor McGonagall's given me permission to leave afterward. Do you want to meet in Hogsmeade for lunch? Maybe the Three Broomsticks at one? Send your answer back with Marcellus.

Love from, Hermione

As he finished reading, Harry was a bit surprised by her brisk attitude about leaving Hogwarts. After all, this was the place that had been a home to both of them for six years (seven in her case); the place where they had fought trolls, been reprimanded by Professor McGonagall, sat ear-muffed in Herbology as they repotted screaming Mandrakes, flown over the grounds on the back of a hippogriff to save his godfather, sent Professor Flitwick tumbling from his stack of books (on numerous occasions), practiced charms within empty classrooms to prepare for the Triwizard Tournament, formed a secret society to undermine the Ministry's interference, pored over countless books to discover the mysteries they encountered everyday within the castle - in short, where they had experienced the best part of their lives.

Surely she would be thinking of all this and much more, because he himself had had these very thoughts as he had walked through the doors he had first entered more than seven years ago as a frightened eleven-year-old…an eleven-year-old who could have never fathomed the journey he was embarking on.

However, he stopped wondering at her neutral tone when he noticed a few stray tear-stains dotting the lower edge of the scroll.

Smiling ruefully, Harry jotted down a quick acceptance to the lunch invitation and tied it onto Marcellus's leg.

“I'm sure Fitz is out there somewhere if you wanna say hello before you head back to Hermione,” Harry said lightly. Marcellus peered at him for a moment, and then took off through the window, mostly likely in search of Harry's barred owl.

Harry checked his watch - just past eleven. With another yawn, he returned to his chair, looking forward to sleeping for another hour.

***********

When Harry woke at half-past twelve, he Apparated almost immediately to the outskirts of Hogsmeade. He strolled slowly through the town, looking through the windows of the shops in order to kill a few minutes before he had to meet Hermione. He reached the Three Broomsticks just after one o'clock and proceeded into the crowded bar.

A precursory glance over the heads of the customers did not reveal Hermione's bushy brown hair, so he pushed his way from table to table, searching for his friend as he went while simultaneously ignoring the excited stares from everyone else. He frowned as he arrived back where he'd started - it was very unlike Hermione to be late for anything.

He gave the room one last sweeping look and pushed his way back outside.

He settled himself on a bench outside to wait for Hermione's arrival, and leaned his head against the wall behind him. He closed his eyes, but before long he felt two small, very light points of pressure on his chest. His eyes flicked open, and he was suddenly staring into a pair of familiar chocolate brown eyes. However, very little else was familiar to him.

A small fox stood next to him on the bench, reared on its hinds legs. The small points of pressure came from the tiny paws placed on his chest. The fox cocked its head as it observed him. It then sat down and very primly began to groom its russet colored fur before staring very pointedly at Harry.

A large grin erupted on Harry's face as he looked down at the furry creature. “Oh, you invited me to lunch just so you could show off, eh Hermione?”

The fox stood looking at him through wide brown eyes. She had a very pleased expression on her face. She then jumped down from the bench and began walking quickly along the path, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that Harry was following her.

Getting the hint, Harry jogged along to keep along with Hermione's quick trot. She led him to the very outskirts of the village, and Harry recognized it as the same path Sirius had led them along in fourth year. As they reached the wild countryside, Hermione promptly began to trek up the rocky mountain boulders.

Harry tripped and stumbled up the steep slope for five minutes before he clapped a hand to his forehead.

“Oy, Hermione, wait up!” he yelled after the fox, and immediately transformed into a large wolf. Aided by his four legs, he quickly caught up to the fox. Together, they climbed the steep path, but Hermione eventually veered off into a different direction that led away from the cave his godfather had inhabited during the Triwizard Tournament.

Harry had to be quite careful as he followed Hermione, as she was much smaller than he was and therefore had much shorter legs. Her quick scampers were no match for his long strides, and she soon began weaving in and out of his legs in order to trip him up and gain a few yards' advantage. Harry couldn't help but notice when Hermione surged ahead that her tail was bushier than that of the average fox.

Hermione finally came to a rest in a rather level section of the mountain and sat down upon a large blue blanket that she had clearly placed there previously. She began to morph, and a moment later the real Hermione sat cross-legged on the blanket.

She patted the spot beside her, and he walked over and sat beside her. She trailed her hand idly down his back.

Wolf-Harry looked at her reproachfully, and Hermione glared right back.

“Don't give me that look!” she said. “Your fur's really soft!”

He shook his head, and then changed back into his human form. Harry stretched out his legs before him and used his arms to support himself as he leaned back.

“Doesn't give you the right to touch it all the time,” he said mock-sniffily. “You might muss it up.”

“Oh, as if I would ever dream of messing up your hair,” she replied sarcastically. “It's always so neat, after all.”

She stretched out her hand and ran it through Harry's shock of jet-black hair. She noted that it was quite as soft as it was in his Animagus form. She jerked her hand back as the thought entered her mind. Harry didn't appear to notice.

“It's about time you managed to transform,” he said. “I haven't even bothered registering with the Improper Use of Magic Office yet because I've been waiting for you to do it.”

“Well, maybe some of us have a bit more sophisticated mindset than others,” Hermione replied, waving her wand and making a basket appear in front of her.

“Nah, I don't think so,” Harry said as he watched her pull sandwiches and a jug of pumpkin juice from the basket.

Hermione threw a sandwich to him rather forcefully.

“Either way, we can go register tomorrow now that we can both do it,” she said, annoyance tingeing her voice.

“Have you told Ron about it?” Harry asked.

“No. Have you told Ginny?”

“Nope.”

“When do you intend to tell her?”

“Eventually.”

“Eventually?” Hermione said incredulously. “Are you waiting for me to tell them or something?”

“Well, I wasn't,” Harry said, “but now that you mention it, that sounds like a pretty good idea.”

“And what if I don't tell them?”

“Of course you'll tell them,” Harry said, taking a bite of his sandwich.

“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”

“I'm not,” Harry replied. “I'm pretty sure of yourself. It's easy to not mention something over letters, but in person it's a whole other matter entirely.”

“And you think I'll crack.”

“Yes,” Harry said blatantly.

“Well, I won't!” Hermione said furiously. “I'll wait until you tell them!”

“Ten Galleons says you fess up first.”

“You're on!” Hermione said, taking a large swig of juice and choking on it.

The rest of lunch passed by with Hermione giving Harry a fretful play-by-play of the N.E.W.T. examinations she had taken last week. Harry assured her that, just as with their O.W.L.s, she would achieve `Outstanding' in almost every single subject, but Hermione would hear nothing of it.

When Hermione's self-induced panic wore off slightly, Harry told her of some of the tasks that had come up recently in his training and revealed that, if all went well, he could officially be an Auror within four weeks.

“Ohmygosh, Harry! Why didn't you say something sooner! You've let me blab on about schoolwork this whole time -”

“Considering this should be the last time you have the chance to `blab' about schoolwork, it was my pleasure to hear your nonsensical ramblings,” Harry said.

“But you're finishing, what, two years early?” Hermione asked. “That's absolutely amazing!”

“It's not really that impressive,” Harry said sheepishly. “The courses are spread out so much that you don't really need that long if you know your stuff. And they're probably doing me a favor by letting me take the test this early at all.”

“That doesn't make it any less amazing!” Hermione said, banishing the basket and blanket with quick wave of her wand.

Harry shrugged noncommittally, and Hermione shook her head at his modesty.

“I suppose I'll see you tonight at the Burrow?” Hermione asked.

Harry perked up at this. “Of course! I need to be there to see you confess everything to Ron and Ginny. And collect my ten Galleons, of course.”

“As if,” Hermione muttered. “Though I'm not looking forward to telling Ron about it. Or I should say you telling Ron about it. I imagine he'll be furious.”

“Of course not!” Harry argued. “He couldn't be mad at you! You're a downright fox!”

Hermione smiled once she had rolled her eyes heavily at this quip.

“Your optimism is cute,” she said, standing up to brush herself off.

“Thanks,” Harry replied, standing up as well. “You're pretty fuzzy yourself.”

************

Hermione arrived at the Burrow later that evening and was displeased to see that Harry was already there, seated comfortably in the living room with the Weasleys. He grinned cheekily.

“Hermione, looking foxy today!” he greeted her unabashedly; Ginny looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. Ron looked similarly disgruntled.

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione replied through gritted teeth, moving to sit next to Ron. Before she could sit down, however, Mrs. Weasley had thrown open the door leading to the kitchen.

“Supper's ready!” she announced happily, stirring the contents of a large bowl she held in her arms. Harry, Hermione, Ron, Ginny, George, and Mr. Weasley immediately filed into the kitchen and took seats around the food-laden table. Hermione took care to sit as far away from Harry as possible.

Luckily for Hermione, the conversation was soon dominated by Ron and George (whom she noticed were both wearing the magenta robes indigenous to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes).

“…yeah, business has really skyrocketed over the last month,” George was saying to his father as he added a liberal amount of gravy to his potatoes. “Can barely keep up with the demand these days.”

“Yeah,” Ron said, “and damn right little buggers they can be when something's not in stock.”

“Now, now, Ronald!” Mrs. Weasley said disapprovingly. “You'll do well to treat anyone who comes into that shop with respect.”

“Absolutely,” George said, “especially since they're my customers. You know, `always right,' and all that. Plus, you're just miffed that I'm not giving you special treatment.”

“Oh, yes you are!” Ron said indignantly. “You're giving me all the grunt-work!”

“Well, maybe you should try to develop a good attitude about it,” George said.

“Right, as if I'm going to have a good attitude about tedious busywork.”

“Oh, speaking of busywork, I need you to relabel and reorganize the Muggle tricks,” George said.

“Woo-hoo!” Ron said, throwing his arms up in mock-celebration.

“That's the spirit!” Mrs. Weasley said, clapping Ron on the back. “And since you seem to be so enthused with work, I'll let you clean up after everyone finishes eating.”

“What?!” Ron yelped. “Why're you making me do it?!”

“Don't be so dramatic!” Mrs. Weasley said as she spooned out another helping of peas onto her husband's plate. “It's just a few dishes - don't look at me like that, Ronald, there are plenty of people in the world much less fortunate than you are, chores included!”

“Oh yeah?” Ron said grumpily, crossing his arms. “Who's less fortunate than me?”

“Anyone you date,” Ginny answered. “No offense,” she added to a slightly affronted Hermione.

“And yet I'm still offended - imagine that,” she said crossly.

“So you're still selling Muggle magic tricks?” Harry interrupted, diverting their attention back to George.

“Yep. We've actually expanded beyond card and rope tricks - mostly illusions - and they're selling better than usual as well.”

“Illusions, you say?” Mr. Weasley said interestedly. “What exactly are they?”

“Just Muggle tricks to make something look real when it isn't,” George said.

“Fascinating!” Mr. Weasley said. “I must see those!”

George immediately waved his wand, and suddenly saws appeared cut into his and Ron's heads.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley gave yelps of surprise. Even Ginny looked mildly shocked. “My goodness!” Mrs. Weasley said, clutching her heart.

George grinned as he lifted the contraption from his hair, revealing the two sides of the saw that fit snuggly on each side of his head. “My personal favorite from the Muggle section.”

“That's barbaric!” Mrs. Weasley said.

“I think they're brilliant,” Ginny said, taking the “saw” from George and observing it closely. An exuberant Mr. Weasley bent over to inspect it as well.

“I have half a mind to agree,” Ron said seriously, flicking the edge of the saw still attached to his head.

“Surely you've been working on other things, though,” Harry said.

“Absolutely! I've actually just perfected a new product - simple, but effective.” George flourished his wand once more, and a wooden box roughly the size of a large jewelry box appeared on his now empty plate. The others bent forward curiously.

“Be prepared to be astounded,” George said, and he flipped the lid of the box open without further ado.

At first Hermione thought that the box was broken. And then an absolutely putrid scent reached her nostrils.

“Eeewwww!” Ginny said, tugging the collar of her shirt up to her eyes.

Hermione pinched her nose tightly, holding her breath and attempting not to gag.

“And what exactly is so astounding about that!” Mrs. Weasley said angrily from behind the dish towel pressed to her face.

“Nothing, really,” said George pleasantly, seeming rather unfazed by the smell. “Just a gag. (“Gag indeed,” Ginny muttered, gagging) Tell your friends to fetch something from the box and watch as they turn five different shades of green. Or vomit. Whichever comes first.”

“And what exactly do you call this brilliant little device?” Hermione said in as scathing a voice she could manage with a pinched nose.

“Actually haven't come up with a name yet.”

“What do you call something that just occupies space and smells bad?” Ginny said thoughtfully from behind her shirt. After a moment she turned to Ron, her brow furrowed. “What was your name again?”

“Very funny!” Ron said, glaring at Ginny as everyone but Mrs. Weasley chortled. “And will you shut that box already?!”

“No need to get snappy with me,” said George. He closed the box, and the air immediately became odor-free.

“Oh, thank Merlin,” Ginny said, lowering her shirt. “Great idea, George. Really, just top-notch.”

“And you wonder why people don't take you seriously,” Mrs. Weasley said crossly. “What with those sort of products and those outrageous uniforms -”

“Hey, Angelina likes them! And I've stopped wearing it to Muggle business meetings!” George said indignantly. “Apparently I'm not credible in violently magenta robes.” He crossed his arms moodily. “I don't think it's fair that they judge me by my clothes.”

“Angelina?” Hermione said.

“Yeah, didn't Ron tell you? I'm dating her.”

Harry thumped Ginny on the back as she choked on a roll.

“You're dating Angelina? Angelina Johnson?” she wheezed. “Good news, Hermione; I've found someone even less fortunate than you!”

After second helpings of rhubarb crumble, Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny retreated to the living room, talking of their individual plans now that they were all officially finished with Hogwarts; George had returned to the joke shop, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had remained chatting in the kitchen.

“I've actually already talked with Gwenog Jones,” Ginny said. “She said that this might be her last year as captain, but she sounds very interested to see me play - wants some new blood on the team.”

“That's great, Ginny!” Ron said happily.

“Thanks, Ron. You know, I really thought that you'd get greedy about this, but I can see that I-”

“So can you get me tickets?” Ron said eagerly, clearly having ignored Ginny speaking.

“—was completely right,” Ginny sighed in aggravation. “And I'm not on the team yet. She only agreed to let me try-out.”

“You know you're a shoe-in,” Harry said dismissively. “You're one of the best Chasers I've ever seen.”

Ginny beamed, patting her boyfriend approvingly on the shoulder, before turning to Hermione.

“What about you? Still thinking about being an Auror?”

“Not especially,” Hermione said. “I do have an interview at the Ministry, though.”

“Which department?” Ginny inquired.

“Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.”

“Don't tell me you're still on about that spew stuff!” Ron said. “That's absolutely mad!”

“Mad?” Harry said innocently. “What do you mean?”

Ron looked confused. “You know, it's…it's mental, er - it's ridiculous… it's crazy -”

“Crazy like a fox!” Harry said triumphantly.

Hermione buried her face in her hands. “Should've seen that one coming,” she muttered to herself. Harry seemed quite keen to break her into confessing about their Animagus lessons. Well, two could play at that game.

“Why Harry,” Hermione said, “what big ears you have!”

“Why Hermione,” Harry replied without missing a beat, “what big teeth you had!”

Hermione's mouth dropped open. That one she certainly hadn't seen coming.

“Harry!” she spluttered. “Why - how could - not even - not even remotely—”

Harry chuckled as Ginny and Ron roared with laughter.

“That was a low blow,” Hermione whispered mutinously.

“Just working with what you give me,” Harry whispered back, shrugging. “And I'll have you know that I'm very sensitive about my ear size.”

Hermione simply continued to glare as Ron and Ginny regained control of themselves.

“So, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” Ginny said, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. “Are you really going to join that department because you want to continue spew?”

“S.P.E.W.! And that's not the complete reason, but yes, I wouldn't mind furthering it,” Hermione said defensively. “I really want to do a lot more with the whole Department - mainly the Beings division. Did you know that they still have werewolves under the Beasts section? They do have a subdivision in the Beings section as well, but I've heard that it's ridiculously small and mismanaged. Centaurs are under the Beasts division as well, and they're more intelligent than a lot of wizards. And it's not as though goblins and house-elves are treated right even though they are under the Beings category—”

She cut off suddenly, looking slightly embarrassed.

Harry grinned at Hermione's passionate speech. “You're such a little vixen when you get riled up.”

Hermione groaned as both Ron and Ginny frowned at Harry's choice of words.

“What's up with all these comments about Hermione?” Ron said, a hint of anger in his voice.

Unfazed by Ron and Ginny's accusatory stares, Harry shrugged again. “What can I say? Hermione's a fox.”

“Damn it, Harry!” Hermione finally shouted as Ginny and Ron leapt to their feet. “Are you trying to make trouble!?” Harry smiled innocuously, raising his hand and rubbing his thumb and forefinger together.

She turned aggravatingly to look at Ron and Ginny.

“We're Animagi,” she said, crossing her arms in agitation.

“What does that have to do with anything?!” Ron said furiously, disregarding this statement in light of Harry's behavior.

Ginny, however, laughed in relief. “Ron, you dolt, Harry's been dropping hints about their Animagus forms! I take it you're a fox, Hermione?”

“Yes,” said Hermione grudgingly. “And I'm also short ten Galleons.”

Comprehension dawned on Ron's face after a moment, and was soon replaced with a look of awe.

“Really? You're both Animagi?” he said, mouth agape. “That's absolutely bloody brilliant!”

“When did you both have time for that?” Ginny asked.

Harry had the grace to look apologetic. “I've been practicing with Hermione at Hogwarts in the Room of Requirement.”

As expected, Ginny flared up almost instantly.

“I've barely seen you in months and you're telling me that you've been going to Hogwarts on a regular basis and didn't even bother dropping in to see me?!” she said furiously.

Harry held up his hands. “I'm sorry, Gin, but Professor McGonagall made me swear not to interrupt your studying.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow - McGonagall had made him swear no such thing.

Ginny seemed to wilt slightly at this news, but she still looked resentful. “You could've snuck to see me,” she muttered.

“And you could've told me,” Ron said, also sounding a bit resentful. “I might've wanted to become an Animagus.”

Thankfully, Ron continued speaking before Harry or Hermione could spout off apologetic excuses.

“So, what're you Harry?” Ron asked, now sounding excited.

“Wolf,” Harry replied simply.

“Brilliant!” Ron said again. “Can you show us?”

“Right now?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah! Why not?”

“Alright,” Hermione said slowly. “I suppose we might want to go out—”

But Harry had already transformed into the large wolf. Ginny leapt back in alarm as she noticed this too, for Harry was sitting next to her on the sofa. He licked her cheek swiftly.

“Oh, get a room,” Hermione said, amused and annoyed, and changed into her fox form. She was astonished to see how tall Ron appeared.

“Bloody hell,” Ron said as he looked back and forth between Harry and Hermione. “Way to over-achieve, guys. Geez.”

With that, Harry and Hermione both mutated back into their original selves, smirks on their faces.

“To be fair, Animagus transformation is a useful tool for Aurors,” Harry said. “So, really, Hermione's the only over-achiever in this equation.”

“Yeah, but Hermione's been an over-achiever since, like, birth. She was probably trying to beat the other babies in the hospital out of the birth canal. You, on the other hand, have no excuses. I know full well that there are other ways to disguise yourself.” Ron fixed him with an aggrieved look. “You've sunk to her level!”

“Thanks, Ron,” Hermione said.

“No problem,” Ron said, missing the sarcasm in her voice and placing an arm around her shoulder. “Anytime.”

“How long have you been practicing to become Animagi, anyway?” Ginny asked.

“About a half a year,” Harry said vaguely.

“How do you do it?”

“Well, there's a really complicated potion that you have to make, which takes about a month, and then you drink the potion -” Hermione said.

“—and then you have to do some really intense meditation,” Harry said hastily.

“What's the potion do?” Ginny asked.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other furtively.

“Nothing,” they said together.

“Just makes you able to transform,” Hermione said nervously.

“And nothing else at all,” Harry said firmly.

Ginny, not being especially dimwitted, looked at them suspiciously, but, apparently fathoming nothing to inquire about, kept silent. At least for a moment. She turned her attention to her boyfriend.

“So. Harry. Now that I'm finished with Hogwarts, I figured I should move in with you.”

Hermione was suddenly glad that none of them had brought drinks into the living room with them, because she was quite sure that the majority of both Ron's and Harry's would have been spewed over the room.

“What?!” spluttered Harry.

“You. Me. Living together,” Ginny repeated, nonplussed.

Ron leapt from the sofa for the second time. “WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?!” he bellowed. “YOU GRADUATED THIS BLOODY MORNING!!”

“Exactly,” Ginny said seriously. “No time like the present.”

“THERE'S NO WAY YOU'RE GOING TO MOVE IN WITH HARRY!!”

“That's not your decision,” Ginny said. “It's Harry's.”

She looked expectantly at Harry, who looked very much like he was about to face a Hungarian Horntail with his arms tied behind his back.

He shot a terrified look at Hermione, who shrugged. Nothing could help him now.

“So?” Ginny said.

“Er,” Harry said. He swallowed uneasily.

“Well?” Ginny said, the beginnings of rage evident in her fiery expression.

“Er,” Harry began again. He shot a helpless look at Ron. “I suppose, er, if that's what you, uh, want -”

All traces of fury disappeared from Ginny's face so rapidly that Hermione wondered if she had been angry at all.

“Excellent!” she said happily. “Let's go tell Mum.” And with that she pulled a bewildered and horrified Harry up by the arm and frog-marched him into the kitchen.

“Let's take a walk, shall we?” Ron said, staring uneasily after them.

“Yes, let's,” Hermione said quickly, hearing Ginny's cheerful voice beginning to speak.

They hadn't even made it outside before Mrs. Weasley's yells echoed through the house.

“YOU WANT TO WHAT?!”

Ron and Hermione sped up, and soon left the noise behind.

They walked in silence for a while, Ron's hands deep in his pockets and Hermione's arms crossed, both deep in thought. Hermione stared at the ground, chewing her lip, her stomach strangely clenched and uncomfortable. Finally Ron spoke.

“So… Harry and Ginny.”

His tone was surprisingly light, considering his previous anger at the idea of his little sister living in the mansion of his best male friend. Even the brevity and vagueness of the sentence suggested that he was testing the waters with Hermione, broaching the subject carefully in the hopes of coaxing out her opinion.

“Yeah,” Hermione said, her voice cracking slightly as she struggled to keep her anger in check. Ron was glancing sideways at her, his eyebrows raised and his gaze searching, waiting for her to continue. When she didn't he spoke, rather impatiently.

“Well? What do you think?”

Hermione continued to stare stubbornly at the path ahead of her, taking a deep breath and speaking through slightly clenched teeth. Her voice, however, was quite calm.

“What's there to think of it? It's their decision after all. And even though it might seem a little … rash… they are both of age. And despite Ginny's, er, eccentricities, I'd be lying if I didn't believe them both capably mature enough to handle this kind of commitment; especially considering everything they've endured over the last few years.”

Hermione stopped talking abruptly and, still gazing hard and unseeingly ahead of her, quickened her pace markedly. Ron lengthened his stride and caught up quickly, falling in step beside her again. He didn't speak immediately, and seemed to be steeling himself for something. Eventually he cleared his throat loudly.

“You know, Harry and Ginny moving in together has got me thinking -”

“How could it have gotten you thinking?” she said disbelievingly. “They discussed it less than five minutes ago, and there's the fact that there's a good chance it won't happen. At least if Mrs. Weasley has anything to say about it,” she added under her breath. She could scarcely remember ever wishing the Weasley matron a victory so fiercely.

Her interruption seemed to have cost Ron the little nerve he had scrounged up to speak in the first place, and she slowed her pace slightly.

“Sorry,” she apologized. “Go on. What's Harry and Ginny caused you to think about?”

“Well…about us really.”

Hermione slowed her pace once more, almost coming to a halt.

“About…us.”

“Uh…” Ron suddenly found a spot on his shirt very interesting. “Yeah.”

“What about us, exactly?” Hermione asked, a sense of foreboding welling up inside her.

Ron seemed to be regretting broaching the subject at all, but knew he'd gone too far to stop now.

“About us…” - his voice lowered significantly until he was mumbling - “moving in with each other.”

This time Hermione really did come to a halt. She fixed Ron with a blank stare, and he averted his eyes quickly, choosing instead to stare at his shoes.

“You think that we should move in with each other,” Hermione stated rather neutrally.

Ron nodded at his shoes.

“You think that you - an eighteen-year-old wizard who works at a joke-shop - and I - an unemployed nineteen-year-old witch - should rent or buy a flat when we've only been seriously dating for less than six months,” she said, the neutrality quickly leaning towards negativity.

Ron once again gave affirmation to his feet.

“Are you mental?” she said. Definitely some bitterness there now.

This statement caused Ron to lift his head.

“It's not mental!” he said furiously, turning to face her more fully. “Ginny and Harry are both younger than us, and they don't seem to find anything wrong with it!”

“For one, Harry and Ginny have been dating about a year longer than we have. Secondly, if you were paying Harry even the slightest bit of attention, you'd have noticed that he didn't seem particularly enthused about the idea - and that's putting it lightly. And thirdly, since when do all relationships have to be identical?! Just because Harry and Ginny are doing something, doesn't mean we have to! This isn't some competition!”

Hermione could barely see Ron's face due to the darkness around them, but she could see enough to know that these statements, particularly the last bit concerning Harry as competition, had struck a cord. Ron once again resumed his staring at the ground, looking thoroughly dejected.

Mollified somewhat, Hermione softened her tone considerably.

“Look, Ron,” she said, putting a comforting hand on his arm, “it's not as if I'm not serious about us. Because I am. But if you would be honest with yourself, you would know that neither of us is ready for this kind of commitment - at least not yet,” she added when Ron continued to look crestfallen. “This isn't a rejection. More of a…rain-check.”

Ron sighed heavily. “You're right,” he said quietly. “It's too much. Maybe in a few months…”

Hermione was quite skeptical of even this time-frame, but decided to leave it alone for the time being.

“I'm sorry,” he continued glumly. “I shouldn't have—”

“It's okay, Ron,” she said, and, feeling it was the appropriate thing to do, stepped closer to envelop him in a hug, which he returned gratefully. As they walked back to the house, Hermione was overwhelmed by a deep sense of change for the second time that day, the first having occurred during her final minutes of her last Arithmancy class. She had left Hogwarts, and she and the rest of her friends were rapidly on their way to acquiring careers and lives astronomically different from anything they had ever known.

And, with a sense of sadness and excitement, she acknowledged that the changes would only be coming more and more swiftly in the days to come.

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24. Regret

A/N: In the last chapter, I think I said it would be two years later, but I meant three. My bad. Also, I apologize in advance for the next few chapters. As I mentioned, this is epilogue compliant, so the next bit of chapters will be progressing things towards the epilogue, especially in the relationship department. However, there will still of course be plenty of H/Hr stuff as well, but it's going to be a lot of angst for a while. Please stick with me through it! :)

Thanks to EmmaRadcliffe, h/hr4ever11, Meli, and auror_lumos09. VioletE, kinikeens, and any Anonymous reviewers for the reviews! Please leave some more!

Chapter 24: Regret

THREE YEARS LATER - June 2002

Hermione Granger pulled yet another file wearily towards her.

She had been perusing the numerous cases piled haphazardly upon her desk since early that morning, and though it was now past noon, she felt as if she had made no progress whatsoever.

Connor Hemming - Werewolf -- registered as of 5/28/02

She spared a glance at the date and suspected Source of the bite before jotting down instructions for the newly created Wolfsbane Dispersal Office to place Hemming under their clientele. She placed the parchment in its appropriate stack before looking at the next one.

Mitzi - House-elf -relocation due to owner's passing (no known relatives)

Hermione pushed this one to the side with about five other house-elf relocation cases, agitated that whoever had sent these wasn't competent enough to send them to the appropriate section of the department.

She powered through cases concerning an altercation with a pair of hags, a claimed sighting of a giant, and a greatly amusing complaint from a middle-aged wizard asserting he had been seduced by a gold-digging veela before coming across another werewolf registration.

She once more glanced at the Source of the bite and received a jolt - Fenrir Greyback. Frowning, she wrote down the same instructions she had for Hemming and proceeded to duplicate the document with a wave of her wand. With another wave the page had folded itself and flapped its way from her office, headed towards Alec Wahler's desk. Greyback had been one of the few Death Eaters who had evaded capture after the war, and Hermione knew the possibility of a hint of his whereabouts would interest the Auror office greatly.

Now in an even greater state of irritation, Hermione rifled through the endless stack of parchment with increasing speed until she came across an entry that caught her eye.

Donovan Gethin - Known to have employed the use of the Cruciatus Curse upon Muggles and suspected in the murders of Muggle-borns Stephen and Jacqueline Williams

Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion: this had nothing to do with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the slightest. Her eyes fell upon the next report.

Jezebel Rajani - Suspected to be recruiting werewolves to attack Muggles and Muggle-borns. *Likely in contact with Fenrir Greyback

Another unrelated case followed:

Blake Sullivan - Pureblood supremacist, several witnesses have verified his use of the Imperius Curse on Muggle/Muggle-born-sympathetic Ministry officials

Hermione leaned back in her chair, pursing her lips as she continued to flip through the files.

Desdemona Rodriguez - Potion-maker guilty of illegal experimentation and testing on unsuspecting Muggle-borns

Malloren Thomas - Suspected in the murders of at least three Muggle families

Damien Marshall - Guilty of the use of the Imperius and Cruciatus Curses to attempt to embezzle Gringotts

With a scream of frustration, Hermione stormed out of her office. Ignoring the greetings of her fellow employees, she strode purposefully to the golden lift and, once inside, began hammering the button that would take her to the second floor. She waited impatiently as the lift stopped and a pair of wizards stepped out into the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes. Finally, the cool female voice stated her destination: The Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which housed the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office, the Improper Use of Magic Office, the Wizengamot, and, most importantly, the Auror Office.

She walked briskly down the corridor and through the heavy oak doors and emerged in a cluttered, open area divided into cubicles. Familiar faces once more shouted greetings to her and once more she ignored them as she made her way down to the very last cubicle.

“Harry James Potter!” she yelled furiously as she rounded the corner. She slammed down the reports she had carried down with her onto an infuriatingly clear desk, staring daggers at the cubicle's dark-haired and grinning occupant.

“Hermione!” Harry said jovially, his arms spread wide in greeting. “What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“You know very damn well why I'm here!” she spat, tapping the stack of parchment rapidly. “This has got to stop!”

Harry's eyes widened dramatically as he looked innocently up at her.

“But… Hermione, we've been friends for years! I can change, just say the word and I'll -”

“Don't play stupid with me, I'm not in the mood! I swear to Merlin, Harry, if you don't stop sending all of your cases to me I'll report you to Wahler! It's almost as if you have no respect for me!”

“Yeah, almost. And you won't report me.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, no, but Harry -”

“Come on, Hermione, lighten up! It's just like Hogwarts! Did you finish all my conclusions?”

“There aren't any conclusions to write!” she said angrily. “All it does is waste my time when I have to walk all the way up here to give them back to you!”

“Maybe that was my intention,” he said charmingly. “Maybe I just wanted to see you.”

“I eat lunch with you almost every single day! I don't need to make all these detours for your childish pleasure!” she said, then added, “And besides, I don't have time to do your workload in addition to my own. I'm swamped downstairs.”

“Oh, those are already done,” Harry said. “All in Azkaban. But that's not the reason I sent those to you. In addition to my entirely well-intentioned desire to mingle with my best friend, I also wanted to put you on the alert - there's a lot of lunatics out there.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, curling her lip distastefully. “I did notice that most of them involved Muggle-borns.”

“Yep. As much as I know you enjoy our little reminiscences of our Hogwarts' days, I'm not always going to be able to watch your back,” Harry said seriously. “But, while I can, I decided to catch `em all and throw them in Azkaban. Just for you, babe.” Harry winked and flashed her a cheeky grin.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort.

“Oi, Granger! Shut up!”

She turned her head sharply and saw a blonde-haired man's head poking over the next cubicle.

“Mitch,” she said dangerously. “You had better -”

“Hey,” Mitch interrupted. “Did you get the report I sent you on the werewolf that attacked that kid up north?”

Hermione glared at him.

“Yes, I did, and it's a confused jumble of useless information with a wino's spittle of unsupported conclusions.”

Mitch furrowed his brow.

“Wino's spittle?”

“You heard me,” Hermione said scathingly. “Look it up.”

This interaction was interrupted, however, by a tough-looking wizard who stepped into Harry's cubicle.

“Potter,” the man said, “I need those reports by - Oh! Miss Granger!”

Alec Wahler positively beamed at the sight of Hermione: ever since he'd met her three years ago, Wahler had been especially fond of the young witch.

He put a hand on her shoulder in a fatherly sort of way, his eyes traveling suspiciously from Harry to Mitch. He looked down at Hermione.

“They bothering you, Granger?” he said in his raspy voice. “Because I can fire both of them.”

She smiled sweetly up at Mitch's terrified expression.

“Oh not at all, Mr. Wahler. I was just wondering why Mitchell here was trying to carry on a conversation with me when he should be working.”

“I was just wondering that myself,” Wahler said, his face suddenly cold. The glare he fixed in Mitch's direction was wasted, however, as Mitch had already ducked quickly back into his own cubicle.

“So what brings you here?” Wahler said.

Hermione shrugged. She really had no intentions of telling Harry's boss about the paperwork, so instead she replied, “I was just on my break and thought I'd pay a visit.”

“Well, don't let me keep you!” Wahler said. He forced Hermione down into the chair opposite Harry. “Just remember I need those reports before you leave, Potter!”

“Yes, sir.”

Wahler strode from the room, leaving Hermione and Harry by themselves. Hermione knew that she should be getting back to work, but the unintended break really was doing her some good.

“So are George and Angelina coming over to your place tonight?” she asked.

“As far as I know,” Harry said. “Molly and Arthur as well. I'm not sure about Percy's lot.”

Hermione noted that Harry was starting to look uncomfortable.

“Is Ginny alright?” she asked casually.

“Ginny…? Oh, right, she's good, really great,” Harry said, not meeting her eyes.

Hermione peered into his anxious face.

“What's wrong?” she said abruptly.

Harry shook his head and waved his hand in an unconvincingly indifferent manner. “Nothing's wrong. What would make you think that?”

“You're not looking at me.”

“Just have a lot on my mind,” Harry replied, making a show of rifling through his desk drawers. “Gotta get those reports done—”

“Harry.”

He finally looked up at her.

“I know that's not what's bothering you,” Hermione said. “You may have a lot on your mind but it's not unfinished reports.”

Harry frowned slightly and turned away from her once more. “Look, Hermione, it's nothing,” he said a bit harshly. “Just drop it.”

Hermione frowned as well. “I might be more willing to drop it if you could do me the courtesy of saying it to my face instead of your desk.” He continued to rifle through his files. “Harry,” she said sharply.

He met her gaze once more. They stared at each other for a moment.

“Hermione,” he finally said, his voice softened considerably. “Really. It's nothing. Nothing bad at least.” He pulled a few parchments closer towards him and dipped his quill in ink. He attempted a reassuring smile that fell somewhat flat. “I'll see you tonight, okay?”

Recognizing the dismissal, Hermione stood up and left without a word. She looked back at Harry just before she stepped into the corridor to see him staring after her with an odd look on his face - regret?

She crossed her arms as she waited for the lift to take her back to the fourth floor.

He would tell her what was on his mind eventually. He always did.

***********

“I think Hermione knows something.”

Harry sat nervously in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place as he observed Ginny darting around in the act of preparing an elaborate meal for her family.

“What do you mean?” she said sharply, slamming yet another pot on the stove.

“Just what I said - she knows something.”

“The first time you said you think she knows something.”

“Well, that was a lie. I know she knows something.”

“How could she possibly know? Because you, of course, would never have said anything without asking my permission first - and I already blatantly told you not to.”

Ginny set a set of knives to work chopping vegetables and rounded on Harry.

“You didn't tell her, right?”

“No!” Harry said hastily. “Of course not!”

“Then she can't possibly know.”

“But she does! I don't think she's aware of exactly what's going on, but she definitely suspects something.”

“Then stop worrying. She might not suspect anything - you're probably just being paranoid. Grate that cheese, will you?”

Harry pulled the large chunk of cheddar and a grater towards him and began grating it by hand, finding the repetitive task soothing to his nerves.

“I don't think so. She specifically asked what was wrong with me.”

“Apart from being an obvious prat who can't lie worth a damn? Kreacher!” she said abruptly.

The house-elf appeared with a crack - though he worked at Hogwarts most of the time, he frequently came to Grimmauld Place to assist with more extravagant meals or intense cleaning.

“Yes, Mistress Ginny?” Kreacher said.

“Is the dining table set?”

“Yes, miss.”

“The library and drawing room dusted?”

“Yes, miss.”

“The floors swept?”

“Kreacher was just finishing when Mistress Ginny called.”

“Excellent. Thank you, Kreacher.”

Kreacher bowed low, and disappeared with another crack.

“I can lie just fine, thanks!” Harry said indignantly. Just not to her, he added silently.

“Obviously not, or she would never have suspected anything.” She swept the vegetables from the cutting board into the simmering pot.

“Hermione's just abnormally perceptive. You didn't seem to suspect anything when I said your stew last night was delicious.”

Ginny threw a wooden spoon quite forcefully at his head, but he caught it before it made contact.

“This isn't the time for jokes! Everyone will be here soon!” She spared a glance to look him up and down, then frowned a bit distastefully. “You'll probably want to go change before they arrive.”

Harry glanced down at himself. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans. Ginny, in contrast, looked as though she had stepped out of a fashion magazine.

“Alright,” he said, and proceeded up to their bedroom. After a few moments of looking through his closet, he selected a deep blue button-up he hadn't had the chance to wear yet. He then chose a pair of black trousers, made a vain attempt at combing his hair (as usual), and walked back to the kitchen.

Ginny looked up from the roast chicken she was adding garnishes to and nodded her approval.

“Much better. Though you might've opted for a tie.”

“What for?” Harry said. “I think I surpassed the whole `making a good impression stage' about ten years ago.”

“Fine,” Ginny said irritably. “At least your dressed. And just in time, too,” she said as the doorbell rang.

Harry made his way to the door and opened it to let in Molly and Arthur. Therefore, he was quite surprised when he saw Ron and Hermione.

“Oh - hey, guys,” he said.

“Hey,” Ron replied, grinning.

Hermione said nothing, but gazed at him with penetrating eyes.

“Er,” said Harry, staring very pointedly at Ron. “Ginny's in the kitchen…” He trailed off, turned abruptly and led them through the house.

“Hey, Ron - Hermione!” Ginny said brightly when they entered the room. “You two are the first ones here! I've made chicken for dinner!”

Harry could still feel Hermione's eyes on the back of his head as Ron expressed the extent of his hunger to his sister, and leapt to his feet the instant the doorbell rang again.

“I'll get it!” he said and quickly raced to the door. Molly and Arthur were now at the door, accompanied by Andromeda Tonks and the four-year-old Teddy Lupin.

“HARRY!” the small boy yelled, wrenching his hand away from his grandmother to dart forward and leap to Harry.

He caught Teddy and hugged him tightly; as Teddy's godfather, Harry had taken a very active role in seeing his godson -- a role that Sirius had only begun to fulfill for Harry before he died. Teddy adored him, being as Harry was the only constant male figure in his life.

Harry smiled at Andromeda as he set Teddy down. “I didn't think you could make it!”

“Freed up my schedule at the last minute,” she replied. “And Teddy was quite anxious to see you, so here we are!”

“Has anyone else arrived?” Mrs. Weasley asked as everyone stepped into the house.

“Ron and Hermione are here, but George and Angelina haven't arrived yet.”

“I would've thought they would be here by now,” Mrs. Weasley said as Harry led this second group to the dining area, where Ron, Hermione, and Ginny sat.

“Mum, Dad!” Ginny said, standing up to hug her parents. Harry distracted himself by settling Teddy into a chair while Hermione greeted Andromeda and the Weasleys.

“Teddy! Nice hair, buddy!” Ron exclaimed, referring to Teddy's fiery red fringe.

Teddy stared placidly up at Ron for a moment, and with a pop his hair changed into a vibrant lime green.

Harry laughed. “I think you've gone and upset him,” he said, ruffling the lime green locks. Teddy laughed as well, pleased that his godfather had liked his transformation.

The doorbell rang for a third time, and Ginny went to answer it this time, returning with George and Angelina in tow.

“Sorry we're a bit late,” Angelina said. “We were just dropping off Fred with Bill and Fleur.”

Fred Weasley II had been born less than a year previously and George had immediately dubbed the child after his late brother. Since George had been adamant of naming the child Fred from the moment he'd learned of his wife's pregnancy, Angelina had been quite relieved when she had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

“Don't think Bill was too pleased,” George added pleasantly. “Victoire and Dominique are giving him a run for his money as it is. Can't imagine why he'd be displeased with three toddlers rampaging through his house.”

Everyone settled themselves at the table as George spoke, which was now loaded with Ginny's meal, and proceeded to dig in. Harry seated himself next to Teddy, not only because of the boy's insistence, but because Hermione was sitting at the opposite end of the table.

He entertained Teddy throughout the meal, levitating his utensils and causing the wine in his glass to swirl into various shapes and colors. Harry was quite pleased that Andromeda had brought Teddy, as it provided him the perfect excuse to not meet Hermione's eyes. He couldn't technically be positive that she was looking his way at all, but if he knew Hermione at all she would almost certainly be shooting him fairly frequent glares along the table. It would be over soon, at least…

He barely paid any attention to the conversation until dinner was almost complete, when Ginny finally nudged him slightly and fixed him with a meaningful look. Harry swallowed and nodded.

“Everyone,” Ginny said, drawing the group's attention to her and Harry. “We have something we want to tell you.”

Harry almost felt like cringing at the traditional-ness of this scene, but felt that a grimace might be construed the wrong way.

Ginny beamed around the table, making sure to look at each member of her family.

“Harry and I are getting married!”

There was the briefest pause of silence before an exclamation of glee erupted from the center of the table.

“This is absolutely wonderful!” Mrs. Weasley cried, leaping to her feet. Noise then exploded from every which direction as everyone else stood up as well.

“Congratulations!” Angelina enthused to Ginny and Harry.

“Yeah! It's about time you came into the family officially, Harry!” George said.

Mr. Weasley simply grinned in a dazed sort of way.

Ron clapped Harry happily on the back and Mrs. Weasley kissed his cheek.

However, Harry immediately noted the absence of one person's voice in particular.

He glanced up the table and saw that Hermione had left the room.

***********

Hermione leaned heavily against the staircase, taking deep, calculated breaths.

So this is what Harry had been hiding all day - he had proposed to Ginny.

She retreated farther into the depths of the house as she thought about what he had told her earlier, the complete lie he had fed her: It's nothing. Nothing bad at least.

This situation was the complete opposite of his statement - this was without a doubt something, and it was something very bad at that.

Ginny's announcement had landed in her stomach like a physical blow, and each subsequent thought reiterated in her abdomen like follow-up punches:

Harry proposed to Ginny.

Harry didn't bother telling me he'd proposed to Ginny.

Harry is going to marry Ginny.

Hermione blinked back tears as she swallowed back the sob that threatened to escape her.

She had known this was going to happen eventually - Harry and Ginny had been together for almost five years, after all.

But why did it still surprise her?

Because you always had hope that he'd come to his senses, said a small voice at the back of her mind.

Hermione shook her head, trying to rid her head of these painful thoughts.

No… I just want him to be happy, she told herself firmly.

But you wanted him to be happy with you.

Hermione buried her face in her hands as she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks.

************

Hermione found the group in the drawing room. She walked in rather surreptitiously, but there was really no need for caution - everyone was still talking aimlessly about Harry and Ginny's engagement.

“I'm assuming Harry proposed?” Angelina asked as Hermione sat herself quietly next to Ron.

“Of course!” Ginny said, seeming slightly affronted.

“Just a question. You can't really blame me for asking…you are rather assertive.” Angelina smiled as she turned to George. “Would you have married me if I had asked you?”

George looked confused. “You did ask me!”

“I did not!”

“Yes, you did. You said, `Are we ever going to get married?'”

“That's not a proposal!” Angelina said, scandalized.

George threw up his hands in exasperation. “Now she tells me! After we've had kids no less! We obviously have to stay together for the children's sake now.”

Angelina scowled at George as everyone else laughed.

“Oh, I can't wait to begin the arrangements!” Mrs. Weasley said excitedly. “There's so much to do…there's the venue of course…”

“Mum…” Ginny said.

“We'll have to begin considering your dress as well, Ginny - the cake, the decorations, music -”

“Mum,” Ginny said more insistently.

“— invitations will be a major priority as well, hundreds I expect, and the food required to feed the lot -”

“MUM!”

Mrs. Weasley looked at Ginny in confusion. “There's really no need to shout, dear.”

“Mum, we don't want a big wedding,” Ginny said quickly.

Mrs. Weasley looked still more confused. “What…? Why wouldn't…?”

“Harry - Harry and I - we would prefer a small wedding,” Ginny said, though the tone of disappointment in her voice hinted that her desires were quite contrary.

“We just feel that a quieter wedding would be better,” Harry said, placing his hand lightly on Ginny's knee. Hermione quickly averted her eyes to her lap. “I'd rather not give the press a field day during an event that's supposed to be special,” he continued.

“Of - of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, clearly caught a bit off guard. “I hadn't considered that. Whatever you two want -”

She was cut off as Ron gave a start of surprise.

“Perce!” he yelled, staring at the fireplace.

Hermione turned to see Percy Weasley's head floating in the flames, looking very pale.

“What is it, dear?” Mrs. Weasley said.

“It's Audrey,” Percy said. “She's gone into labor.”

Squeals of excitement came from Mrs. Weasley, Angelina, and Ginny.

Percy continued hurriedly, silencing the giggly women. “Do you think you could come pick up Little Molly?” he asked his mother.

“Of course!” Mrs. Weasley said, and Percy's head disappeared instantly. Mrs. Weasley then clapped her hands together happily as she stood up.

“Another grandchild and an engagement, all in one night!” she said in delight. “Could it get any better?”

Hermione gripped the edge of the sofa tightly to prevent her hand from shaking.

She stood up with Andromeda and the Weasleys and followed them as they made their way quickly to the door in anticipation of the newest addition to the family.

Before she had stepped over the threshold, however, she felt a strong grip on her wrist. Harry stared at her intently as he held her back.

Hermione wrenched her hand away before he had even begun to speak.

“Congratulations, Harry - I'm happy for you,” she said with the best attempt at gladness she could manage. She turned and walked from the house, forcing herself to not look back. She said a quick goodbye to Ron as she reached the street and finally Apparated to the quiet solitude of her flat.

Barely thinking, she dropped herself immediately into the chair at her desk and wrote a letter to her mother:

Mum,

How are you? I'm sorry I haven't been to visit for a few weeks - work has been hectic. I was made head of the Being subdivision of my department. The work can get a bit tedious at times, but I'm glad to be in a better position where I can help others.

Ron is fine - he's still working with George at the joke shop. The babies (all four of them) are getting so big, and a fifth should be added to the mix within hours. Audrey (Percy's wife) went into labor not even an hour ago. Mrs. Weasley is ecstatic, of course. Harry and Ginny are engaged as well.

Give Dad my love. Hope to see you soon.

Love, Hermione

Hermione sealed the letter without bothering to read through it and attached the letter to Marcellus, who had thankfully returned from hunting early.

“It's to Mum,” Hermione murmured, petting the snowy owl. The owl gave her an affectionate nip on the finger and soared from the window.

Hermione watched the owl until he had been swallowed by the darkness, and then sank onto her bed. Her stomach still ached painfully. She lay back onto her pillows and shut her eyes tightly, hoping to dispel any more unbidden thoughts from rising to her mind, and eventually drifted into a restless sleep.

*********

Hermione opened her eyes blearily as the first pinpricks of morning light flickered through the open window. She rubbed her face groggily before she became aware that Marcellus had already returned. He hooted a greeting to her.

Not even bothering to gather the will-power to stand up, Hermione beckoned the owl over. Once she had removed the letter from his leg, Marcellus fluttered back over to his cage, clearly intent on taking a nap of his own.

Hermione ripped open the note and saw four words of her mother's handwriting. A fresh wave of tears came to her eyes as she read the response to only one line of her letter:

I'm so sorry, Hermione.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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25. Reaction

A/N: Okay, so don't necessarily think that this chapter will introduce a back-up mystery plot. A little bit of one will eventually emerge, but this isn't it. This was just me having a little fun with one of Harry's Auror assignments, and an opportunity to up the tension between Harry and Hermione. Some inspiration for the concept came from Smallville, specifically the red-K effects if you have any idea what I'm referring to.

Thanks so much Meli, UKwildcat820, and you Anonymous reviewers for the feedback!

Please tell me what you think!

Chapter 25: Reaction

“Haven't seen much of Granger lately,” Mitch said in a low voice as he and Harry walked towards a decrepit old house at the outskirts of the village of Losking. They were both dressed in sweaters and jeans and leaned casually against the gate of the nearest house, taking care to not gaze towards the ancient home that neither should've been able to see.

“She's been in a weird mood for a while now,” Harry replied back, pretending to peruse a map of the town. He cast his eyes around, taking in the heavily wooded area beyond the house and the occupants of the street: an elderly couple were the only visible people in the area, tending to the flowers within their tiny garden. Harry glanced at his watch, hoping that the couple would go inside without any magical persuasion.

He looked back at the now brown-haired and blue-eyed Mitch, knowing that he himself had very similar features. Harry's own hair was also lengthened slightly in order to ensure that his scar remained unseen. To any passersby, they would simply appear to be two brothers considering possible routes to hike in the forest.

“Why do you think that is?” Mitch said. “Something happen?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “She's been sort of…distant ever since Ginny and I announced our engagement.”

Actually, Harry thought to himself, perhaps “distant” wasn't the appropriate word for it. After her strange behavior that night, Hermione had been perfectly friendly. Granted, she'd stopped eating lunch with him almost altogether, but Harry knew how strenuous a new position could be at the Ministry. For this same reason, Harry suspected, Hermione's visits had also become fewer and farther apart, and completely business-related as well.

It was really Hermione's increased work ethic that resulted in Harry and Mitch standing here now, outside of Fenrir Greyback's hideout. She had thrown herself into the case quite ferociously, and her continual investigations had discovered the hints that enabled the Aurors to track down the Secret Keeper to this ramshackle building.

“She's probably just caught up with her relationship with Ron,” Harry said. “Wondering where it's going. Maybe she'll be a bit better at the engagement party tonight.” He saw the elderly woman help her husband rise from the flowerbeds and they both tottered into their small home, perhaps for a glass of water and a well-deserved break. Harry watched them closely.

“Let's go,” he said as soon as the door had snapped shut. They stole quickly across the road and slid through the iron gates. The dead grass poking through the cracked stone walk crunched softly under their feet.

As they ascended the steps leading to the porch, Harry raised his wand.

“Alohomora,” he murmured softly, and the door swung open.

Harry gestured for Mitch to follow him, and together they crept into the dusty hall. A staircase lined the right wall, and two doors stood ajar on the other.

After a moment of deliberation, he jerked his head toward the first door and Mitch nodded, moving silently towards it. Harry himself strode to the second door. He held his breath for a moment, listening intently. No noise rustled within the room. Taking a chance, he cast Muffliato, and then kicked open the door.

No one was there.

Harry glanced around the small sitting area, taking in the faded couch and the brick fireplace almost black with soot.

“Homenum revelio,” he said, and just as he suspected it would, nothing happened.

He stepped once more into the hallway, and Mitch came out of the first room before shrugging and shaking his head.

Harry nodded and led the way up the stairs, thankful that he had cast Muffliato as they creaked loudly.

Dust lay much thicker on the second level, but this only made the footprints lining the floor stand out more vividly.

Apprehension filled Harry as he observed the doorways lining both sides of this hall. However, the footsteps led to only one door.

He glanced over at Mitch, who rolled the shoulder of his wand arm with an eager look in his eyes. Harry gripped his wand more tightly and stood poised. He and Mitch stared at each other as Harry held up three fingers.

Three.

He lowered one finger.

Two.

He held up a single index finger.

One.

Harry blasted the door open and the Aurors charged into the room, ready for any spells that came their way. Somewhat anticlimactically, they found the room empty except for numerous stacks of boxes.

He walked across the room, and stared out of the lone window. He turned back towards Mitch, feeling rather confused.

“What d'you reck -”

Before he realized what had happened, a jet of black light zoomed towards him and collided with his chest. The force of the spell sent him flying backwards and he crashed through the window. Shards of glass fell with him as he hurtled towards the earth and he opened his mouth to utter a spell -

THUD.

Harry hit the ground with resounding force, knocking the wind out of him. He struggled for breath, gasping great mouthfuls of air, but before he had even stood up another body came flying from the broken window.

Harry leapt to his feet as the smell of blood and sweat came to his nostrils. Hot fury laced through his own blood, but he felt oddly calm as he raised his wand and pointed at the back of the retreating Fenrir Greyback.

“SECTUMSEPMRA!” Harry bellowed.

Blood spurted from the numerous gashes that appeared on the werewolf. He howled with rage and pain, and spun towards the Auror.

Without warning, Greyback launched himself at Harry, his teeth bared and a crazed look in his eye -

“REPELLO!”

Greyback was blasted away from him and slammed into a tree. He collapsed into in a heap but immediately went to stand up again, more angry than ever.

Harry swept across the leaf-strewn ground in three bounds and grabbed the werewolf's neck. His fingers tightened around Greyback's throat and Harry forced him upward, slamming his back into the tree once more.

Greyback's filthy hands scrambled over Harry's, trying to pry them away from his throat, but the loss of blood was finally starting to weaken him.

“Crucio,” Harry hissed almost casually, and relished the werewolf's renewed thrashing.

He relinquished the spell after a moment, but kept his hand closed tightly around the werewolf's windpipe, smiling savagely as Greyback's face began to turn blue and eyes glaze over, rolling into the back of his head…

“HARRY! What the hell are you doing!?”

“Giving this bastard what he deserves,” Harry said to Mitch as his partner ran towards him.

“That's not our choice to make!” Mitch yelled. “Let him go!”

“No,” Harry replied evenly. Greyback was beginning to slide back down the tree.

“You can't fucking do this!” Mitch bellowed. “REPELLO!”

Just as it had done to Greyback, the spell blasted Harry into the nearest tree. The werewolf collapsed onto the ground, unconscious.

Grunting, Harry picked himself up from the ground and glared at Mitch.

“Fine,” he said snidely. “I trust you can take him in from here?”

Then he turned and vanished, leaving a thoroughly bewildered Mitch behind to incarcerate the werewolf.

**********

Harry strode rather lazily into the Ministry three hours later. He walked the length of the Atrium, up the lift, and across the second floor to the Auror Office without paying the slightest attention to the people greeting him.

The instant he stepped into the Office, however, he was instantly bombarded by Alec Wahler.

“POTTER!” he roared as Harry made to pass him.

“You know, I really have some place to be,” Harry said, making an exaggerated show of checking his watch. “Urgent business, must attend to it.”

He attempted to walk past Wahler once more, but the toughened wizard stepped in his way again.

“I'm not in the mood for cockiness, Potter!” Wahler said, his face red.

“Of course you're not. Why would a tight-ass like you appreciate humor?”

Wahler looked at Harry with a rather blank expression, seeming to wonder if he had heard him right, and if he had, whether he was joking or not.

“Are you trying to be funny or are you just damn stupid?”

“Probably the latter - is there any other explanation for working under you?”

Wahler's spluttered incoherently, aghast that a subordinate would have such audacity.

“So what's the problem today?” Harry said in a bored voice.

“You know what the bloody hell is wrong!” Wahler yelled, outraged. Harry was amused to see veins standing out on his forehead. “You almost killed your target!”

“Hell of a loss that would have been.”

“That's not the point! Aurors don't kill unless there is no other alternative. It's damn wrong, and not to mention how many other assholes we can lock up using his information!” Wahler now lowered his voice so only Harry could hear him. “And Greyback tells me you used the Cruciatus Curse on him as well.”

“You're going to believe the word of a former Death Eater over one of your top Aurors?” Harry said, mock-hurt. “I would've expected more from you, Alec.”

Wahler was getting madder by the second.

“I could send you to Azkaban for something like that, Potter!” he roared.

By this point, Harry and Wahler had gathered the attention of every individual in the vicinity.

Harry fixed Wahler with a cool stare and sneered into his face.

“I'd like to see you try,” he said in a menacing undertone.

Wahler's nostrils flared and his jaw twitched with suppressed anger. He stared at Harry for a moment more before turning and storming towards his office, bellowing at the other Aurors to get back to work.

He slammed his office door behind him with a resounding crash, and then all was quiet.

Everyone now turned his or her attention to Harry, who had stayed in his original position. He glanced around at their curious gazes, and then proceeded towards his cubicle without a word.

When he reached his desk, he proceeded to rifle through some papers he really had no intention of working on, but he had hardly started before Wahler's petite brunette receptionist came sidling into view.

“Mr. Potter…?” she said timidly when he noticed her.

“How many times do I have to tell you, Melanie,” Harry said, “it's Harry.”

He flashed her a charming smile, and Melanie blushed furiously, as she always did when spoken to directly by him.

She's definitely smitten by me, Harry thought as he observed the girl fidgeting nervously in the doorway. Young…around his own age, perhaps twenty, maybe twenty-one…quite pretty too…

His smile widened slightly as he gestured for Melanie to come closer.

**********

Hermione stood shell-shocked in the door of Harry's cubicle, quite uncertain and disturbed by what she was seeing.

Harry and a brown-haired girl she recognized as Wahler's secretary sat quite close together (so close that Hermione was contemplating the possibility that she was sitting in Harry's lap) and they seemed to be talking intimately together in low voices. His hand grazed the girl's thigh and he whispered something apparently amusing into her ear, because she suddenly giggled into her hand.

Hermione bit the inside of her mouth hard. Mitch had just been up to her office, looking rather distressed about something, and proceeded to tell her that something had happened on an assignment. She had heard nothing else about the details because she had immediately raced to the Auror office to see for herself if Harry was okay.

There was definitely no question of that now.

Both occupants of the cubicle had clearly taken no notice of Hermione's entrance, because they still sat with their faces less than six inches apart.

Hermione shook her head quickly and finally cleared her throat loudly.

The girl's head shot up and Harry looked around with an unfazed expression. He in fact looked as if he was rather bored.

“Am I interrupting something?” she said nastily.

“Yes, actually,” Harry replied.

The girl (Amanda? Melissa?) cast a terrified look from Hermione to Harry and leapt from Harry's desk, immediately scurrying from the room. Hermione cast her a withering glare as she passed. She opted for the same look as she faced Harry again.

“You and what's-her-face seem to be making fast friends,” she said viciously.

“Oh, you're speaking to me now, are you? And her name's Melanie.”

“I don't care what her name is! I care that there was nothing business-like about what I just walked in on!”

“Just trying to spread some inter-office cheer,” he said, stretching his legs out on his desk.

Hermione stared at him in disbelief.

“What about Ginny?”

“Ginny who?” Harry said, yawning.

“Ginny Weasley!” Hermione screamed. “You know, red hair, brown eyes, engaged to be your wife! Ring any bells?!”

“Right, right,” Harry said dismissively, standing and approaching Hermione. “All the more reason to enjoy the present.”

“Enjoy the - Harry, are you even listening to yourself talk?! You…you love Ginny. Why are you doing this?”

“Why do you care?” Harry countered back.

Hermione blinked.

“I - Ginny's my friend - ”

“And I am too, last time I checked.” He stepped even closer to her and placed his hand on her arm. Goosebumps erupted over her skin.

“Come on, Hermione,” he said softly. “Melanie's just a friend…let's just forget about it. Let's take the day off - go dancing or something.”

Hermione gazed at him, astonished.

“You - are you asking me on a date?”

Harry grinned. “I'm asking you to have some fun with me. Whatever you want to call it is your choice.”

Hermione stepped back more easily than what she would have thought possible, given what Harry had said to her.

“What's wrong with you?” she asked forcefully. “You're not acting like yourself.”

Harry frowned. “How would you know? Maybe I'm just letting a side of myself out that you've never seen before.”

Indignation flared in Hermione's voice. “Because I've known you since you were eleven years old, Harry Potter! Don't you dare try to suggest that there is a single part of you I wouldn't recognize!”

Hermione clapped her mouth shut as Harry furrowed his brow and examined her thoughtfully.

“You're right,” he finally said, turning and picking up his jacket from the desk. “If anyone would recognize this side of me, it'd be you.”

He shrugged the jacket on over his t-shirt and turned back to Hermione.

“So maybe you don't know me as well as you think you do.”

And Harry strode from the room without another word.

***********

“MITCH!” Hermione yelled, rounding the corner briskly. She had searched her own floor, returned to and looked over the entire the second floor, and even made her way to the Minister's office in hopes of finding Harry's partner there as well. She was now on the third floor, and had lost her patience about three floors ago.

She zoomed through the Obliviator Headquarters, past the small room housing the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee, and was just proceeding down the corridor for the Invisibility Task Force when Mitch stepped through a door midway down the hall.

“MITCH!” Hermione shouted again. He turned in Hermione's direction, blanched, and swiveled to walk back the way he had come.

Hermione picked up speed and caught the back of Mitch's robes.

“What—happened—to—Harry!” she breathed dangerously.

“Geez, Granger,” Mitch said desperately, struggling to walk as Hermione continued to grip his clothes and dig her heels into the ground. “Let up, will you!?”

“TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED TO HARRY!”

“That's what I was trying to tell you before you ran out on me earlier!” he said. “I've been talking with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad,” he continued, jerking his thumb at the door behind him. “They've got absolutely no clue what could be up with him.”

“Well, you've got my attention now,” Hermione said, disgruntled. “Tell me exactly what happened.”

So Mitch gave Hermione a play-by-play account of his and Harry's mission, detailing how they had kept watch as they waited to get into the house, their search of the lower floor, being ambushed when the had stepped into the upper room, and finally how Greyback had blasted Harry through the window.

“And when I got down to them, Harry had Greyback pinned against a tree and was strangling him,” Mitch finished. He shivered slightly. “He didn't even look angry. Just…really calm.”

Hermione shook slightly as well. “I don't…he was acting perfectly ordinary when you were searching the house?”

“Definitely. It had to have happened while they were fighting. It couldn't've been an enchantment on the house, cause I would've been affected too…”

Hermione thought through the story. “What was the spell he was initially hit with?”

Mitch shrugged. “Not entirely sure. Some sort of blasting charm. Sent Harry flying.”

“But you're not positive.”

Mitch shook his head. “He didn't speak the spell out loud.”

“What did it look like?”

“Dunno…” He thought for a moment. “It looked like a ray of light. Black, I think.”

Hermione skimmed through her knowledge of spells, and could think of very few that released black jets of light. The few that she did know had no effect similar to the symptoms Harry was showing.

And if the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had no idea either…

“Mitch, where's Greyback now?”

“Hell, by now he might already be in Azkaban. He gave an immediate confession - didn't want a trial either.”

Hermione took another fistful of Mitch's robes, though in the front this time.

“You have to find out what spell he used.”

“What?! Is that even necessary? We could bring him up here and let the Squad examine him - ”

“Firstly, I'm pretty sure Harry's not going to come here very willingly and I know he could beat you in a duel if it came down to it,” she said, ignoring Mitch's look of indignation as she continued.

“Secondly, you know as well as I do that it could take a ridiculously long time to figure out what could be wrong, especially if it's rare - for all we know, Greyback could've made it up himself.”

“This isn't our department, Granger! I've already told the right people, and they're searching for an answer - ”

“MITCH!” Hermione said loudly. “I don't care! We need to figure this out by TONIGHT! I want you to find out from the source! Not the Reversal Squad!”

Mitch winced at the authority in Hermione's voice, but finally nodded.

“Fine,” he sighed. “I'll see what I can find out.”

**********

Harry slid his hands over the slightly-repaired motorbike in the Weasleys' shed. Mr. Weasley stood next to him, glancing apprehensively through the window as if Mrs. Weasley would pop her head into view at the slightest moment.

“You haven't done much with it,” Harry said, cool disappointment in his voice.

“Only been working on it for a few months,” Mr. Weasley replied. “Odd weekends and what not. I've taken it completely apart and cleaned up the pieces, but I haven't gotten much done in the way of actually putting it back together.”

Harry turned his back on the wrecked bike.

“I've been thinking that I'd actually like to have it back.”

Mr. Weasley raised his eyebrows. “Really? I've never noticed you having any particular interest in this sort of thing.”

Harry shrugged. “I don't. But it was Sirius's… I'm just feeling a bit more fond of it all of the sudden.”

“Understandable,” Mr. Weasley said, and then cracked a smile. “Though if I didn't know you better I'd say you were experiencing a pre-wedding crisis.”

“Good thing you know me better, then,” Harry replied. “When can it be finished?”

“I don't know, Harry,” Mr. Weasley said a bit uncomfortably. “I can probably have it reassembled in a few weeks…but have you even had any experience with this kind of thing?”

“Have you?” Harry asked, impatience evident in his voice. “Look, I'll be careful with it. After all, who's more responsible than Harry Potter?”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “Yes… yes, I trust you Harry. I'll have it finished as soon as possible.”

Harry clapped him on the back. “Thanks, Arthur.”

Mr. Weasley nodded absently, and Harry followed him out into the yard. Before they had walked five paces, however, Hermione had appeared out of nowhere.

“Harry! There you are, I've been looking everywhere!”

“Looks like you found me.”

Mr. Weasley looked curiously between the two. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

Hermione felt relief that Mr. Weasley had not noticed Harry's dramatic change in character, and immediately racked her brains for some plausible excuse as to why she had made such an anxious appearance.

“Er…I just needed to check if Harry's finished a report I left for him,” she said lamely. “Did you finish it, Harry?”

Harry shrugged carelessly at Hermione's inquiry. “Nah. I kept waiting for it to become more important that my personal problems, but it just never happened.”

“How about you come with me and finish it now?” Hermione said through gritted teeth, grabbing Harry's forearm and attempting to pull him from Mr. Weasley.

Harry suddenly keeled over, clutching his side theatrically. “Ouch! I think that's my appendix!”

“Such a kidder, eh, Mr. Weasley?” Hermione said, now tugging at Harry's shirt insistently. She stopped pulling after a moment.

“Is this silk?” she said, her mouth falling open as she felt the button-up shirt's material.

“Finest around,” Harry replied smugly, using the distraction to remove himself from her grasp.

“Mr. Weasley, would you mind if I had a few words with Harry?” Hermione asked, trying to sound calm.

“Of course,” he replied, an eyebrow raised. “I'll just go inside, shall I?”

“Thanks, Mr. Weasley,” she said sweetly, and whirled on Harry when the door to the Burrow had shut. “Harry, you need to come with me right now!”

“Why?” Harry said. “Did you reconsider my earlier offer? Because I know a great place - ”

“NO!” Hermione said angrily. “Something's wrong with you! I need to get you back to the Ministry!”

“Nothing's wrong with me, Hermione. I've never felt better!”

“Greyback did something to you, Harry!”

“I'm not going back to the Ministry,” Harry said firmly. “You're just being paranoid.”

“No, Harry, I'm not!” she said furiously. “You almost killed someone, insulted your boss, and almost cheated on Ginny! I am far from being paranoid!”

“You know, your nose crinkles up when you get all angry,” Harry said. “It's pretty cute.”

Hermione blushed furiously and rubbed at her nose as she glared at Harry. “This is exactly what I mean! You're not acting like yourself!”

“Which isn't all that troubling, to tell you the truth. I like the way this feels. Very…liberating.”

“Oh, very liberating indeed,” Hermione said sarcastically. “ You're on the verge of being liberated from your job, your fiancé - ”

Harry shook his head, for the first time looking vaguely annoyed. “I really don't have time for this,” he said, turning away from her.

Hermione lunged forward, but her fist closed on thin air: he had already Apparated away.

************

Harry reappeared at Charing Cross Road and crossed the street to enter the Leaky Cauldron. The pub was considerably crowded, full of wizards and witches intent on having a drink to loosen up after a rough day's work. The moment he walked through the door, silence spread throughout the pub. By the time he had sat down at the bar, however, noise had erupted once more, and he quickly found himself bombarded with multiple flagons of mead.

He grinned appreciatively around and helped himself to one of the drinks. After a few gulps, he glanced to his left: two young blonde witches had sidled along the bar, eyeing him hopefully. He glanced to his right: a pretty brunette witch had done the same.

After a moment of contemplation, Harry angled his chair slightly toward the brunette. He heard two huffs of indignation behind him, but ignored them. He smiled indulgently at the brunette.

“Hey,” he said. “Can I buy you a drink?”

The woman looked pleasantly flabbergasted at being spoken to. “Sure,” she said breathlessly. Harry signaled to Tom the bartender to serve them two glasses of firewhiskey and then turned back to the witch.

“What's your name?” he asked.

“Lianna,” she replied, her finger tapping nervously on the bar.

“That's pretty,” he said. Tom came forward at this point and deposited the two firewhiskies in front of them. Harry pushed one to Lianna and brought the other glass to his lips.

The sky beyond the windows darkened as Harry purchased drink after drink for Lianna. She hiccupped happily as he did so, and was soon chattering rather enthusiastically to a continuously disinterested Harry. He himself had stopped after his second firewhiskey and the conversation had degenerated accordingly.

“My last boyfriend never took me out,” Lianna said seriously, taking another copious swallow of alcohol. “Hardly ever at all. All my girlfriends told me to dump him, but I just didn't listen.”

“Uh huh,” Harry said for what felt like the twentieth time that night.

“I thought he'd get better, but he just didn't. He barely ever talked to me -”

“Probably because you did enough talking for the both of you,” Harry muttered into the remains of his butterbeer.

“What was that?” Lianna said, smacking her lips vaguely as she drained the remains of her glass.

“Nothing,” he said dryly.

Lianna looked at him, smiling serenely as she twirled her empty glass. She eventually extended her hand and placed it over Harry's. She fixed him with an expression that Harry suspected was meant to be seductive; it looked more confused than anything.

“How about you take me home?”

“Aah, if only you'd asked me before my hands were full,” he said, picking up two of Lianna's empty glasses. “Otherwise I'd be so there.”

“Come on,” she said, clearly too drunk to recognize his sarcasm. She pouted as she placed a hand on his chest. “Let's get out of here. We could always go to your place if you'd prefer that - ”

She suddenly paused, looking curiously at his chest. “What's that?”

Harry glanced downward and saw the topmost edge of the black mark poking through the collar of his shirt. “It's nothing,” he said. “Bruise.”

“It looks like a pretty bad bruise…” she said, extending her hand towards it.

Harry lashed out, taking her wrist in a vice-like grip.

“Don't. Touch,” he snarled.

Lianna gave an indignant whimper of pain and wrenched her hand away from him. She stood up and swayed on the spot. “Asshole!” she said furiously, and staggered away from him.

Harry watched her until she had exited the bar, then reached into his money bag to withdraw a few coins to pay for the wasted drinks. As he fumbled in his pocket, however, his hand brushed over a slip of paper. He withdrew it curiously, but recognized it immediately: a rumpled invitation to his own engagement party.

He stared at it in the dim light of the bar and then stuffed it into his pocket. He tossed a Galleon onto the bar as he left, drawing his cloak around his shoulders and smiling grimly.

He shouldn't be too late, after all.

**********

Shell Cottage was decorated beautifully for Ginny and Harry's party: Fleur had spent most of the day draping white and gold streamers throughout the house and garden, and golden orbs of light sparkled enchantingly in the starlight. Mrs. Weasley had assisted Fleur in the preparations as well by stuffing every available surface with food and drinks.

Ginny wandered aimlessly throughout the house as guests began to arrive. Her floaty white dress made it appear as though she were part of the decorations. Hermione watched as the guests approached her, offering their congratulations and inquiring where Harry was. Ginny smiled away these questions, though Hermione knew her insides must be reeling if she felt a fraction of what she herself felt.

Unlike Ginny, however, Hermione had very little hope that Harry would show up at all. She had pleaded with Ginny to postpone the party, but, as Hermione was quite unwilling to disclose any information, it had continued as originally planned.

“Where the hell is Harry?” Ron said from behind her, voicing the same thought that was echoing through Hermione's mind.

She didn't respond, instead taking a sip of wine from the glass she held.

“Everyone's starting to get antsy,” Ron continued, staring over the crowd. “Surely he didn't forget?”

“How could I forget something like this?”

Hermione whirled around; Harry smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

“Looks like everyone's having a grand old time,” he said.

“As good of a time as possible without you here, mate!” Ron said. “You better have a good excuse for being late, though; Ginny's been going up the wall - ”

“She's the one that wanted this thing - she's lucky I bothered to show up.”

Hermione groaned: she had been hoping that perhaps the effects of the spell had worn off, but obviously not. If anything, it had gotten worse.

Ron laughed uncomfortably. “Good one, Harry.”

Harry ignored the comment as he observed the guests with distaste. “Half these people wouldn't even be here if I hadn't saved their sorry - ”

“HARRY!” Hermione said.

“You know it's true,” he said bitterly. “Treating this like a publicity stunt...”

Hermione made to grab his arm. “We need to go, Harry. Right now.”

Harry stepped back.

“You know, Hermione, I'm actually a bit surprised to see you here. I'd've thought you would've made some excuse not to come.”

“Why wouldn't she have come?” Ron replied, an edge to his voice.

“Because she resents the fact that I'm with Ginny,” he said, circling behind Hermione. “After all, if Ginny wasn't in the picture, all those years of unrequited pining might actually pay off.”

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach at his words. He was behind her now, and he leaned in close to Hermione and spoke in a low voice only she could hear:

“And I can't say I haven't thought about it.”

Hermione shivered as his warm breath grazed her ear even though she knew it held nothing but a lie.

Ron's ears were beet-red.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!” he roared, advancing on Harry.

Quiet fell over the party.

“Be quiet, Ron!” Hermione hissed, pushing Ron away. “He doesn't know what he's saying!”

“I know exactly what I'm saying,” Harry replied smugly.

“You're not helping, Harry!” she fumed. She saw Ginny beginning to approach from the opposite side of the room. Panicking, she spun and pushed at Harry's chest. He finally consented to move into the garden, and Ron was right at their heels.

Harry laughed once the door had been shut, blocking out the rising noise from the party.

“He's just pissed because he's jealous of our relationship.”

“Why would I be jealous of your relationship?!” Ron spat angrily. “She's my girlfriend!”

“Will you both just SHUT UP!” Hermione yelled. “I'm not a competition!”

“You are to Ron.” Harry sneered at him. “He's always been jealous of everything I've ever had - fame, fortune, talent - and the only thing he's ever accomplished over me is dating you. Hell, he didn't even make Keeper on his own! You had to Confund McLaggen to give him a fighting chance!”

Oh no he didn't just say that. Hermione paled as she looked at Ron. He stared at her like he'd never seen her before.

“Ron, I can explain - ”

But Harry wasn't done yet.

“He works in a bloody joke shop, for Merlin's sake! No wonder you won't get a place with him, Hermione! Not like he could help with the rent much. Probably doesn't help his confidence much either. He's already paranoid that if I gave you the slightest attention you'd leave him faster than he left us during the Horcrux hunt.”

Hermione felt sick to her stomach.

Ron was positively shaking with anger, though his face was uncharacteristically ashen.

“You're just a trophy to him,” Hermione heard Harry say as though from far away. “And he's nothing but your consolation prize.”

Ron suddenly launched himself at Harry with a roar of rage, but Harry was too quick: Ron was blasted backward by the force of his spell.

“You really don't want to touch me,” Harry said.

Hermione scurried over and knelt to help Ron to his feet, but he tore himself away from her hands. He glared at her more furiously than she would have thought imaginable.

He forced himself up and twisted without sparing them another glance and Harry's crack of Apparition followed seconds later.

Still kneeling on the ground, Hermione stared blankly across the garden and out to the sea. Bowing her head, she listened sadly as the waves crashed against the cliff.

*******

Harry Apparated to Grimmauld Place and entered the hallway, feeling the blood rush through his head.

He felt no remorse whatsoever about what he had just said to his two best friends. They knew it was the truth - why else would they have been so distressed about it?

He tossed his traveling cloak to the side and scanned the house, relishing in the adrenaline rushing through his veins. He had no idea why Hermione would be so angry at his fun.

“Being ridiculous,” he muttered to himself.

He glanced around once more, but this time his eyes narrowed. Something wasn't right. He couldn't tell what, exactly, but his instincts told him everything wasn't as it seemed.

Withdrawing his wand quietly, he walked up the stairs, his ears alert for the slightest noise.

Creak.

Harry whirled and bellowed, “STUPEFY!”

Mitch threw himself out of the way as the spell zoomed past him. “What the hell, Harry!”

He didn't lower his wand.

“How did you get in here?”

“Granger told me,” Mitch said. “She wanted me to, er, drop something off.”

Harry snorted. “Right. You've never been much of a liar, Mitch.”

“Well, it's true,” Mitch said. He fidgeted uncomfortably. “I was just dropping it off in the kitchen.”

“Great,” Harry said. “Now you can get out.”

Mitch's hand twitched at his pocket.

“STUPEFY!” Harry yelled again. Mitch dodged the spell once more and pointed his wand at Harry.

Harry cast a Shield Charm as Mitch's spell rocketed towards him, but to his immense surprise, it passed right through it.

He fell back against the stairs, feeling as though his insides had been doused with icy water.

Mitch hurried towards him.

“Are you alright, man?”

Harry shook his head like a dog, trying to focus on Mitch as his emotions righted themselves. Then his eyes widened.

“Shit,” he moaned, pressing his face into his hands.

“You can say that again,” Mitch said, clapping Harry on the back.

“Shit,” he said again.

“Thank Merlin you're back to normal,” Mitch said.

“What did Greyback do to me?”

“It's a curse that he and a few of his rampant Death Eater pals came up with. It's actually pretty brilliant once you get past the pissed-off factor. They formulated it as a sort of interrogation method. Veritaserum is hard to come by when you're wanted in four countries. Plus the fact that a lot of accomplished wizards can stop its effects if they have their wits about them - ”

“I get the point,” Harry growled.

“Right. Well, the spell basically takes away any self-control you have. You don't have any desire to keep secrets. Unfortunately, they didn't foresee the fact that you would lose any possible mercy either.”

“I still don't really understand,” Harry said. “I wasn't just spewing out secrets.”

“Think of it this way,” Mitch said. “You know that sort of metaphor about having an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other? It's like the devil bound and gagged the little angel.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but accepted the explanation without comment.

“But that doesn't explain why Greyback used it on me.”

“I think he was counting on having some backup to capture you once he blasted you out the window,” Mitch said. “You know, to find out anything you could tell them about how you defeated You-Know-Who.”

“Good thing I wasn't captured,” Harry said sarcastically. “Instead I almost killed someone, cussed out my boss, practically cheated on my fiancé, and pissed off my two best friends possibly beyond repair.”

“Rough day,” Mitch said sympathetically.

Harry paused as he considered everyone he needed to apologize to. Something didn't add up though…

“That spell…it must have done something besides remove my inhibitions…” Harry said slowly. “I said stuff that I didn't mean…the curse must have put words in my mouth…”

“No,” Mitch said. “It didn't. I have no idea what you said, but those ideas had to have come from somewhere.”

***********

Harry spent the next day apologizing profusely to anyone he had insulted. He talked lengthily with Wahler about his disobedience and he also spoke with Melanie about leading her on inappropriately. They both accepted his apologies quite easily once he had explained the circumstances.

However, Ginny was much less forgiving.

She had stared stonily at Harry as he explained why he had shown up late to their engagement party, and still sat cross-armed when he went to find Ron and Hermione. Even the box of Honeydukes chocolates and bouquet of red roses Harry had given her did little to lighten her mood.

He had purposely saved Ron and Hermione for last, considering they were the individuals he was most nervous to talk to.

He knocked disconsolately on the door of Hermione's flat. After a moment, the door cracked open and Hermione peered out through red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh. Harry.”

Harry fidgeted under her emotionless stare.

“Can I come in?”

Hermione glanced behind her, but then nodded and stood back to permit his entrance.

Ron sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea clutched in his hand. He also stared rather blankly at Harry, but at least jerked his head in a sort of greeting. Hermione passed Harry and sat down at the table as well.

“You can sit down, you know,” Hermione said when Harry remained standing in the doorway.

Harry took a few steps closer, but didn't sit. Instead, he pulled a single red rose and a box of Sugar Quills from within his coat and held them up to Hermione.

Hermione took them as wordlessly as Harry had given them.

Ron broke the silence. “You think that you can give her flowers and candy and she'll pretend nothing happened?”

“No,” Harry said. “I don't. I just came to apologize. Those things I said…that wasn't me."

Hermione stared silently into her full cup of tea for several moments. But Ron finally sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“I know it wasn't your fault, mate…I just…some of the stuff you said…”

“I didn't mean anything I said -” Harry began.

“Doesn't mean some of it wasn't true,” Ron said. “That's why I've got an interview at the Auror Office.”

“What…? Ron, if this is because of what I said - ”

“It's time for me to step up,” Ron replied, cutting him off. “It's just something I feel like I need to do.”

Harry smiled. “Then that's great, Ron! You'll be a shoe-in!”

Ron grinned back. “Thanks, mate.”

Hermione finally looked up from her cup.

“You said the spell made you say things you didn't mean?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. It did,” he lied.

They stared at each other for a moment, and it was plain to Harry what was going through her mind.

She looked down again, but instead focused her attention on the rose.

“Good,” she said quietly, and began to lightly caress the flower's soft petals without another word.

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26. Hard to Believe

A/N: I want to thank those of you who reviewed the last chapter, including UKwildcat820, EmmaRadcliffe, Meli, and auror_lumos09, as well as an Anonymous reviewer. Your consistent reviews make my day! :)

Anyway, about this chapter…the events that occur within this chapter may not be to your liking, but I hope you enjoy the angst surrounding it! It's obviously a necessary factor as we make our way to the Epilogue. Please tell me what you think!

Chapter 26: Hard to Believe

Hermione stared blankly at her lap, where her hands were folded as though in prayer. She was presently accompanying Ginny as she flitted over last minute wedding details, which she had been doing for the last two weeks. Not much to Hermione's surprise, she had seen little of Harry despite her involvement in his wedding.

After he had apologized to her and Ron almost a month previously, he had avoided her like the plague - much like she had avoided him in the aftermath of his engagement. However, unlike Harry's response to her evasion, Hermione was content to allow Harry to steer clear of her. Though she knew Harry had not been in his right mind, she was still finding it difficult to completely disregard his words.

She resents the fact that I'm with Ginny…After all, if Ginny wasn't in the picture, all those years of unrequited pining might actually pay off.

Hermione alone knew that this statement was true, but she still resented Harry for speaking them aloud, for verbalizing her most secret feelings in a manner that was practically mockery. She despised feeling weak, and Harry had made her feel like a weak, stupid, love-sick teenager.

The tension Harry had made between her and Ron was also infuriating. Ron had been exceedingly polite to her since the incident, but this was always an indication that he still held a grudge.

Luckily, both Harry and Ron had been busy with Auror preparations and what Ron liked to call “bachelor time” since the engagement party, and Hermione was more than happy to escape the tension for a while. This was partially why she had thrown herself so willingly into Ginny's service, running errands and the like.

“Hermione? HELLO, earth to Hermione!”

Unfortunately, it seemed to be doing a poor job of keeping her mind off the matter.

“What? What is it?”

Ginny stood in front of her, holding her wedding dress. One hand was on her hip and she wore an exasperated expression Hermione had become quite familiar with over the past few days.

“I was just blabbing on for the past ten minutes on how much I love this dress and you've been sitting there like a zombie! Did you hear a word I said?”

“Um…”

“Geez, Hermione, you're my maid of honor! You're supposed to dote on me on my last day as a free woman!”

Hermione sighed. “I'm sorry, Ginny, I know I'm not being the most exciting company at the moment.”

Ginny snorted. “No offense, but you've never been `exciting' company.”

“Thanks, Ginny.”

Ginny waved her hand in dismissal. “Oh, you know what I mean. I would only consider someone `exciting company' if they were ridiculously unpredictable - like scary unpredictable.”

Hermione gave a snort similar to Ginny's. “Like you, for example?”

Ginny thought for a moment. “Yeah, I guess so. Why do we hang out again?”

“If you think about it, together we average out to normal.”

Ginny laughed. “That's brilliant! Our personalities cancel each other out! But spit it out -- you are acting pretty glum about something.”

“It's nothing,” Hermione said.

“Yes, it is.” Ginny peered closely at Hermione. “You're having love drama, aren't you?”

Hermione swallowed. “What - what do you mean?”

“It's so obvious. I don't know why I didn't realize it before…With all of this marriage stuff going on, you've been wondering about your own relationship.”

“Um…right,” Hermione lied. “That's it.”

“Are you having doubts?”

“Of - of course not! I really like Ron -”

“Ah, I see what the problem is,” said Ginny sagely. She held her hand in front of Hermione's face. “How many fingers am I holding up? Do you get a lot of headaches?”

Hermione forced out a smile.

“There you go!” Ginny said happily. “Cheer up! This is supposed to be the happiest day of my life, after all!”

*********

“Harry! Come on, mate, focus!” Ron said, snapping his fingers in Harry's face.

Harry blinked and stared at Ron.

“You're completely out of it, mate!” Ron said. “You're supposed to get bloody crazy on your last night out and you're sitting there like a bump on a log! Have you even finished one drink?”

Harry looked down at his almost full tankard of beer.

“Nope.”

“This Muggle stuff is awesome!” Seamus said loudly over the noise of the bar. “Drink up!”

“Yeah, everyone's having a great time!” Neville shouted, taking a large gulp from his own tankard.

“Most definitely!” George said, banging his glass into Bill's. “Even Percy's enjoying himself!”

“You would be too if you were escaping from baby-duty!” Percy said. “Lucy's almost a year old and quite a handful. And I'm surprised Bill's here with Fleur being pregnant and all.”

“Right,” George said. “I lose track of these things. Which number is this, Bill? Twenty-seven?”

“Three, thank you very much,” Bill said.

“You're gonna be totally outnumbered, man,” Ron said. “You'll have four little ladies running around the house.”

“Probably. So far the Weasley clan's having quite the girl-streak,” Bill replied.

“I don't know what Mum's deal was,” George said, shaking his head.

“Poor little Fred stands alone,” Ron said.

“He's a trooper,” George replied fondly. “Just like his namesake. He'll probably enjoy having ladies around all the time.”

Harry tuned out of the conversation as he reverted back to his original musings. It had been almost a month since his “episode” and he still couldn't put it behind him.

What had made him say those things? He had never spoken to Hermione like that before - had never even thought of Hermione like that before.

At least this is what Harry continued to tell himself, but he knew that this wasn't entirely true. It would most likely be more accurate to say that he had never thought extensively of Hermione like that before. After all, she'd been his best friend for the better part of twelve years…it was practically impossible to not have even considered it as a possibility at one point or another. She was absolutely brilliant, kind-hearted, and, yes, even attractive.

But Hermione had always been interested in Ron, not him. And Harry had been attracted to Cho, then Ginny… and here he was. Hours away from getting married. He had absolutely no reason to be dwelling on things he'd said when he was cursed.

Even worse was the fact that he was lingering on Hermione's reactions as well. He knew that she must have been completely thrown off by his advances, but this wasn't what troubled him.

What troubled him was the look on her face when he told her that he hadn't meant anything he'd said. She'd seemed…disappointed.

Harry shook his head and drank from his tankard. Ridiculous…he was reading too much into it. The curse had just exaggerated his companionable love into something that it wasn't. He didn't have any subconscious feelings for Hermione, and Hermione felt nothing but friendship for him.

He drank more deeply from his glass and then slammed it down, intent on enjoying the rest of his night.

This was made quite easy when he noticed Ron talking quite suavely to the leggy Muggle bartender. Harry was completely unperturbed by it - after all, he knew Ron was just enjoying some harmless flirting. However, he must have said something she didn't approve of, because a moment later she poured a full pitcher of beer over Ron's head.

Ron sputtered as the barmaid stalked away.

“I think I debunked the theory that the customer is always right,” he growled, pushing away the hair that was plastered to his forehead.

***********

Hermione was beginning to feel increasingly agitated as the hours before the wedding went by with alarming speed. She had been shaken awake early that morning by an uncharacteristically flustered Ginny and had spent the time since making herself and the fidgety bride presentable. Now it was nearing nine-thirty- only half an hour remained before the ceremony.

“I can't believe this is happening,” Ginny said breathlessly, spinning to observe herself in a mirror resting against the wall of her old bedroom. She had been doing this every five minutes since she had put on the dress, but Hermione could hardly blame her… The flowing white dress was positively stunning on her, after all. The floor-length, intricately beaded, halter-top style accentuated, well, everything really. Her slender waist, her complexion, her hair-style…she looked positively beautiful. However, Hermione thought that this beauty was greatly contributed to by the radiant smile that refused to leave Ginny's face.

“I've been waiting for this practically since I was ten years old.”

“And you're going to end up missing it if you keep twirling like that,” Hermione said in a falsely cheery voice. “You're still not ready.”

Ginny obliged to stay still for a few moments, enabling Hermione to clasp a string of pearls around her neck and place the same goblin-made tiara used by Fleur onto her hair. They both stood back to admire the accessories' effects.

“You look amazing, Ginny,” Hermione said.

Ginny turned towards her, tears sparkling in her eyes, and hugged Hermione fiercely.

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what, exactly?” Hermione said, taken aback.

“For…well, for Harry, really.”

Hermione pulled away from Ginny, her brow furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

Ginny smiled. “You're the one who told me to get on with my life…to date other people and relax more around Harry, remember? You said he'd take more notice of me if I acted more myself. And he did, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Hermione choked out. She had almost forgotten she'd given such advice.

“I mean, I probably would've relaxed a bit eventually, but he'd have probably been taken by then.” Ginny turned to the mirror once more and beamed at her reflection. “And now I'm marrying him!”

Hermione's throat was quite dry as she opened her mouth to speak, but she was thankfully saved the trouble by Mrs. Weasley bursting into the room.

Mrs. Weasley gave a watery smile as she beheld her only daughter and covered her mouth with both her hands.

“Oh, Ginny,” she said, and then bustled forward to embrace her child. A small sob escaped her lips.

“I can't b-believe my baby girl's getting m-m-married!” she wailed.

Ginny patted her mother's back.

“I've been moved out for awhile, Mum. It's not going to be any different, really.”

“You say that until you've got a baby of your own getting married!” Mrs. Weasley said with a shake of her head.

“Don't worry, Mum,” Ginny said. “I would never allow such a thing. Babies are much too young to get married.”

Mrs. Weasley hiccupped and hugged Ginny again, laughing slightly.

“Where's Dad?” Ginny said, trying to change the subject.

“Oh, he doesn't want to see you until it's absolutely necessary. He's probably going to blubber worse than me!” Mrs. Weasley looked at the clock on Ginny's wall. “Actually, we need get started shortly. Hermione, dear, would you mind going to fetch Arthur?”

“Of course,” Hermione said. She hastened from the room, and then leaned against the banister once she was out of sight. She breathed deeply, praying for composure, before walking down the remaining steps. She knew Harry would already be standing in position at the end of the aisle, and was therefore pleased to find Mr. Weasley in the kitchen instead of the garden.

“Mrs. Weasley asked me to get you,” she said, an apologetic tone to her voice. Mr. Weasley looked quite pale.

“Really? That time already?” he said nervously.

She nodded tersely.

Mr. Weasley gave a sigh, apparently steeling himself, and proceeded up the rickety staircase.

Hermione stayed behind, deciding not to intrude on this private moment between parents and daughter, the final moment in which their child was still truly theirs. She stood quietly, her long repetitive breaths soothing the heaviness that had settled in her stomach.

Far too soon, Mrs. Weasley came bustling down the stairs, closely followed by Mr. Weasley and Ginny. Mrs. Weasley's eyes glistened as she swept by to enter the garden. A moment later, Luna Lovegood and Gabrielle Delacour, both clothed in lavender dresses to match Hermione's, entered the house. After smiling widely at Ginny, they lined themselves up in front of Hermione.

And then the music began to play.

**********

Harry stood nervously within the lavishly decorated garden. White and pale lavender silk were trailed elegantly along the aisle between the rows of seats, and white roses blossomed over the trellis that Harry stood under.

The scent of the roses was almost over-powering and Harry was beginning to feel quite light-headed as he surveyed the guests seated in front of him.

Just as Mrs. Weasley had promised, there were not an extravagant number of people there. Approximately fifty witches and wizards sat before him. On one side sat numerous Weasley relatives (almost all with flaming red hair, of course), and on the other sat a good number of Harry's friends. Seamus, Dean, Neville, Hannah, Mitch and his wife, Alec Wahler, Kingsley, Andromeda Tonks, Katie Bell, Lavender Brown, Lee Jordan, Ernie Macmillan, Parvati and Padma Patil, Alicia Spinnet, and Hagrid, as well as Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and Slughorn all sat on the groom's side, beaming at the young man that had been formed from the small, bespectacled, knobbly-kneed child they had first encountered eleven years ago.

Harry glanced sideways at Ron, who was wincing slightly in the bright sunlight; he had indeed enjoyed Muggle beer. The red-head gave him a feeble thumbs-up.

Harry felt as if lead had replaced the contents of his stomach.

However, before he could give any further thought to this, the wedding guests all stood up as one, facing the entrance of the garden.

And then the music began to play.

*********

The soft music seemed to instantly dispel Hermione of all thought. The notes wafted calmly through the air and became the central thing of which she was aware - that and the lump in her throat that she couldn't manage to get rid of. She went through the motions of the other bridesmaids, smiling brightly and lining herself along the trellis, but it was if she was on autopilot.

She was dimly aware of Teddy Lupin darting up the aisle with the rings and standing next to Harry, the gasps of appreciation as Ginny made her entrance, and then Ginny leaving Mr. Weasley's side to join Harry's. Or perhaps she was only aware of this because she had already known what would happen. It was all quite generic, really.

The ceremony itself passed in even more of a blur. The words were gibberish as they fell from the presiding wizard's lips, the faces of the crowd hazy. Only one moment of painful clarity came, and Hermione turned her head away as the newlyweds kissed.

********

Hermione did not regain a semblance of consciousness until half an hour later when she felt a tap on her shoulder. The reception was now in full swing as a lively tune blared around the Burrow, prompting the majority of guests to their feet. She was sitting quietly at one the tables farthest away from the dance floor and was therefore slightly bewildered by the hand on her arm.

“Hermione?”

She glanced behind her and saw that the groom himself had approached her. She acknowledged his dark jacket and trousers, the black tie to match, and the crisp white shirt, mentally cursing him for having opted for Muggle attire.

“Oh! Harry!” she said, trying to smile brightly. “Shouldn't you be with your - with Ginny?” She had attempted to say wife but the word had caught in her throat.

“Ginny's dancing with her dad,” Harry said, jerking his head back towards the mass of wedding guests. Hermione caught a glimpse of Arthur twirling his daughter before they were hidden by other dancers. “And I thought I'd take the opportunity to dance with my best friend.”

He extended his hand toward Hermione. She hesitated for only the briefest moment before placing her hand in his. This was his day, after all, and despite her internal struggles Hermione didn't want to deny Harry even the slightest of his desires.

She had never been especially good at refusing him, anyway.

Smiling broadly, Harry led her back to the dance floor as a slower song began to play.

Of course, Hermione thought bitterly. She had had enough emotional turmoil today without being forced into such close proximity with the source of her unrest.

Harry seemed to falter slightly as well by the time they reached the dance floor. Hermione was suddenly vividly aware that he still held one of her hands in his. However, he finally let go and placed both of his hands on her waist. His hands felt very warm against the thin fabric of her dress.

She placed her own arms around his neck, fighting the furious fluttering in her stomach.

Harry grinned a bit sheepishly at her as he took the initiative and pulled her closer, beginning to step in time to the music.

“I wanted to thank you for…for helping Ginny with all of this.”

“It was nothing,” Hermione sighed. “I'm the maid of honor. I was supposed to help.”

“Even so,” Harry said. “It doesn't make us any less grateful.”

Us. Hermione felt slightly sickened that he was already speaking on behalf of his wife.

“Can you believe this is actually happening?” Harry continued.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said. Her voice was a bit raspy due to her throat being so dry. “That you and Ginny have gotten married?”

“Technically. But I was thinking more in the broad sense. Can you believe that we're both standing here…that we've lived to be twenty-three years old, that we're in meaningful relationships, have successful careers…that we don't have the fate of the world resting on our shoulders any more?”

Hermione was once again thrown off by Harry's pronoun usage.

We.

He considered her an integral part of his life, so integral that he had merged the boundary where his destiny and her assistance had separated. Somehow this made Hermione feel stronger, more solidly connected to this moment, and she gripped her laced fingers more tightly.

She gazed thoughtfully at Harry -- The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. So many different responsibilities and expectations had come with these titles. And finally they could be forgotten. Sure, the majority of the Wizarding world would still think of him through these names, but Harry himself could disregard them. These names had fulfilled their purpose and were now firmly in the past where they belonged. Harry was simply Harry now, a man who deserved more happiness in his future than anyone else she knew.

These thoughts above all else gave Hermione the strength to smile back at Harry. If this was what would make Harry happy - if Ginny was what made Harry happy - then she had absolutely no right to resent him for that. No matter how badly her heart ached, no matter how much she wanted to simply sit down and cry, no matter how strongly she wished she was wearing white at that moment, she wouldn't give in to her selfishness.

So she would smile, no matter how much it hurt.

“I can believe it,” she said, ignoring the intense burning in her throat and eyes. “There was never a doubt in my mind that you wouldn't make it to this day. I'm so glad for you.”

Harry gazed at her for a few moments, almost curiously, before a small smile crossed his face. He pulled her closer.

“Thanks, Hermione.”

Hermione nodded into his chest, suddenly desperately wishing to be alone. Though she was not paying the slightest attention to the music anymore, she pulled away from him the instant she heard the final beats of the song end.

“I bet Ginny's ready to dance with her groom again,” she said, and made a hasty retreat to the opposite side of the dance-floor. Harry made a move as though to follow her but was immediately intercepted by Ginny, who was indeed ready to dance with Harry again. Hermione located an empty table and sat down.

However, before she had the slightest chance to brood, Mitch plopped down unsteadily at the table beside her.

“Well, hic, hey there good lookin',” he drawled.

Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Mitch, are you drunk?”

“Which one of you ladies wants to know?”

Hermione surveyed his face for a moment before smirking. “Never mind, I retract my question. You're not drunk.”

Mitch stared at her drunkenly and then sat up in his chair, taking the time to straighten his tie.

“How'd you know?” he asked.

“A, you don't smell like firewhiskey, B, you're eyes aren't dilated, and C, I know for a fact that Becca would never let you act like such an ass.”

“Cheers to that,” Mitch said, taking a drink from his wine glass as he observed his wife chatting with Katie, Alicia, and Parvati.

Hermione sought out Ron in the crowd of people, feeling a bit guilty that she hadn't even spoken to him. However, he seemed to be having a grand time, positively roaring with laughter at something Seamus had just said, so her guilt was rather unfounded.

She turned her attention back to Mitch, who in turn had turned his attention to Harry.

“Thank Merlin he's not acting crazy today,” he said.

Hermione nodded in agreement. “Yes, it certainly wouldn't do for him to be insulting everyone on his wedding day.”

“Yeah,” Mitch chuckled. “Everyone would certainly be getting an earful of what Harry really thinks about them.”

Hermione paused as she went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. What Harry really thinks about them?

She sat silently, wondering how to go about this.

“Speaking of that spell…”

“What about it?” Mitch said, refilling his glass with a touch of his wand.

“Harry didn't give that many details about it…he was quite embarrassed, obviously,” Hermione said slowly. “I know what the effects are, but he didn't say exactly what it stemmed from.”

“Well, it really just makes him lose his inhibitions,” Mitch said, seeming to appreciate being asked for his expertise on the subject. “Like he doesn't have a filter between his brain and his mouth.”

Hermione was careful not to show any surprise on her face as she pressed him further.

“What's the point of it?”

“Death Eater interrogation tool. Makes the victim lose any sense of commitment, responsibility, tact -”

“ - common human decency…”

“Pretty much,” he said, chuckling. “I think a lot of the crap he said was mostly either his subconscious or exaggerated plays on what he knew would hurt others, but it was all there on some level.”

Hermione nodded. She could not tell if this information pleased her or not.

According to Mitch, Harry had meant everything he had said to her… asking her on a date, acknowledging her feelings for him, expressing his own feelings for her…

The question was, had his words been the product of long-kept secrets, or had they simply been a strategy to cause her pain? And if it were the former, was there anything she could really do about it?

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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27. Try

A/N: Okay, do me a favor and power through the two following this chapter. They are somewhat similar to the last one in terms of progressing the canon events, but they are still heavily H/Hr-centric given the mindset of the characters. As for this one…I feel a little bad in writing this one because the events that occur are almost solely for a very simple purpose, which is revealed in the next chapter I think. I'm not all that pleased with it, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. But again, please stick through the next two!

Thanks to justduck, kinikeens, auror_lumos09, UKwildcat820, and anyone else who reviewed!

Chapter 27: Try

In the weeks that followed, Hermione made a strong effort to appear as happy as possible. She interacted cheerfully with Ron and her friends, behaved pleasantly when she visited her parents, and was positively chipper at work.

It was good practice, after all. Harry and Ginny had been in France on their honeymoon for multiple weeks now, so she hoped that by the time they returned she would be able to pull off a believable façade.

Maybe she would even start to believe it after a while.

But it did get exhausting after a time, which is why Hermione had elected to bring home the office reports she had to write. She really had no desire to deal with her coworkers today.

When she arrived back at her apartment, she plopped the fairly thick stack of parchments on her desk and sat down. She pulled one report towards her, glanced at it, then pushed it back with distaste less than five seconds later. She apparently had no desire to deal with reports, either.

She thought for a moment of seeing what Ron was up to, but dismissed the idea immediately: Ron was still intensely involved with his Auror training almost everyday, so disturbing him wasn't an option.

Even when she picked up a novel she had been intending to read she put it back down without even completing the first page. She felt unusually restless, and had no idea why.

Just as this thought was running through her mind, she heard a ringing from the living room. Hermione had purchased a cell phone quite recently to make correspondence with her parents easier. She still wrote letters to them regularly, but it was usually quite a hindrance for her mother or father to contact her without an owl of their own.

She picked up the phone from the table next to the doorway and flipped it open.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hermione?”

Her mother had only spoken four syllables but Hermione knew instantly that something was wrong.

“Mum, what is it?” she said, her voice perhaps sharper than she had intended in her anxiousness.

Hermione heard her mother sob and felt a part of her already mangled heart break.

“Is Daddy okay?” she asked, her voice taking on an almost childlike quaver. It felt like an eternity before her mother choked out a reply.

“No, sweetheart, he's not.”

**********

Harry threw himself down on a towel next to his wife. He was sopping wet from swimming in the ocean, while Ginny had mostly remained on the sand getting a tan. As he had become accustomed to doing, Harry had magically disguised the mark on his chest, which still had not improved significantly.

He lay there for a few seconds, catching his breath, before turning on his side and looking at Ginny, whose eyes were closed.

Harry crept forward slightly and used the edge of his towel to brush at her stomach.

“The archaeologist removes a thin layer of sediment from the form,” he said, putting on a strong Australian accent. “Oh my, would you look at how well this fossil is preserved. It must have been here for centuries, lying completely and utterly dormant as life around it moves on -”

“How would you like an ancient curse, pal?” Ginny said, not bothering to open her eyes.

“Come on, Gin, don't be a spoilsport! You should go swimming with me.”

“Tempting, but I'd really like to get a tan for once in my life.”

“You can get a tan just as easily out in the water,” Harry replied. “Or just get a sunburn like you usually do.”

Ginny cracked open one eye and sneered at him. “Is that a crack at my skin-tone?”

Harry nodded apologetically. “Fair skin and sun just don't mix. You've been burned to a crisp multiple times already and you're not all that much darker.”

Ginny sat up slightly, wincing as she did so. “Curse my genetics. At least I got the looks in the family. I don't know what happened with Ron.”

Harry chuckled. “You don't give him a break, do you?”

“I never got a break, and it just so happens that he's the easiest target. Fred and George always had Percy covered.”

“True,” Harry said.

“So when d'you think Ron and Hermione will tie the knot?” Ginny said, propping herself on her elbow.

“Er…” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable.

“I mean, it's really just a matter of time now.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because we got married,” Ginny said pointedly. “Ickle Ronikins isn't one to let himself be shown up. Especially by you.”

“That's ridiculous,” Harry said. “It's not like if I jumped off a bridge Ron would too.”

Ginny didn't immediately reply, instead getting a dreamy far-off look.

“Well?” Harry said after several moments.

Ginny shook her head and refocused on Harry. “Sorry, I was just visualizing Ron jumping off a bridge.”

Harry laughed again, but refused to be led off topic.

“So you really think that he's going to propose just because we got married?”

“Of course he's not going to propose because of it, but I would bet a good many Galleons that he's going to speed up the process as a result.”

Harry tried to sound neutral. “How soon do you think?”

“Months. A year max,” Ginny said. She smiled brightly at the thought. “I can't wait for Hermione to join the family! She's smarter than Ron…she's nicer than Ron…she's more talented than Ron… wow, Ron's kind of pathetic.”

Harry remained silent as Ginny abused her brother good-naturedly, and then spoke after a moment.

“Has Hermione talked to you about any of this?”

“Um, not really,” Ginny said, settling back again in the sand. “She was helping me a lot with the wedding, after all. She was acting a bit odd the closer we got to it, though. I think she's been thinking a lot about her relationship with him.”

“That makes sense,” he said, nodding jerkily.

“What about you?” Ginny asked. “Has Ron talked to you about anything?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, staring out at the water. “Like you said, we've all been busy with the wedding…and the fact that he's started Auror training doesn't help matters. There's not really a lot of room for conversation when you're blasting spells at each other.”

All of this was true, but Harry rather doubted if Ron would tell him even if he were planning to propose. After all the trouble with Greyback's spell, Ron seemed to have little desire to discuss Hermione with him at all…not that Harry could blame him, really.

Harry's reveries were cut short, however, as something small hit him hard in the back of his head. Swearing and rubbing his head, he turned around and was met with the tiny form of Pigwidgeon.

Harry pulled back slightly to distance himself from the owl's wildly fluttering wings and then snatched him out of the air.

“What are you doing here, Pig?” he asked.

The owl hooted importantly.

“I see,” said Ginny, who had sat up to stroke the little bird's head. “He says Ron wants to be an obnoxious prat and disrupt our blissfully peaceful honeymoon.” She took the bird into her own grip. “Pigwidgeon Weasley, you should be ashamed of yourself for participating in such a ruse.”

Pigwidgeon cocked his head confusedly at Ginny.

“Geez, you've been around Ron too long,” she said sadly.

Harry pulled off the small scroll attached to Pig's leg and unrolled it. Ron's handwriting seemed particularly sloppy today:

Harry and Ginny,

I'm sorry for putting a damper on your honeymoon, but I figured I should tell you before you got back. Hermione's dad passed away yesterday. She's upset, of course, but she's getting through. She's staying with her mum for a while.

I hope you're having a great time in France.

Ron

“What is it?” Ginny said, seeing the distraught look cross Harry's face. She released Pigwidgeon, who hopped a few paces away and observed the bikini-clad women dispersed along the shore.

Harry swallowed loudly and then wordlessly handed the note to her.

She gasped softly as she finished it. “Oh no,” she murmured, putting a hand across her mouth. “Poor Hermione…she must be hurting so much right now.”

Harry stood up almost unconsciously and began to pull on his shirt.

“Harry, what are you doing?” Ginny said, furrowing her brow.

He didn't reply until he had finished clasping the last button in place. “I need to go check on her,” he said, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

Ginny frowned, staring at him with an unreadable gaze, and then finally turned away.

“Give Hermione my love for me, will you?”

“I will,” he said, and without bothering to pick up any of his other possessions he Apparated from the beach, leaving Ginny to glance around nervously to see if any other beachgoers had noticed his disappearance.

************

The next few hours passed in a daze.

Hermione felt as if she were in a state of paralysis, although logically she knew that this wasn't the case. Almost as if from a third-person perspective, she watched herself jot down a note to Ron, explaining what had happened and that she was going to her mother's, and attach the note to Marcellus' leg. She also observed herself as she methodically packed a suitcase with about a week's worth of clothing, contacted the appropriate people about taking a few days off of work, and finally as she had Apparated from the apartment.

Why was she always like this? She felt as though something similar had occurred to her at Harry's wedding. When her heart was in greatest pain, screaming at her to sit down and cry before she bled to death from the pain of it, her brain took over, manipulating her motions and ensuring no such thing happened.

Her mother had greeted her at the door, her face swollen from crying, and embraced her daughter desperately, sobbing into the shoulder of the only person who could possibly understand a fragment of her grief.

Hermione fought back the majority of her own tears, hugging her mother back just as desperately. After several minutes, Katherine had relinquished her hold on her and directed Hermione into the kitchen, where she set about fussing over tea. Hermione had quietly pushed her mother into a chair and made the drinks herself. Crookshanks had then leapt into Katherine's lap - it seemed as though the cat hadn't left her side at all that day.

Once Hermione had placed a steaming cup of tea in front of herself and her mother, Katherine had told her wearily of what had happened to her father.

Benjamin Granger had died of an aneurysm earlier that morning. When Katherine had wakened him to go to work, he had complained of a fierce headache. Katherine, thinking little of it, had simply given him an aspirin and kissed him lightly on the forehead before going to the office herself.

When she had returned to her house at around noon to check on him, she had found him collapsed in the middle of their bedroom.

Hermione's cup rattled loudly in its saucer as her hands shook furiously. Neither she nor or her mother had taken a single sip. They had sat silently like this for a long time, before Katherine had suggested they both go to bed. Hermione had retreated to her own bedroom, which was kept mostly the same, and she knew that her mother had gone to the guest bedroom.

She fell asleep almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, feeling emotionally drained, and awoke early the next morning. When she walked once more down to the kitchen, she found her mother sitting silently at the table; her eyes were dark-rimmed from lack of sleep.

Close relatives began to arrive as the day wore on, expressing their condolences and leaving a vast arrangement of casseroles, pies, and other dishes. Hermione really didn't understand why this was such a customary tradition. Oh, you're father died?

Here's a mince pie to make it better. She knew that she had no appetite whatsoever, and if her observations were correct, neither did her mother.

The relatives generally stayed for about half an hour, assured Katherine that they would be attending the funeral the next day, and left. Hermione was always relieved when they left, but the feeling of loneliness permeated the house the instant the door shut.

Without the presence of the familiar brown-haired, bespectacled man, the house felt abandoned. Hermione kept expecting to see him in every room she entered: drinking coffee at the kitchen table, reading his newspaper in his favorite chair, exiting the back door to tinker in his wood shop. But the fact remained that he would never grace these locations again, and each time she thought of this her stomach ached.

She sat with her so-uncharacteristically-silent mother as the afternoon wore on. No one else had indicated that they would be coming over, so they had escaped the stifling house to the less-stifling porch. His presence lingered here as well (perhaps even more so), but somehow it felt easier here.

Hermione examined the porch passively, focusing on minute details. The swirls of knot-holes in the wooden planks, the creak of the porch swing, the rattle of the screen door in the wind…

“Hermione?”

The voice that came from the yard was very soft, but Hermione recognized it instantly and she turned her head to look at their visitor.

Harry stood on the stairs with a concerned expression on his face. He wore a button-up shirt over a pair of long shorts. Hermione noticed that he had tanned considerably and that his hair was wet.

“Are you okay?” he asked, sadness in his tone.

She barely registered her mother stand up from the swing and enter the house.

She was only acutely aware that Harry was here.

Harry's question hung in the air, and Hermione felt herself break down.

“No,” she said shakily, finally feeling her resolve crumble. “I don't think I am.”

Harry crossed the last few feet to her and hugged her to him as the tears came in torrents. She sobbed into his shoulder uncontrollably, and he caressed her hair tenderly, every now and then planting a soft kiss on her head. She did not know how long they sat like that - minutes, hours…?

Even after her tears began to subside, he still held her. She noticed that his skin and hair smelled salty, and could feel that his hair had dried.

Finally she pulled away from him, knowing that he would not do so. She felt as if she should apologize for disrupting his honeymoon, for causing him to abandon his wife on some beach in France, but she didn't want to. She didn't want to discuss that at all.

Harry remained quiet. He spoke not a single word of condolence and Hermione hoped he knew that they were unnecessary.

Impulsively, she reached out and placed her hand gently on the side of his face. If he was at all shocked, he didn't show it.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

He reached up and placed his hand over hers. He took her free hand in his and kissed it.

The moment felt intensely...intimate (there was no other way to describe it), and Hermione loathed to see it end. But she finally stood up, and Harry followed suit.

“You should go back,” Hermione said.

Harry nodded, but made no move to leave.

“Ginny's waiting for you,” she murmured, her eyes downcast.

Reluctantly it seemed, Harry pulled Hermione into one last hug, and planted one last kiss on the top of her head.

“I'll be back soon,” he said.

Then he released her, stepped through the house to offer his sympathies to Katherine, and Apparated back to Ginny.

Hermione remained on the porch after Harry had gone. After fifteen minutes or so, Katherine joined her once more on the swing.

After a period of silence, her mother finally spoke: “Hermione, what are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked, though the note of coolness she used suggested that she knew exactly what her mother meant.

“Harry,” Katherine stated simply. “What are you doing?”

“I'm not doing anything, Mum.”

“Which is exactly my point! You've been consistently depressed for almost a year now - ever since Harry got engaged.”

“I have not!” Hermione protested.

“Yes, you have. Sure, you've gone through the motions of being happy, but I can tell you're not. And it's not fair.”

“To whom?” Hermione said in a polite voice dripping with venom.

“To everyone!” Katherine said, her voice rising. “It's not fair to Ginny, to Harry, to Ron, or to yourself!”

Hermione suddenly felt very angry. She stood up abruptly and faced her mother.

“I can't do anything about that!” she said furiously.

“You haven't tried!”

“How do you know I haven't tried? I've tried harder than you can possibly imagine!”

Katherine gazed up at her daughter in sadness. “Hermione, it's over. He's married. And as long as he is, there's no point in dwelling on it. It's only going to cause you more pain.”

Hermione felt hot tears spill onto her cheeks. She didn't bother to brush them away.

“What about you, Mum? Do you ever wish you'd never loved Daddy just so you didn't feel this pain now?”

Katherine looked as if Hermione had physically struck her. She raised a shaky hand to cover her eyes.

“No,” she said finally. “Not for a second.”

“Then you can understand that it's not that easy to simply stop loving someone.” Hermione turned away to gaze at the spot where Harry had appeared earlier. “I can't even bring myself to wish for that.”

Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder.

“I understand that there will most likely always be a part of you that cares for Harry that way,” Katherine said softly. “But you have a relationship of your own - a life of your own. Don't neglect it because of Harry - I know he wouldn't want you to.” She paused. “I know your father wouldn't want you to.”

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28. A Less Than Modest Proposal

A/N: Back again! As I mentioned, this is one of two chapters which may not have the best content for some readers. I still hope you find them enjoyable, though. We have one more wedding to power through, and from there Ron and Ginny won't be so prominent in the story romance-wise. Some of you may love where I'm taking this from chapter 30 and up, and some of you may hate it. If you enjoy it, let me know. If you hate it, keep it to yourself, or at least let me know politely. I've managed to thankfully avoid flames so far, so let's keep it that way, shall we?

Thanks to auror_lumos09, justduck, kinikeens, Meli, eagle219406, and everyone else who reviewed!

Chapter 28: A Less Than Modest Proposal

Hermione scribbled away on the latest report that had been dropped on her desk. It had been over a month since her father had passed, and despite her vehement opposition to the choice words her mother had spoken to her on the porch, she had taken them to heart.

As soon as she had returned home after the funeral, she had suggested that Ron move into her apartment. And so far the arrangement was going relatively smoothly. There had been minimal arguments, but she supposed that was to be expected when you were getting accustomed to living with another individual. Especially a male. She refused to let herself wonder if the fact that Ron was rarely in the flat due to his Auror training perhaps contributed to the lack of confrontation.

Truthfully, Hermione did feel as if she'd made some progress over the past few weeks. She thought she felt happier. She was trying very hard to be friendly with Ron, and he was also being extra polite. She had also made determined steps to regain a semblance of normalcy in her relationship with Harry once he and Ginny had returned from their honeymoon - and succeeded, for the most part. They had resumed their almost daily lunches and Hermione felt that it was getting easier and easier to be around him. At least it was much easier than trying to stay away from him; she wondered if perhaps this avoidance had contributed to her depressed state of mind. He was married to Ginny— for better or worse — and it felt better to be around him than to hide herself away.

However, Hermione had found an enormous amount of work waiting for her when she returned to the office after her extended absence. Work that she just couldn't seem to catch up on. And, unfortunately, she was finding that her breaking point was about to reached.

She jabbed furiously as she dotted the i of her signature, then proceeded to almost rip a piece of parchment in half as she yanked it towards her. She had just pulled out her wand to mend it when a recently hired wizard from another department poked his head into her office.

“Can I help you?” Hermione said in as polite a voice as she could manage. She rapped the parchment she was holding with a bit more force than necessary.

“Got a case of a goblin claiming he was bitten by a werewolf. Wants some reimbursement. Which department does it need to go to?”

Hermione sighed. “Is the werewolf registered?” she asked.

The wizard nodded.

“Is he set up with the Wolfsbane program?”

Another mute nod.

“Then send it to Law Enforcement!” she snapped in agitation. “This is the Department of the REGULATION and CONTROL of Magical Creatures. There's nothing to regulate or control! It already happened. And goblins aren't even affected by werewolf bites! Let the Wizengamot deal with it!”

“Er, right away,” the wizard said, and dashed out of sight.

Hermione ran a hand over her face and moved to dip her quill in her inkwell.

“Ms. Granger - ”

Hermione twitched so badly that she knocked the ink all over the parchment.

“What?!” she said angrily, turning her head sharply to the door.

“I'm sorry, Ms. Granger! I apologize for interrupting you, but there's an issue with suppliers for the Wolfsbane ingredients - ”

“Which would be?”

The witch looked startled. “Well, um, apparently they want an increased price for the salamander blood --”

“You tell them that we're going to pay the same price we've paid for the past three years!” Hermione said angrily.

The witch hesitated in the doorway.

“GO!” Hermione spat, and the witch's indecision ended as she darted away.

With a wave of her wand the ink was removed from the parchment. Hermione placed her quill on the paper.

“Could you look at this -”

The quill stabbed straight through the report.

“NO, I CAN'T LOOK AT WHATEVER THE BLOODY HELL IT IS YOU'RE HOLDING RIGHT NOW!” She pounded her wand on the parchment, and instead of repairing the hole it burst into flames.

“DAMN IT!” Hermione yelled, dropping the paper on the ground and stomping on it. Muggle methods felt much simpler at the moment.

When there was only a small stream of smoke emitting from the ruined report, Hermione glanced up and was pleased to see that her fit had scared away whatever unfortunate soul had stepped into her office. She laid her head on her desk and sighed deeply.

And then she abruptly stood up, picked up a few belongings from her desk, and strode to the Atrium. Surely her employees were competent enough to solve a few problems themselves. It was almost closing time anyway.

On impulse she decided to Floo home, and stepped into a line of three witches and wizards waiting on a fireplace. When it was her turn, she shouted her destination and was immediately taken to her and Ron's apartment.

Suddenly feeling dead-tired, she dropped her things on the coffee table and went immediately to her bedroom.

And broke a heel as she stumbled on the threshold.

This led to her kicking said heels off in particular vehemence, which in turn led to one of her shoes smashing into a vase, which immediately crashed to the floor.

Her unlucky streak was going so smoothly that Hermione was quite unsurprised when she stepped on one of the shards.

Typical.

Cursing mentally (and a few times out loud), she limped to her bed and collapsed onto it, ignoring the chaos she had left in her wake.

She was asleep within moments.

**********

Though he didn't have quite the rough day Hermione had, Harry was also immensely frustrated with work.

After coming home from his honeymoon, he had been swamped with a large amount of difficult and tedious missions that rarely seemed to go his way. They were still successful for the most part, but he was severely short-handed due to an influx of injured Aurors. Physically and mentally exhausted, he had also turned in early.

When he awoke the next morning, he decided spur of the moment to take the day off. Fitz had been more than happy to deliver the note to Wahler, and Harry had no intention of being around for the harsh reply - Wahler was quite adamant on having notices at least a week in advance.

Unperturbed by what his boss would say the next day, Harry treated himself to a large breakfast. Ginny had already left for an early Quidditch practice.

Sipping on his coffee, Harry mused on what he could possibly do over the course of the day. Unfortunately, nothing came to mind that he would want to do alone. Ginny was at practice, Ron was busy with field-work training, and Hermione was also at work.

While he was cleaning his dishes, he determined that Hermione was his best bet. He knew that she was similarly loaded down with work and figured she could use a break as well.

He went to the fireplace and threw in a handful of Floo Powder. Kneeling, he thrust his head into the flames.

“Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” he said clearly.

His head spun temporarily and then came to a halt, though he was still immersed in the emerald flames.

“State your name,” said the cool female voice from the Ministry lift.

“Harry Potter, Auror Department,” Harry said.

“Thank you,” said the female voice, and then his head spun through one more rotation and came to a halt in the fireplace of the Head of Hermione's Department, Cecilia Vintreem.

“Good morning, Cecilia,” Harry said politely.

“Good morning to you as well, Mr. Potter,” Cecilia replied. She was a somewhat matronly witch with graying blonde hair. She smiled fondly at Harry. “What can I help you with?”

“Actually, I was wondering if you could fetch Hermione for me,” he said. “I've got a question about a case she sent down.”

“Oh, Hermione didn't come in today,” Cecilia said. She seemed amused. “Apparently she frightened a number of employees yesterday and left in quite the temper.”

“That's not good,” Harry said, though he chuckled to himself as well. “I'll see if I can contact her.”

“Alright,” she said. “Have a pleasant day!”

“You too, Cecilia,” he said with a smile before pulling his head back through the fireplace.

“Tsk, tsk,” Harry muttered to himself as he pulled a dark blue long-sleeved shirt over his white tee. “Always a step ahead of me, that girl.”

*********

Harry stepped gingerly over the wreckage of the smashed vase. He saw one heel lying among the shards and detected the other on the dresser halfway across the room. A set of robes lay crumpled next to the night-table stand.

Hermione still lay asleep, fully dressed in work attire and tangled in the sheets. She looked quite peaceful despite the turmoil of her room.

Harry knelt next to her bed and gingerly brushed the disheveled hair from her eyes.

“Hermione…” he murmured softly, continuing to caress her hair. “Rise and shine…”

She moved her head slightly, stretching as she slowly began to wake up. Her eyes finally fluttered open and she looked at Harry uncomprehendingly for a moment before furrowing her brow.

“What're you doing here?” she asked, her voice raspy with sleep.

“What are you still doing in bed?” Harry countered. “It's almost ten.”

Hermione turned over and set her head down again on the pillow. “I've decided to stay in my bed forever and sleep my life away.”

“Why would you do that?” Harry asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Because everything traumatic that has ever happened to me has happened after I got out of bed in the morning.”

Harry thought about this for a second, and then nudged Hermione aside before lying on the bed next to her. “Don't mind me,” he said, nestling himself into the pillow Hermione had just been using. It smelled very faintly of strawberries.

He heard Hermione giggle next to him and he smiled as well.

“So,” he said after a moment, enjoying the feel of her arm pressed into his, “planning to go to that Weasley shindig tonight?”

Hermione laughed. “As if there was an option.”

Harry turned on his side to face her, and she did the same.

“Do I want to know what happened in here last night?”

“No,” Hermione replied, and sighed deeply. “Why does it seem as if most of the decisions in my department are made by drunken apes?”

Harry shrugged the shoulder that wasn't leaning into the mattress. “Decisions are made by people who have time, not people who have talent.”

Hermione grinned. “Then why are talented people so busy?”

“They're fixing the problems made by the people who have time, of course,” Harry said seriously.

She laughed again, and then turned her head to observe the mess she had been too tired to pay attention to yesterday.

“Whoops,” she said.

“Whoops indeed,” Harry said. He sent the vase flying back together with a wave of his wand.

“Thanks,” Hermione said.

Harry glanced back at the now clear floor and noted a few small smears of blood leading to the bed.

“Did you cut your foot?”

Hermione seemed confused at first before her expression cleared. “Oh!” she said, and sat up so she could pull her foot towards herself for examination. A small, clean cut ran across the sole of her foot.

“You didn't even bother healing yourself before you went to sleep?” he asked, placing the tip of his wand on the cut.

“I was really, really tired,” she said, watching as her skin knit itself together.

Harry chuckled, and then stood up from the bed. He pulled Hermione up with him.

“Next time try to be a bit more careful.”

She rolled her eyes. “I've said the same thing to you for about thirteen years.”

“And I'm still alive, aren't I?”

“Barely.” She glanced at the clock on her wall. Past ten now.

“Going back to my first question, what're you doing here?” Hermione said. “You should be at work.”

“As should you be,” Harry said.

“Touché.”

“I decided that we both deserved a break. So we're taking a hooky day. Starting now. I'll make you some breakfast while you get changed.”

Before Hermione could protest, Harry had exited the room, closing the door behind him.

**********

After Hermione had eaten multiple slices of delicious French toast, Harry had immediately plucked her up and led her downstairs, where Sirius' recently repaired motorbike sat gleaming in the sun. She stopped in her tracks, staring at the bike with wide eyes.

“No way, Harry. Absolutely no way.”

“Come on, it won't bite you,” Harry said, swinging his leg over the bike. He already seemed extremely fond of it.

“Can't we just Apparate?” Hermione asked.

“Nope. Get on.” He extended a small light-blue helmet towards her.

“Seriously?” Hermione said, taking it from his grip with a grimace as she imagined what it would do to her barely tamed hair.

“Safety first,” Harry said, reaching over and tightening the strap under her chin. “See, you look adorable.”

She blushed faintly as she sat behind him, but luckily Harry was already preoccupied putting on his own dark-blue helmet. She hesitantly placed her arms around his waist, but she quickly tightened them once the bike roared to life and sped down the road.

Much to Hermione's relief, Harry opted to drive the bike Muggle-style to their destination, not once making it take flight. They zipped along through traffic, the wind whipping against their faces, and before long Hermione even began to enjoy herself.

They eventually stopped in front of the Leaky Cauldron and Harry removed his helmet. He grinned widely at her when he took hers.

“What are you smiling at?” she said, smoothing her clothes primly.

He continued to grin.

“What?” she said, trying to look aggravated.

“You loved it,” he said.

“No, I didn't.”

“Don't try to pull that!” Harry said. “You were smiling ear to ear the entire time.”

She stared back at him defiantly, and then wilted.

“Yes, I enjoyed it!” she admitted, glaring at him. “And I therefore need to punch the daylights out of you until we both forget it.”

“Spare the glasses,” he said, putting his hands up in defense.

“I could fix them,” she said, raising her fists up threateningly. “No big deal.”

“Right, of course!” He paused. “What was that spell again?”

Hermione smacked him on the arm, but the ear-to-ear smile had returned to her face.

“So what did you have in mind for today, Potter?”

“Well, Granger, I thought we might do a bit of shopping somewhere at some point, get some lunch someplace eventually, and do whatever the heck else we want to do for the rest of the day.”

“Awesome, great plan,” Hermione said, nodding her approval. “Very precise.”

“I thought so. Where d'you want to go first?”

Hermione opened her mouth, but was cut off.

“Wait, what am I thinking?” Harry said, flipping out the kick-stand on the bike. “To Flourish and Blotts it is.”

Hermione closed her mouth and smiled impishly.

“If you insist.”

“I do,” Harry said. “Let's go.”

*********

They left Flourish and Blotts approximately two hours later, Harry clutching a large bag of books. Hermione grinned like a child at Christmas-time.

Since Hermione had had a late breakfast, Harry suggested they get an ice cream from the newly opened Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor instead of lunch. A wizard had purchased the property and had respectfully allowed it to keep its original name in honor of its late owner.

Harry deposited their purchases at a table outside the shop and asked what Hermione would like.

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “Maybe just a scoop of vanilla or something.”

Harry raised his eyebrows but made no comment. He entered the shop and returned a minute later with a huge sundae heaped with chocolate sauce, chocolate chips, sprinkles, caramel, whipped cream, and cherries.

It was Hermione's turn to raise her eyebrow.

“That certainly doesn't look like a scoop of vanilla.”

“It is, though,” Harry said. “It's just disguised by all the chocolate and whipped cream.”

She took the proffered spoon, shaking her head pointlessly.

“So,” Harry said, taking the first bite out of the sundae. “I've been thinking about something.”

“Which would be?” Hermione asked, getting a spoonful for herself.

Harry smiled somewhat mischievously.

“We never came up with Animagus names.”

Hermione ate one of the cherries from the top of the ice cream.

“That's really random,” she said. “We've been able to transform for years.”

“Exactly my point. We've been nameless for far too long.”

Hermione sighed. “Is it really that necessary?”

“It's of vital necessity,” Harry said. “My father and Sirius would be ashamed that I've gone so long without one.”

Hermione took one more bite and set her spoon down. “Fine,” she said, “what did you have in mind?”

Harry grinned happily. “Firstly, I think we should name each other.”

“Why?”

“Because it'd be too pompous to name ourselves,” he said. “Just because I'm amazing doesn't mean I should be allowed to name myself as such.”

“I see your point,” Hermione replied with a roll of her eyes. She then observed him thoughtfully, trying to picture his wolf form clearly in her mind. “Well, if your father and Sirius are to be our examples, we need to be named after some attribute of our forms.”

“Right,” Harry said, nodding. “And nothing that'd be a rip-off of Sirius' name.”

“So no `pad' or `foot' involved. Got it,” Hermione said, continuing to think.

“What about something like Whitefang or something?” Harry suggested, baring his teeth as evidence.

“Already taken,” Hermione said. She shook her head in disappointment. “You're severely lacking in knowledge of Muggle classics.”

Harry shrugged. “No skin off my back.”

“What about Cain?” Hermione asked. “As in Canis lupis.”

“Way too logical.”

“Maybe something involving your coat… Greyfur? Greycoat?”

“Silver bullet!”

“No, that's ridiculous,” Hermione said distractedly. “But the speed's not a bad idea…” After all, one of Harry's favorite pastimes was flying - he clearly loved speed…

“What about Swiftpaw?” she said after a moment of deliberation.

Harry considered this for a moment. He finally nodded.

“I like it. Your turn now. I say Bushytail.”

“Do you really want me to despise you forever?”

Harry waved her off. “I'm just kidding. Hmmm. Vixen?”

Hermione thought about this and then shook her head. “I don't consider the alternative definition altogether flattering.”

He nodded and then sank into thoughtful silence, gazing at her broodingly. Hermione had almost completed her half of the sundae when he snapped his fingers.

“Got it.” He picked up his spoon and extended it towards her like a scepter.

“I dub thee…” he said seriously, performing the motions of bequeathing knighthood. “Copper,” he finished, and dabbed a dollop of whip cream on her nose.

“Just Copper?” she said, covering her own finger in whip cream and tapping his nose.

“Just Copper,” he said, filling up his spoon and aiming it threateningly at Hermione.

Hermione waved her napkin in truce. “Any particular reason?” she asked, brushing at her nose.

“It just fits. Your fur and your mind…copper is a bright reddish brown, and your mind is `bright' as well, like the metal.”

Hermione nodded approvingly at his train of thought, pleased that he would've put so much thought into it.

“Shall we test out these new names with our forms, Swiftpaw?”

“I believe we shall, Copper,” Harry said. He shrunk their bags and tucked them into his pocket. Then they abandoned the small remainder of their sundae and Apparated to a beautiful wooded area where they could spend the rest of the day.

**********

When Hermione was dropped off at her apartment early that evening, she felt immensely elated. She could honestly say that today had been the best day she had had in a long time. She had been reluctant to let her and Harry's outing end so early, but they knew that Molly would have their necks if they were late for dinner.

Which is why Hermione went straight to the shower, cleaned herself up, dressed, and left immediately for the Burrow.

By the noise emitting from the house, Hermione could tell that most of the clan had already gathered. She smiled as she passed Victoire, little Molly, and little Fred playing happily in the yard and entered the house, almost running smack into Ron in the process.

“Woah!” he said, backing up slightly to admit his girlfriend. “I was just about to come get you.”

“Why?” she said. “Is Harry not here yet? He knew I still had to get ready.”

“No, he's here,” Ron said. “But it was getting a bit late…”

Hermione noted that Ron seemed quite fidgety.

“Well, I'm here now,” she said, brushing past him into the kitchen. “Is dinner almost ready?”

“Er, just about.”

Hermione led the way into the crowded living room and embraced most of the Weasleys, giving special attention to Fleur and Angelina, who both held infants in their arms.

“Louis is getting so big!” she said to Fleur, whose son smiled at her with chubby cheeks as he was bounced on his mother's knee.

“And you!” Hermione lifted Roxanne from Angelina's extended hands. “I haven't seen you for ages!”

“Weeks isn't exactly `ages,'” Angelina said, smiling.

“It is when you're only weeks old,” Hermione said, smiling serenely at the tiny baby. Percy's youngest, Lucy, tottered over on shaky legs to observe the newest Weasley.

“Very curious, zis one,” Fleur said, nodding towards Lucy.

“She's simply making sure Hermione's going about things right,” George said. “She is Percy's daughter, after all.”

“And Hermione is an immense trouble-maker,” Harry added. “Someone needs to keep an eye on her.”

“Too true,” Ginny said. “She could do something really horrible…like try to teach the baby Ancient Runes.”

“Ancient Runes is a fascinating subject!” Hermione insisted, looking exasperated.

“Would you look at that. Roxy's already asleep,” George said.

Hermione sneered at George quite maturely and gently handed Roxanne back to her mother.

“Thanks goodness one of her parents has some brains,” she said, giving a grateful nod to Angelina.

“I'll toast to that!” George said, raising his drink in salute.

Bill poked his head into the room as everyone laughed.

“Mum says dinner's almost ready. Audrey's setting the table now.”

“Excellent, I'm starving,” Harry said, standing up and stretching.

As George went to wrangle up the remainder of the Weasley grandchildren, the group moved outside. The table was laden down, as per usual, and everyone dug in appreciatively.

“Way to wait up, guys,” George said when he returned, depositing little Molly and Fred in their seats. As if trying to make a point of her superior age, Victoire walked confidently ahead of her uncle and seated herself primly between her mother and Harry.

From across the table, Hermione observed Harry quite obviously placing a napkin in his lap. Victoire mimicked him eagerly, flapping a napkin as she covered her own knees. Hermione noted with amusement that Victoire was trying very hard to make sure that Harry didn't catch her looking.

This game lasted most of the evening. When Harry took a drink, Victoire chugged from her own glass; when he dabbed at his mouth with another napkin, Victoire wiped her face.

“Could you pass me a roll, miss?” he eventually asked her. She seemed thrilled to have been asked such an adult request and hastened to reach her short little arms out to grab the roll basket. Hermione noted that it sidled closer to her and knew that Harry was levitating it from beneath the table.

When it was close enough, Victoire seized it and offered it to him.

“Thank you very much,” he said charmingly, causing the little girl to blush furiously.

Hermione kicked him from underneath the table, smirking.

Harry smirked right back and promptly kicked at her shin as well.

As neither was willing to let the other have the last word, they were soon engaged in a full-out but entirely silent foot war. They fought to keep straight faces as they listened to other topics of conversation along the table, and they only stopped when dinner had been completed and Hermione had dug her heel quite forcefully into his foot as they were about to stand up.

Harry winced and waved his napkin in truce. Hermione smiled sweetly in reply.

Caught up as she was in this war, she didn't really register that Ron hadn't said a solitary word the entire meal. She only realized this when she noticed that he looked exceedingly pale as they reentered the living room.

She leaned towards him to ask what was the matter just as he stood up, looking as though he were about to be sick. She hadn't seen him in such a state since he'd joined the Quidditch team in fifth year.

With a forced deliberation he tapped his glass, drawing everyone's attention to him.

“Er, I, um, I have something I need to say,” he said in a voice a few octaves above his normal tone.

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide.

Oh no.

Ron turned towards her and her fears were confirmed.

He lowered himself to one knee.

Oh Merlin's pants.

He took her hand, met her somewhat horrified gaze determinedly, and took a deep breath.

“Hermione, I've wanted to ask you something for a long time now -”

“Ron -”

“—but I felt that I needed to pull my life together - ”

“Ron, I -” Hermione tried again, but he was not to be interrupted. He plunged on relentlessly.

“I've loved you practically since I met you -”

Hermione couldn't help recalling that Halloween so many years ago as she cried miserably in the girls' bathroom. Practically indeed.

“—and we've been together through so much -”

Minus a few exceedingly difficult weeks during the Horcrux search.

“I would never ever want to hurt you or see you sad -”

Which is why you snogged Lavender Brown senseless whenever I was in the room. Was she purposely trying to be so negative?

“—and I want to spend the rest of my life making you happy…”

The hand that was not clutched in Ron's was clenched tightly as she anticipated the next four words. She could feel her nails cutting into her palm.

“Will you marry me?”

Hermione didn't answer immediately as a million thoughts were zooming in quick succession through her head.

I can't get married…I'm only…twenty-four…okay, well we're both not ready for this kind of commitment…wait, we both have careers…and a place to live…but we've only been dating for…wow, six years, long time…

She was quickly running out of excuses and felt the eyes of all the Weasleys on her.

It all really dwindled down to one legitimate question.

Will he make me happy?

Hermione's eyes flickered over to Harry, whose eyes were boring into her, as if trying to read her thoughts. She noted that he looked almost as pale as Ron. Then her eyes took in Ginny, who held fast to Harry's arm.

She returned her gaze to Ron.

“Yes,” she said in as confident a voice as she could manage. “Of course I'll marry you.”

The entire family roared with cheers as Ron stood up and embraced her happily, laughing in relief. He kissed her and hugged her again before everyone crowded around them joyfully.

Hermione knew that Harry was still watching her even though she couldn't see him. She could feel his gaze on her movements.

It wasn't until half an hour later that she was finally able to escape the crowd of Weasleys. As the celebrations continued, she slipped into the kitchen and out into the yard, enjoying the fresh breeze that played across her face.

“Wasn't expecting that one.”

Hermione turned around to face Harry.

“Definitely not,” she agreed.

He smiled as he handed her a glass of wine. “You looked like a deer caught in the headlights.”

“What do you expect?” Hermione sighed. “How would you have reacted in front of the entire family?” She shook her head. “Certainly not his brightest idea.”

Harry made no reply, but leaned against the fence, swirling his own wine glass as he stared into the distance.

“Are you happy about it?” he asked.

“I suppose I am,” Hermione answered.

“'Suppose'?” he questioned, glancing sideways at her.

“I guess it's one of those things that you're not completely sure about until it happens.”

Harry again made no reply as he returned his gaze to night sky, instead choosing to speak moments later.

“Did you ever think that this would be us?” he finally said, glancing over at her again.

Hermione was extremely taken back by this question. She was also grateful that the darkness masked her flushed cheeks. But given the serious nature of the question, Hermione decided to answer truthfully.

“I'd be lying if I said no.” She paused as she cast him a nervous look. “Why?”

Harry gave a small shrug. “Just curious, I guess. I've always thought we've had a.... special relationship, I guess.”

Hermione noted that he gave no further explanation for himself, but decided that tonight was not the night to ask such questions.

“Harry, what you and I have I will never share with anyone else,” she said. “You're my best friend. Which is why…” she hesitated.

“Which is why what?” he asked, turning to her curiously.

“Which is why, when Ron and I get married, I was hoping you would give me away at the altar.”

She finished off her sentence rather quietly, and when she looked up Harry was smiling at her brilliantly.

“Absolutely,” he said, hugging her. “I would be honored.”

Hermione hugged him back more tightly, feeling that she couldn't have asked for a better person to walk her down the aisle. And she had a strong feeling that her dad would approve as well.

*********

A/N: Yes, I killed off Hermione's poor innocent father for the cheap thrill of Harry walking Hermione down the aisle. I'm a horrible person. Please let me know what you think!

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29. Letting Go

A/N: Again, I beg for your patience, readers. I just wanted to remind everyone that Harry and Hermione are indeed getting together in this fic…it's not one of those where Harry and Hermione get married to Ginny and Ron and spend their lives in regret that they never revealed their feelings for each other. It's going to be a happy ending, trust me. We just have to wade through some more angst to get there. And remember, no flames, please!

Thanks to Charlotte, EmmaRadcliffe, justduck, Meli, Christy, noorelisa, and the Anonymous folks for your wonderful reviews!

Chapter 29: Letting Go

Harry dodged behind a tree as a red jet of light zoomed through the air. He felt the gust of wind made by the spell rustle his hair, but it collided harmlessly into the area behind him.

“You're gonna have to do better than that if you want any hope of hitting me, ickle Ronnikins!” he taunted loudly.

“That one almost hit you!” he heard Ron protest from across the clearing, where he had previously sought refuge from Harry's cascade of spells.

“Almost doesn't count for shit when you're face to face with a Death Eater!” Harry responded, peeking out from his hiding spot.

“Yeah, but you're not a Death Eater, are you?” Ron said. Harry could tell that he was hidden behind a boulder that was northwest of the tree he was standing behind.

“And besides,” Ron continued, “I'm getting married tomorrow! Can't you give a bloke some sympathy? You've already beat me up enough!”

Harry shook his head even though he knew Ron couldn't see him. “Fine, I'm sorry your face looks like that.”

“Nothing's happened to my face!”

“Well, excuse me for being thorough,” Harry replied, then stepped out from behind the tree and whipped his wand in the direction of the boulder. “REDUCTO!”

The boulder exploded, sending rubble flying in every which direction and leaving a very exposed and very dazed-looking Ron sprawled in its place.

“Levicorpus!” Harry said.

Ron was instantly yanked up by his ankle by some invisible force and levitated in front of Harry.

“Merlin, I bloody hate when you do that!”

“You shouldn't make it so easy, then,” Harry replied.

“Why d'you make me spar with you, anyway?” Ron said glumly, his face slowly turning red. “You know I'd be better off against one of the other guys. I can actually beat them!”

“There's no point in that,” Harry said. “It's not a challenge. And the only reason you can beat them is because you've been practicing with me.” He left out the fact that he wanted to release some of the frustration that had been building up for the last few weeks.

“I guess,” Ron said sourly. “But like I said, I'm getting married tomorrow!”

Harry frowned. “I recall. What's your point?”

“You're gonna be sending Hermione a black-and-blue groom if you keep pounding me like this!”

“I'm not too worried,” Harry replied. “Hermione likes blue.”

Ron glared at him.

“Besides,” Harry said, “you're Auror test's in two weeks. If you expect to pass you need to be ready.”

“Geez, you're so uptight about this stuff,” Ron said. “You're even worse today! And would you mind letting me down?!”

Harry waved his wand and Ron crumpled into a heap on the ground.

“Thanks,” he muttered, rubbing his limbs resentfully.

“No problem.” Harry watched as Ron pulled himself up and dusted off his clothes.

“I think that's enough training for today, don't you think?” he said in a voice that clearly indicated that he had no intention what-so-ever of participating in another spar with Harry.

“Whatever you say,” Harry said. They walked together toward the edge of the clearing and stepped through a door back into the Auror office. Another young trainee approached immediately.

“Are you done using the Simulator Room, Mr. Potter?” the trainee asked.

“Yes,” Harry stated wearily, in too foul a mood to insist the teenager call him by his first name. “It's all yours.” He then strode back in the direction of his office with Ron at his heels.

“You finished up for the day?” Ron asked.

“More or less,” Harry said stiffly.

“Great, because you have no excuse to show up late tonight at the pub. And by the pissed-off mood you've been in today, it seems to me that you're in severe need of a pint.”

“I'm not pissed-off!” Harry growled unconvincingly.

“Right,” Ron said with a smirk. “Either way, we need you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for tomorrow. Can't have an angry git walking my wife down the aisle.”

This was doing nothing to improve Harry's mood.

“I'll meet you and the guys at the pub later,” Harry said shortly. “I've still got to get a few things done.”

Ron recognized the dismissal and left promptly, wondering what had gotten his best man into such a foul mood.

*************

Ginny zoomed across the Holyhead Harpies stadium, tossing the Quaffle back and forth among her fellow Chasers. Samantha and Keri had joined the team shortly before Ginny, but as they were multiple years her senior they had taken the young Weasley under their wings.

“Come on, Gin, keep up the pace!” Keri yelled, somersaulting in the air as she caught the ball Samantha had passed. She threw it has hard as she could at the right hoop of the goal and their Keeper, Jessie, caught it easily.

“Nice one, Jess!” Samantha yelled.

Ginny nodded her agreement and Jessie gave her the thumbs up. Jessie was the youngest and newest member on the team and the Harpies were pleased at their prospects in the upcoming season.

Jessie tossed the ball to Ginny, who was closest, but just before the Quaffle reached her she experienced a sudden wave of dizziness. The ball crashed into her arm and bounced outwards, but she lunged forward and pulled it towards her at the last second.

“Not-so-nice one, Butterfingers!” Samantha said good-naturedly.

“My bad,” Ginny said, rubbing at her eyes. “Just got dizzy there for a second.”

“You just need to get some more blood pumping,” said one of the team Beaters, Gwyneth, who also happened to be the new captain of the team. “Run through that last tactic again!”

Ginny nodded as all three Chasers took off to the other end of the pitch, tossing the Quaffle leisurely between them. Once they reached the other end, they spun around and flew full speed towards Jessie once more.

Halfway down the pitch, however, the lightheadedness returned to Ginny once more, combined with an overwhelming feeling of nausea. The Quaffle zoomed right past her head without her making the slightest move for it.

Allyson, the team's Seeker, happened to be near the ground searching for the Snitch and caught the Quaffle before it hit the ground.

“Geez, Gin, what's up with you today?” Keri said. “You'd usually be on that pass like scales on a dragon. Heck, we were even thinking of changing that phrase just because of your mad skills. We were gonna start saying `like Ginny on a Quaffle.' What d'you think?”

Ginny responded by vomiting over the side of her broom.

“Okay, I know it's a bad line, but it's not that bad!” Keri said anxiously as the team zoomed in to hold Ginny steady on her broom.

“'S alright,” she muttered as she wiped her mouth. “Must've eaten something bad at breakfast…”

“You should go home either way,” Gwyneth said forcefully. “Samantha, would you make sure she gets there alright?”

“Of course,” Samantha replied, and clutched Ginny's arm firmly as they drifted to the ground.

“I dunno what's wrong with me,” Ginny said weakly. “I felt perfectly fine last night.”

“You probably just caught a bug. A good day or two's rest should fix it.”

“Yeah,” Ginny replied. “You're probably right.”

********

Hermione stared blankly at her reflection in the mirror.

She stood in her old room in her mother's house, clothed in a beautiful white dress. Her hair was pinned up in an intricate bun and one of her mother's necklaces was clasped around her neck. Her family - both Weasley and Granger - were all gathered outside, happily enjoying the celebration of her marriage with Ron.

Apparently she was the only one who wasn't.

She in fact felt rather miserable. And the fact that she felt miserable on her wedding day only served to make her feel, if possible, even more miserable.

Surely she was doing something wrong - it must be illegal to feel this downtrodden on your wedding day. She thought back to Ginny's radiant smile on her wedding day, the way she had twirled throughout the room and seemed to float rather than walk.

But Hermione felt no urge to twirl, and when she attempted it she simply felt silly. When she walked about the room, she felt if anything more solidly connected to the floor than ever before. Her smile was so completely fake she was sure others would see immediately through it. In other words, there was nothing radiant about her whatsoever.

Ginny had seemed like a diamond at her wedding - Hermione felt as though she were about as stunning as a polished chunk of rock.

Her brooding was interrupted, however, by Luna and Ginny stepping into the room. They both looked giggly and blissful and Hermione quickly rearranged her face once more into the painful imitation of a smile she had practiced earlier.

“Hey, guys,” she said brightly.

“Oh, look at you!” Ginny said happily, circling Hermione. “You look amazing!”

“Yes,” Luna agreed serenely. “You look wonderful, Hermione.”

“Thank you, Luna,” Hermione said, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “You both look beautiful as well.”

“You're not supposed to remark on how we look,” Ginny said, exasperated. “It doesn't matter how we look. It matters how you look. If anything, we're supposed to look horrible compared to you!”

“Really?” Luna said curiously. “I could always go change…maybe change my eyebrow color…?”

“No, that won't be necessary, Luna,” Ginny said. “This is supposed to be a Muggle wedding. No magic allowed since Hermione's relatives are here.”

“And I want you to stay looking just as nice as you do now,” Hermione said kindly.

Luna smiled. “Rolf seems to like the dress as well.”

“And he should!” Ginny said. “I'm glad you've hit it off so well with him.” She turned to Hermione suddenly and gripped her shoulders.

“No one would blame you if you pulled out now, Hermione,” she said seriously.

Hermione cocked her head to hide how much this plan appealed to her. “Random much, Ginny?”

She shrugged. “Not so much. I was thinking about Rolf and Harry and how in the world someone like Ron got someone as good as you.”

“That's so touching, Ginny,” Luna said.

“I thought so,” Ginny replied. “And I was joking, of course.” She lowered her voice and gestured toward the window. “I'll cover for you!” she whispered loudly.

Hermione couldn't help but giggle at her soon-to-be sister-in-law's crazy antics.

“You are something, Ginny.”

“As are you, Hermione.” She paused. “And Luna.”

“Thank you, Ginny!” Luna said sincerely, beaming.

Ginny smiled at her in return and then turned back to Hermione. “Seriously, though, it is nice that we've all stuck together like this. One big happy Weasley family!”

At that moment Mrs. Weasley came bustling into Hermione's room. She examined her son's fiancé fondly and hugged her.

“You look so beautiful, darling.”

“I've been told,” Hermione said, smiling.

“The ceremony is going to be lovely,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Everything is perfect. And I must say it'll be a bit of a relief to be done with all of this wedding business once and for all. It's so exhausting!”

Ginny laughed. “Oh, you know you're going to miss all of this!” she said. “I'm actually considering getting a divorce in the near future just so you'll have something to occupy yourself with.”

“That's nothing to joke about, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said seriously. “That would be absolutely horrible.”

“Who said we wouldn't get remarried?” Ginny said.

“She has a point, Mrs. Weasley,” Luna said, nodding.

“Either way, it can't be good luck to talk about such things on the day of a wedding. And I need you two to come with me to set up a few last minute things,” Mrs. Weasley said, gesturing to Ginny and Luna. She then turned to Hermione. “Your mother should be up in a moment as well.”

Hermione nodded. “Alright.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled at her once more and then bustled the other two girls out of the room. Hermione's mother showed up moments later.

“Hey, honey,” Katherine said, pulling her daughter tightly to her. She then held Hermione at arm's length and examined her intently. “How're you feeling?”

Hermione swallowed. So many choices really… Depressed? Miserable? Heartbroken?

“Nervous, I suppose,” she responded, settling on the feeling that would be most appropriate for the situation.

Katherine smiled. “That's to be expected, of course. Everyone's nervous on their wedding day.”

Hermione jerked her head in a noncommittal sort of way.

Her mother observed her sadly for a moment, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“I wanted to also apologize to you, sweetie.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “What for?”

“For… for being so harsh on you before. I was completely out of line -”

Hermione cut her off. “No, you weren't. You're my mother. Knocking sense into me is part of your job description.”

Katherine laughed, wiping at her eyes. “I shouldn't have gone about it in that way though. It was just such a stressful time - ”

“I know, Mum. It's okay.”

Mrs. Granger smiled at her daughter again, sniffling. “I wish your father could be here. So much.”

This caused Hermione to dab at her own eyes. “M-me too, Mum,” she said shakily. “I miss him.”

Katherine gripped her daughter's hands tightly. “I know he would've been happy that Harry's walking you down the aisle as well. You couldn't have picked anyone better.”

Hermione nodded, still brushing at her eyes and not meeting her mother's gaze.

“Is it almost time?” she asked.

Katherine nodded. “Just about.”

***********

Harry observed the bustle of the guests with a sense of both apathy and fascination. He had drunk very little the previous night at Ron's bachelor party and was therefore fit enough to converse with many of the Grangers. He had met no one from Hermione's family except for her parents and he found the opportunity to study her relatives quite appealing. It also provided the perfect distraction from the event itself.

He was absorbed in a conversation with one of Hermione's older cousins when Ginny and Mrs. Weasley arrived and pulled him away.

“What's up?” Harry said as they retreated towards the edge of the crowd of people.

“We should be starting quite soon,” Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes darting methodically to the decorations to make sure everything was in place. “Best to be ready. Where's Ron?”

“Looking nervous as hell at the end of the aisle. As expected,” Ginny said.

Luna walked up calmly a moment later. “They're lacking a seat on Hermione's side of the guests,” she said.

“Oh, I knew we should've set out more!” Mrs. Weasley said. “Ginny, dear, would you go and collect a chair from our side and move it?”

“Why do I always have to get the extra chair?” Ginny groaned.

“Because you're just so persuasive, Gin,” Harry said.

“True,” she said, making a show of cracking her knuckles. “If you aren't willing to punch a relative for a chair, you don't belong in this family.”

“Ginny…” Mrs. Weasley said warningly.

“Oh, Mum, relax a bit! I know there are some spare chairs over there,” she said, and pushed her way back through the crowd to collect them.

“Believe or not, I actually am feeling rather relaxed,” Mrs. Weasley said. “Katherine's been so helpful, and after four other weddings I've finally got it right!”

“And it's the last one, too,” Harry said. “Pity.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled fondly at her son-in-law. “Indeed.”

She checked her watch and startled slightly. “Oh, we need to get ready! It's time to start!”

“Right,” Harry said, swallowing loudly.

*********

Hermione swallowed nervously as her mother led her from her room and towards the door that led onto the porch. The house was deserted since the guests were all seated in anticipation of the start of the ceremony.

After one last embrace and peck on the cheek her mother walked briskly from the house and sat in the front row of the bride's section.

Unlike at Harry's wedding, every second was passing with extreme clarity. Everything seemed ridiculously crisp and bright, as though she had just put on glasses that were much stronger than necessary.

She was dreading the moment when Harry would come get her - if anyone would see through her bravado, it would be him.

She took a deep breath and composed herself as the door opened.

Harry closed the door quickly behind him and turned towards her.

**********

Harry practically felt his throat close as he took in Hermione's appearance.

She looked - was - absolutely beautiful, and it took him multiple moments to gather the voice to tell her so.

“You look…breathtaking, Hermione.”

She smiled up at him, tears shining in her eyes, and Harry brushed them away when they began to trail down her cheeks.

“None of that, now,” he said as jokingly as he could, still cupping her face. “I can't have you blubbering all the way down the aisle.”

Hermione laughed softly and wiped impatiently at her own eyes. She pulled away as Ginny and Luna entered the room.

“Here,” Luna said kindly, handing Hermione a bouquet of assorted flowers. She and Ginny each clutched a simpler bouquet of their own.

“Ready?” Harry asked, all traces of joking gone as he stared down carefully at Hermione.

She averted her eyes after a moment and gave a small nod.

“Ok, let's do this,” Ginny said. The double doors leading to the porch and garden were thrown wide, and the traditional wedding march instigated the even more traditional twist of the guests as they turned to examine the procession.

Smiling radiantly, Ginny led the way onto the porch, down the steps, and along the stretch of white silk that lined the way to where Ron and a minister stood. Luna followed after a moment's pause and walked a few paces behind her. They both made their way slowly down the aisle and finally lined up in front of the bride's guests.

Harry extended his arm towards a rather pale Hermione and she laced her arm through it. He gripped her hand and could feel her shaking slightly as they stepped forward to begin their own walk.

Hermione shot Harry a nervous smile and then stared ahead of her determinedly. They both took a collective breath and finally walked onto the porch.

Harry blinked furiously as the sunlight pierced his eyes, but despite the strong sunshine he noticed how cold the breeze felt after the warmth of the house. He felt goosebumps erupt on Hermione's arm and reached over with his free hand to rub her forearm soothingly. Her shivering was more prominent than ever.

Strangely, he felt himself shaking slightly as well.

He couldn't quite put a finger as to why this was. He wasn't nervous…over a decade of fame had more or less deadened him to the stares of other people, especially since he actually knew over half of the individuals in the room. Nor was he necessarily cold. He was wearing a suit, after all.

But Hermione's arm did feel pleasantly warm, nestled as it was against his.

Actually, his grip on Hermione's hand soon became a rather important point of interest to him, and each step that he took seemed to make it all the more significant.

It fit rather well into his own, he thought. Perfectly, really. Her hand seemed small and warm in his, and Harry found that he quite liked the feel of it.

So much so that he didn't want to let go.

As he and Hermione inched closer towards Ron, Harry felt as though someone had pulled wool over his ears. Everything was very muffled except for the increasing staccato of his own heart.

Why was this happening now? In a few seconds he was expected to release Hermione's hand and allow Ron to take it. How could he do that when every solitary fiber of his being was screaming against that very action, bellowing at him to hold fast to her for all he was worth?

All too soon he noticed that they had reached the end of the rows of guests and that Ron had stepped forward, beaming, to initiate the event that Harry so loathed to complete.

But he had to. There was no question of it - it's not as though he could simply stand there in front of both Ron and Hermione's families (and technically his own) and refuse to release the bride…No matter how much he wanted to.

Hermione rubbed her thumb along the top of Harry's hand, as if reminding him of her presence. His skin tingled where her thumb trailed.

He closed his eyes for the briefest moment and loosened his fingers against all better judgment. Hermione extricated her hand gently and smiled at him.

Harry flashed her a reassuring smile (perhaps more for himself than her) and bent down to place a small kiss on the corner of her lips. Then, without a further glance, he hastily retreated to stand at the front of the groom's side of the family. He was grateful he wasn't forced to watch Hermione place her hand into Ron's.

**********

“Harry?”

Harry jolted slightly as Ginny spoke his name. “Hmmm?”

“You just completely tuned out,” she said. Her hands were around Harry's neck as they danced to the slow beat of the music that emanated throughout the garden.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “I'm just a bit tired, I guess.”

Ginny laughed lightly. “Maybe you shouldn't have drunk so much at Ron's party!”

Harry didn't bother to correct her assumption and gave a silent nod of agreement.

They danced quietly for a few minutes, but it seemed as though Ginny were practically about to burst with suppressed excitement.

“I'm not the only one who's acting a bit odd,” he said. “You look like you're about to jump out of your skin.”

“I'm just….really really really happy at the moment,” Ginny replied with a small shrug.

Harry frowned. “About what exactly?”

“Oh, about everything, really! It's a beautiful day, my brother just got married, it looks like the Cannons might actually have a shot at the Cup this year -”

Harry cut her off. “You wouldn't be this excited about that stuff. What is it really?”

Ginny gave a half-exasperated, half-delighted squeal. “I was meaning to wait until later, but…Harry, I'm pregnant!” she said, leaping at him to hug him tightly around the neck. “Can you believe this? We're going to be parents!”

Harry stood in shock as Ginny practically wringed his neck. “Merlin, holy - Gin, are you serious?!”

Ginny giggled as she pulled away from him. “Of course I'm serious, you dolt! You're going to be a dad!”

Harry felt two overwhelming emotions gush into his chest almost simultaneously: pure, absolute happiness and an unexplainable torrent of painful regret. Or almost unexplainable… the feeling of Hermione's hand in his had not yet abated.

“Don't tell anyone, though,” Ginny said as she pulled Harry back into the motions of dancing. “This is Ron and Hermione's day, after all. We wouldn't want to take anything away from that.”

Harry's eyes darted unwillingly to the newly married couple at Ginny's mention of them.

“Right,” he said. “We wouldn't want to do that.”

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30. Falling

A/N: Here's the next chapter! Again, I would really like to thank those of you who have the patience to stick with this story. I'm a personal fan of angst, but I know not everyone else is, so thanks! Expect the next chapter probably on Saturday or Sunday at the latest.

Thanks to justduck, UKwildcat820, auror_lumos09, Meli, EmmaRadcliffe, and noorelisa for the reviews! And is it just me, or am I typing the same lovely usernames for every chapter? Would love to here more feedback from everyone else I know is reading!

Chapter 30: Falling

Hermione crouched expectantly in front of the oven, eyeing the browning chicken inside with a rather hard gaze. So intent was she on her staring that she didn't hear the door to her - to her and Ron's - flat open.

“You here, Hermione?” Ron called out from the living area. Hermione didn't turn her eyes away from the cooking meat as she heard the already familiar chorus of Ron's entry: the slam of the door closing, the clinking of keys as they were dropped on the coffee table, the heavy thumping of his cloak being tossed over the couch, and the ever-increasing noise of his footfalls as he sought her out.

“Where - oh, there you are,” she heard Ron say from behind her. “How's Mrs. Weasley doing today?”

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes as she gave a small sigh. The continual greeting using her new surname was getting quite old. In fact, it had really gotten old after the first few days. It had been months since they had married, and she was still unused to it. On most days she still had to stop herself from falsely correcting him.

That would be Granger, Ronald.

“My day was fine,” she murmured, still focusing on the oven. “How was yours?”

“Eh, same old same old,” Ron said. “Though it would be much better if my wife would stop having a staring competition with dinner and give me a kiss!”

She heard the pout in his voice and she stood up, wincing at the cracking of her knees. She turned to Ron and chastely pecked his expectant lips.

“Sorry, Ron, I just don't want it to burn,” Hermione said. “I want it just right.”

“I'm sure it'll be great,” Ron said affably, flashing her a smile. He pulled her closer to him. “I can think of much better things we can do in the meantime.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden slightly. “I don't know, I'm still working on dinner -”

“Don't worry about it,” Ron said, still holding her by the waist. “It should be ready after we're through…”

Nope, still wouldn't be ready, Hermione thought, the urge to roll her eyes coming for the second time.

She pulled away from her husband with an apologetic expression. “It's not just the chicken, I've got other things to make as well,” she said, turning away and pulling a pot from beneath the counter to prove her point.

“Well, okay then. Maybe for dessert then,” Ron said cheekily. Hermione knew he most likely would've winked if she'd been looking at him.

She saved herself from answering by starting to mash potatoes with a blender. She heard Ron leave the kitchen and knew he had probably settled himself onto the couch to watch television, one of the few Muggle inventions he had an appreciation for.

Hermione continued blending for multiple minutes, welcoming the lack of any other noise, and finally stopped to scoop the potatoes into a serving bowl.

Just as she finished this task, she noticed a fine stream of smoke issuing from the oven.

“Damn it!” she hissed, grabbing a dishtowel and throwing open the stove. She fanned away the smoke and then sat back dejectedly as she scrutinized her now blackened chicken.

*************

“Come on, Hermione, it tastes great!” Ron said, taking a large bite of the meat as though to reassure her. Not that it worked - Ron wasn't exactly the pickiest of eaters to begin with.

Hermione nibbled at her own portion, which she had salvaged from the ruined chicken. She nodded mutely at Ron's compliment.

The only sound to be heard for several moments was the scraping of knives and forks.

“Thank goodness it's the weekend, huh?” Ron said eventually. “I'm exhausted!”

“Me too,” Hermione said. “Did we make any plans?”

“I dunno…wait, shit! We agreed to help Harry and Ginny with the nursery tomorrow!” Ron said, aghast that he wouldn't be able to lounge the entire day.

Hermione lost her appetite as soon as he mentioned the task. She had forgotten entirely about it…or rather intentionally pushed it from her mind.

Harry and Ginny had announced her pregnancy almost as soon as she and Ron had returned from their weeklong honeymoon in Germany.

What a pleasant surprise that had been, Hermione thought somewhat bitterly.

She had thought she was above such feelings - she had reestablished a somewhat normal relationship with Harry again, she had moved on and dated Ron, she had married Ron…

But something about this revelation had made her feel as though she had been slapped across the face.

She hated herself for the feeling of jealousy that had arisen from the announcement. She should be happy for Harry - it was what he had always wanted, really…a family he could love and cherish in a way that he never got to experience.

But the finality of it all was almost too much for her to bear.

“You know Ginny's gonna be a right git about all this too,” Ron was saying, and Hermione pulled herself to the present.

“Yeah…you're probably right,” Hermione said. “She certainly seems to appreciate the power-boost she's gotten.”

“Of course she does!” Ron said, cutting his last bit of chicken into pieces. “And Harry doesn't help matters by completely doting on her hand and foot!”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn't he?”

Ron backtracked quickly. “You know what I mean! You'd think she'd lost her arms and legs!”

Hermione nodded. Ginny had indeed been living the good life for a while now. Harry was throwing himself whole-heartedly into the process of preparing Ginny and himself for the new baby, and Hermione couldn't help but find it ridiculously sweet. He was constantly flipping through baby books whenever he had a spare moment, and seldom was an outing achieved without stopping to pick up a new toy or trinket for his child.

“It won't be so bad,” Hermione said, attempting to console them both. “Ginny'll be fine.”

“Yeah, right,” Ron snorted. “And I'm the king of England.”

************

“Alright,” Ginny said diplomatically from her rolling chair in the middle of the room. Her belly was already quite swollen. “Let's try to get this thing finished. Harry,” she said, pointing at him, “you'll be in charge of rolling the paint on the walls. Hermione, you can do the trim. Ron…unpack the crib or something.”

“Right, not bad at all,” Ron muttered to Hermione, and she shrugged helplessly.

“What are you standing around for,” Ginny said with a cheeky grin. “Hop to it!”

“Ma'am yes ma'am!” Harry said, saluting his wife before proceeding to pour the pale green paint into a tray.

Ron grunted in annoyance at Harry's enthusiasm and plopped himself in front of the cardboard box contained the parts to the baby crib. Hermione picked up a brush to begin cutting in the trim.

“Why didn't you want to find out what the baby was, anyway?” Ron said, using his wand to slice through the tape on the box. “Green's such a copout.”

“Because we wanted to be surprised!” Ginny said. “It'll be amazing to just wait and find out when the day comes.”

“And green's not a copout!” Harry said. “It's just more unisex that yellow.”

“And the final touches will be added afterward!” Ginny said. “Though I still liked yellow,” she said as an afterthought.

“I refuse to allow my son feel as though he's been born into a world made of dandelions,” Harry said, beginning to roll the paint.

“But it's so sunny and bright!”

“Exactly! Not manly like this light pastel green,” Harry said, tapping the wall.

“Yes, so manly,” Ron said sarcastically.

“Shove off, Ron! If you had your way you'd blind any child of yours with Chudley Cannon orange!” Ginny said.

“What's wrong with -”

“Nothing, Ron, nothing at all. So how's work been?” Ginny said sweetly, switching topics.

Ron's face fell. “Exhausting. I feel like I'm doing the job of three people for half the money. It's a bit of a letdown. Do you have any motherly-type advice for me?” he said, grinning at her.

Ginny shrugged. “I could give it a go, I guess. Might as well get a little practice in.” She cleared her throat and then fixed Ron with narrowed eyes. “Shake it off, you big wuss! What d'you expect? You just passed your Auror's test! Did you expect the Ministry to just hand you everything on a golden platter? You've got to work at it! And you can pass that tidbit of wisdom to the grandchildren you won't be having!”

She settled herself back into her chair, looking smug.

“How was that?”

“God-awful,” Ron said. “I can tell you're not going to be very good at this.”

Ginny waved her hand airily. “Eat broccoli. Whatever.”

Harry and Hermione laughed at the exchange.

Ron, by this point, had already finished unpacking the pieces to the crib and stood up with a flourish. “All done! Can I go now?”

“Absolutely not,” Ginny said. “You can help Harry roll.”

“Or he could help me trim,” Hermione said.

“I don't trust him that much,” Ginny replied.

“Why? Am I the only one around here who knows how to paint in a straight line?”

“No, it's just that you do it so well that the rest of us feel unqualified,” Harry said with a grin.

“Is that so, Potter?” Hermione said, still focusing on her careful paint strokes.

“'Tis the truth, Granger,” Harry replied.

“Weasley,” both Ron and Ginny corrected.

“Right,” Harry said.

Ginny sat up a bit straighter in her chair as she surveyed their work.

“Harry, could you go fetch me a glass of juice, please?” she said.

“Sure,” he replied, standing up and placing the roller carefully in its tray. “Apple, orange, or grape?”

“Apple. And when you come back, wear your tool-belt.”

“Because it's sexy?” Harry asked, furrowing his brow.

“That would be between you and the unassembled pile of wood that will become the place our child will sleep for the first year of his or her life.”

“Well that's a ego-buster.” He turned to Hermione. “D'you want anything, Hermione?”

“Um…just a water's fine,” she said.

“Great. Two waters and an apple juice coming right up.”

“Hey, what about me?” Ron said, looking wounded.

“Last time I checked your legs weren't broken,” Harry replied cheekily.

“You're getting them something!”

“Completely different.” He pointed to Ginny and then Hermione. “Wife slash child and best friend.” He gestured towards Ron. “And, well, you.”

“Well don't I feel appreciated,” Ron muttered under his breath.

“Oh, and bring the sonogram of the baby,” Ginny called as Harry exited the room. “I want to show Hermione!”

“And make me a sandwich!” Ron yelled.

“Okay, Gin, and get off your lazy arse and make your own sandwich, Ron!” Harry shouted back, the sound of clinking glass heard as he rummaged through the kitchen cabinets. “Just a water, right Hermione?”

“Right,” Hermione called back.

He reentered the room a moment later with drinks and a few tools and handed Ginny her glass of juice. “I brought an extra bottle of water if you want it, Ron,” he said.

“I don't want your pity drink!”

“I'd take it if I were you,” Ginny said, taking a sip of her drink. “No one else will give you any.”

Ron shot a glare at his sister.

“Anyway, did you get the picture, Harry?” Ginny asked, swiveling her back towards Ron.

“Yeah,” he said. He slid down to the floor and sat cross-legged next to Hermione. He handed her the bottle of water she had asked for and pulled the sonogram from his pocket.

He held it out rather gently to Hermione, who took it carefully and then gazed quietly at it for several moments.

Ginny rolled her way over to the duo in her chair and pressed a finger against a light part of the grainy image.

“I'm one hundred percent positive that it's a head,” she said. She then cocked her head. “Unless it's a foot.”

Hermione smiled and pressed the picture back into Harry's grasp. “He's going to be beautiful,” she said sincerely, looking into his eyes.

Harry held her gaze and gave her a small smile. “He?”

Hermione shrugged as she picked up her paintbrush again. “He.”

“You know it most definitely is going to be a boy now, right?”

“Why is that?” Hermione asked, dipping her brush into the pail of paint.

“Because you're always right about everything,” Harry said with a grin. “What makes this any different?”

Hermione laughed. “The fact that it has absolutely nothing to do with logic?”

“So?”

She shook her head at his superior tone. “If you say so,” she said. She brandished her brush at him with mock-impatience. “And you should probably start on that crib if you expect him to have a place to sleep.”

“But I was painting,” Harry said. “Ron can start on it - he unpacked everything anyway.”

Ginny choked on the mouthful of apple juice she had just swallowed, coughing profusely as she fixed Harry with an appalled expression.

“My brother build my first child's crib? I don't think so.”

“Why not?” Harry said, glancing at Ron.

“I don't trust him,” she stated bluntly. “Why do you think I had him unpack the crib instead of paint? He does what I like to call the `relatively unimportant' jobs.”

“Catchy,” Ron said, disgruntled. “You've just been a ray of sunshine lately, Gin.”

“Doth my ears detect sarcasm, brother?”

“Of course not!” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “And you don't have a right to talk about sarcasm…in fact, you should probably nip that habit before the kiddie arrives.”

“It's probably genetic,” Hermione said in amusement.

“Either way,” Ron said to Ginny, “you should probably resolve to lose some of the, er, snippiness before the kid can hear you.”

“And you should probably resolve to stop being a loser,” Ginny replied solemnly.

Ron raised an eyebrow and chuckled. “I'm only kidding.”

Ginny chuckled as well. “I'm not.”

“Play nice now, children,” Harry said good-naturedly. “We don't have the time for you two to keep bickering.”

“Look who's practicing the daddy card,” Ginny said. “Excellent job, full points!”

“So did we ever establish if you wanted Ron or Harry to help me with the painting?” Hermione interjected a bit more harshly then she had intended.

Ginny spoke without hesitance. “Harry definitely has to build the crib.”

“Well, let's try to finish this, then,” Hermione said, pushing the tray of paint and roller towards Ron. “Just do it the way Harry was.”

With a grunt of acknowledgement Ron picked up the roller and Harry relocated himself within reach of the wooden assembly pieces.

**********

After a while, Ron tossed the roller back into the tray in agitation. “This is ridiculous!” he said. “Why in the bloody hell can't we paint with magic?”

“Because the entire room would end up green,” Ginny said. “There's no way to be accurate enough when you use a spell.”

“Well, I still think it's stupid,” Ron muttered. “You could've kept it the old color.”

“I'm sure dark gray would've been so stimulating to an infant,” Hermione said, now standing on a ladder to trim around the ceiling.

Ginny looked like she was bored out of her skull. She had hardly budged for the last hour and was quite restless.

“Merlin, I really want a cigar right now,” she said wistfully.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all fixed the redheaded girl with odd expressions.

“Er…” said Hermione.

“You don't smoke,” Harry pointed out.

“Oh, did I say cigar?” Ginny asked vaguely. “I meant pie.”

“See, that makes much more sense,” Harry said, screwing one of the bars onto the crib. “But I'm afraid we have nothing of the sort.”

“Fate is so cruel,” Ginny muttered, heaving herself from her chair. “I think I'm gonna go get some.”

“Did you want me to go pick it up?” Harry said.

“Nah, I need to get out of the house for a little while,” Ginny said. “Plus, the other furniture needs to be picked up as well.”

“I could go get the furniture then while you go to the store,” Harry said.

Ginny shook her head. “I'd rather you stay and finish the baby's crib.”

Ron stood up quickly. “Why don't I go then, sis? It would be my pleasure!”

“Yeah, your pleasure to ditch the work,” Ginny snorted. “But I could use the help, so why not? But you're not going by yourself. You can come get pie with me and then we'll go to get the furniture.”

“Fine by me,” Ron said, slipping on the jacket he'd brought with him as Ginny left the room to get her own coat. He turned to Harry. “You might as well finish up the painting once you get done with the crib, mate. Don't want you slacking off and leaving Hermione with all the work.”

Harry gave a derisive snort. “Wouldn't dream of it, Ron. Not after seeing your work ethic.”

“Gotta lead by example,” Ron shrugged. “Anyway, see you two in a bit!”

“See you later,” Ginny said, now reentering the room with a coat. She bent and kissed Harry as he continued screwing together the crib and she and Ron left the house. The door shut with a final slam and all was quiet.

Hermione continued to trail her brush ever more carefully along the wall as she heard Harry rustling among what was left of the unassembled crib. She and Harry had not been alone for more than a few minutes at a time since the day Ron had proposed to her.

She glanced over at him and was a bit surprised to find him watching her as well. His gaze made her unrealistically uncomfortable. She turned back quickly to the wall and nervously continued to trim.

After about ten minutes Harry let out a triumphant yell.

“Done!” he said proudly, and stood up next to the completed crib. “What d'you think?”

Hermione angled herself on the stepladder and scrutinized Harry's creation. “Looks good to me,” she said.

“Great,” Harry said. “Now I get to finish up Ron's crappy paintjob.”

He rolled up his sleeves and picked up Ron's discarded roller. After re-coating it with paint he went back to layering the pale green walls, seeming just as enthusiastic about it has he had when he'd first started. Hermione found the attitude both refreshing and contagious and a smile spread over her face.

“You're really excited about this,” she stated. It wasn't really a question, but Harry responded anyway.

“Of course! I'm still in a state of shock that this is happening at all!”

“It's what you've always wanted…” Hermione said softly, her brush pausing on the wall.

“Right,” Harry said. “I guess I really want him to have the childhood and family I never got.”

Hermione swallowed at the burning sensation in her throat. “He's going to get that and a lot more. You're going to be a great father, Harry.”

“You think so?” he asked, a note of hesitation in his voice.

Hermione glanced down at him, curious at his uncertainty. “I know so. You are easily the most protective and lov—compassionate person I've ever met.” She turned away and blushed at what she had almost said, hoping Harry hadn't registered the abrupt change of adjectives.

“Is that it, though? I feel like there should be more to it then that.”

Hermione actually crouched on her ladder at this point to look Harry straight in the eyes.

“Do you love him?”

“Completely,” Harry said, staring back at her.

“Then that'll be enough,” she said. “The best dads just love their children unconditionally…I know you'll provide him the greatest life possible with just that.”

Harry nodded and looked away as Hermione stood back up.

“What about you and Ron?” he asked. “Have you talked about having kids yet?”

Hermione shook her head. “He's discussed it. But we've only been married for a few months…I think it'd be better if we waited.”

“Probably,” Harry said. “But for what it's worth, I know you're going to be a great mum when the time comes.”

Hermione shrugged noncommittally, not looking at him. “I hope so.”

She raised her brush once more but felt Harry's hand envelop her left one. Her eyes met his for what felt like the thirtieth time that night, but this time she didn't turn away.

“I know so,” he said earnestly.

Before Hermione could respond, however, a loud splintering crack resounded through the room and the stepladder collapsed from beneath her. She felt her feet begin to give with the ladder, but Harry jerked her away from the top just before she fell. However, given her higher position and the speed with which Harry had pulled her towards him, they both crashed to the ground, upturning the paint-can in the process.

Hermione quivered as the adrenaline coursed through her body, but this was nothing compared to her quivering after realizing that she was lying on top of Harry. They were both splattered with paint and Harry groaned at the hard contact with the floor.

“Ow,” he muttered, but grinned nonetheless. “That was a close one, Copper.”

She smiled slightly at the use of the nickname. She noted that Harry's arms were still wrapped around her waist.

“See what I mean?” she said. “Protective.”

“I couldn't've let you fall,” Harry said.

“You never have before,” Hermione said quietly. Their closeness was beginning to make her nervous.

“No…but you went and broke my ladder, Granger,” Harry said, still smiling.

“Weasley,” she said even more quietly.

“Right,” Harry said again, but just as before made no move to correct himself. “Doesn't change the fact that you broke my ladder.”

“Apparently I need to lose of few pounds,” Hermione joked.

“No you don't,” Harry said, reaching up with one of his hands to brush away a spot of paint on her cheek. He didn't remove his hand. “You're absolutely perfect the way you are.”

Hermione felt as though her heart were in her throat as she stared into Harry's vibrant eyes. She knew she should move, remove herself from temptation, but she felt frozen in a sea of emerald. She could think of nothing else.

Their faces were mere inches from each other. If either of them leaned forward the slightest bit…

But just as Hermione began to lower her head, she noted in the periphery of her vision the green paint pooling onto the floor…the pale, pastel green that they were using to paint the room of the child Harry was having with another woman…his wife who also happened to be her friend and the sister of her own husband…

Hermione rolled off Harry abruptly, still shaking slightly. “W-we should probably clean up and finish this up before Ginny and Ron get back,” she said with a forced nonchalantness. With a quick Reparo she fixed the stepladder and set in up in the corner of the room. She climbed it carefully and used Accio to summon her still wet paintbrush to herself.

Then she began painting as though nothing had happened.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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31. An Old Enemy

A/N: Happy Easter to all those who are celebrating today! This chapter is technically the first of a two-parter, so I'll try to put the other one up a little bit more quickly. I would've put this one up sooner, but I've pretty much been without internet for like three days, so that didn't happen. Hope you enjoy!

Thanks to noorelisa, UKwildcat820, Norahheartshrh, Charlotte, EmmaRadcliffe, D, hphg74, Meli, and justduck for the reviews! Love you guys!

Chapter 31: An Old Enemy

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry glanced up at the Auror who had stepped into his office.

“What can I help you with, O'Brien?” he said, setting down his quill.

“Nothing for me, sir,” O'Brien replied. He jerked a thumb behind him. “Wahler asked to see you in his office.”

“Did he mention what it was about?”

“No, sir. Just said it was urgent.”

Harry sighed in frustration as he checked his watch. Almost five - this had better be important.

“Alright, I'll be in there in a second,” Harry grumbled.

O'Brien nodded and retreated from the room.

Harry tossed whatever papers he hadn't completed rather haphazardly into his satchel and threw it over his shoulder, sincerely hoping whatever Wahler had to say wouldn't take long.

He rapped once on Wahler's door and entered without waiting for a reply since his boss was already expecting him. “You wanted to speak with me, sir?” he said with as much politeness as possible.

Wahler looked up from his own paperwork and gave a curt nod. “Yes, Potter. Take a seat if you would.”

Harry promptly dropped his satchel and sat down, waiting for Wahler to continue. He really didn't have time for pleasantries.

“I suppose there's no point in beating around the bush,” Wahler said, to which Harry nodded his approval. “Do you remember requesting any information we discovered about a particular Death Eater?”

“Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wand within his pocket. “Dolohov. Are you saying you've found out something about him?”

“Even better,” Wahler said. “We believe we know his location.”

“Really?” Harry said, sitting up straighter in his chair. This was news indeed. “Where is he?”

“We think he's hidden in a hunting cabin in Scotland. Near Polmont.”

“Excellent,” Harry said.

“I assume you still wish to have precedence over the case?”

“Definitely,” Harry replied fervently, a slight edge to his voice. “I have a personal reason to see Dolohov in Azkaban.”

“Understood,” Wahler said. “But if you want to lead the case you have to leave within the next half-hour.”

Harry had to make a mindful effort not to allow his jaw to drop. “But—but sir, it's Valentine's Day -”

“I'm fully aware of that, Potter. But who knows how long we have until Dolohov moves? There's no telling if our source could send out some sort of warning. And if he has been warned the only advantage we have is catching him unprepared.”

“But sir -”

“Look, Potter,” Wahler said sternly, “either you want the job or you don't. I'm actually giving you a choice in the matter. If you don't want it, I'll recruit someone else. But it's happening tonight whether you want it to or not. And I need your decision now.”

Harry hesitated for only the briefest of moments, but his desire to see Dolohov rot in Azkaban exceeded his need to rush home to Ginny. Aside from Peter Pettigrew, Antonin Dolohov had been the first Death Eater who had caused him suffering. Peter Pettigrew had given him his first taste of murder during the Triwizard Tournament, and Dolohov…he had instigated more emotional pain in Harry than he had ever felt in his life up to that point. He had never been more terrified than when Hermione had collapsed from Dolohov's curse, and had never felt more relief than when he discovered she was still alive.

There really was no question in the matter.

Harry nodded sharply.

“Great,” Wahler said. “You can pick any two Aurors to accompany you, but make it quick - we've arranged a Portkey for five-thirty to a secure location a few miles from the cabin.”

Harry nodded again and said nothing as he stood up and returned to his office. He mentally ran through all of the potential candidates to go with him as he deposited his satchel back onto his desk. He decided he'd go ahead and bring O'Brien with him - he was a bit on the younger side, but extremely talented and smart on the field.

After a moment's deliberation he dismissed both Mitch and Ron. Mitch had taken a week off from work to go on vacation with his wife, so getting into contact with him was impractical. As for Ron, Harry couldn't bring himself to deprive Hermione of any Valentine's Day plans they might have set. He already felt guilty enough bailing on Ginny without Hermione being alone as well.

Harry almost mindlessly abandoned his office and walked towards the lift. He only realized where he was going when the lift opened on the fourth floor. He supposed it was merely the fact he was about to go after Dolohov that made him feel the need to see her.

He quickly wound his way to her office, but seemed to barely have caught her as she was packing away her own papers. She didn't appear to hear him enter and continued to rifle through her reports, standing and leaning over her desk. Harry didn't know why, but he didn't interrupt her. He watched her silently from the doorway, noting the way she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ears after she put away each file, a habit she'd had for as long as he could remember.

He was jolted back to the present as she finished putting away the final report. He hurriedly knocked on the doorframe to announce his presence before she looked up and saw him staring at her.

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione said, a note of surprise in her voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Er - well…” Harry began, searching his rather muddled mind for a response. “I, er… I wanted to know if you could do me a favor.”

“Of course, Harry, anything,” she said, circling her desk to approach him.

“Could you, er…could you tell Ginny that I won't be coming in until later tonight?” Harry asked. “I just got an assignment and I don't have the time to send her a message.” Which was partially true…he really didn't have time now that he'd come to see Hermione.

“You were really given an assignment tonight?” Hermione said, fixing him with a confused stare. “On Valentine's Day? Couldn't they find someone else?”

Harry shook his head, fidgeting uncomfortably. “Wahler requested three of us personally - there wasn't much of a choice.”

Hermione touched his arm sympathetically. “I'm sorry, Harry. That's horrible luck. But of course I can tell Ginny.”

“Thanks,” Harry murmured, distracted by her hand on his bicep. He shook his head and refocused on Hermione. He met her eyes and noticed the dark circles beneath them.

“Tired?” he asked, reaching up to brush her cheek. He jerked his hand back almost as soon as their skin had touched.

Hermione seemed the slightest bit startled by his movements but otherwise didn't comment. “Yes, I suppose so. I haven't been sleeping very well lately.”

Harry swallowed, frustrated by his behavior. “A-any particular reason?”

Hermione met his eyes and then looked away quickly, turning back to her desk and randomly straightening her already meticulous possessions.

“Nothing in particular, no,” she said. Her shoulders were tense and Harry knew he shouldn't pursue the subject in farther.

“Okay,” he said, turning towards the door. “I guess I should go then…”

“Be careful, Harry.”

Harry glanced back over his shoulder and saw that Hermione had turned to face him again with a concerned expression.

Harry smiled. “You know me.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said. “Which is why I'm repeating myself: Be careful.”

Harry chuckled slightly and nodded. “I'll try my best.”

“Good,” Hermione said, but the note of worry still carried in her voice.

Harry approached her and grabbed both of her hands despite the warning that kept repeating in his mind. He captured her gaze and gave her another reassuring smile.

“Seriously, Hermione. I'll be careful. No need to work yourself up over something routine.”

Hermione returned the smile half-heartedly. “It's my job to worry. And considering how urgent this sounds it doesn't seem to be the most routine field-work.”

Harry didn't reply to her correct assertion.

“But I'll try to not let myself worry too much,” she finished.

“That's all I ask,” Harry said, still grinning at her. His smile faded slightly as he looked down at their interlocked hands and he dropped them quickly.

“I should go -”

“Right,” Hermione said quietly, grasping her now empty hands together. “I'll see you soon then?”

“Definitely,” Harry said, and before he could stop himself he bent and kissed the corner of her mouth.

Flustered, he quickly pulled away from her.

Hermione cleared her throat slightly. “Er, good luck, then.”

Harry nodded, not trusting himself to speak, and turned once more towards the door, but Hermione interrupted him again just before he left.

“Who're you going after anyway?”

Harry looked back and watched as she crossed her arms vulnerably across her stomach, almost as if she were holding herself. He debated whether to tell her or not.

“How about I tell you about when I get back?” he said.

She nodded. “That would be fine.”

“Alright then. See you.”

“See you.”

Harry finally retreated from the office and practically sprinted back to his own floor. He had used up most of his free time and he still needed to inform the Aurors who would be going with him.

He skidded to a halt before the desk of an older Auror who had never married.

“Woah, Potter! What's the rush?” the man asked.

“We have an urgent case to attend to, Roderick,” Harry said. “I need you and O'Brien to meet me in Wahler's office in five minutes.”

Roderick nodded his understanding. This was part of the reason Harry had chosen him to come along - he didn't waste any time. No questions and no protest.

“We'll be there.”

“Great, we'll fill you in when you get there,” he said, and went immediately to his boss's office. Five minutes later, O'Brien and Roderick and joined them. It took another two minutes to brief them on the case.

“I'll have you know you're cheating me out of a date, Potter,” O'Brien said good-naturedly.

“And I have a pregnant wife at home who'll probably curse me to a bloody pulp when I get home,” Harry replied. “A disgruntled girlfriend certainly doesn't compare to that kind of fury.”

O'Brien winced in appreciation. “You win,” he said.

Wahler pushed a chipped goblet into Harry's hands.

“Enough of the chatter,” he said impatiently. “This'll be leaving any second. Good luck, boys.”

Harry, O'Brien, and Roderick all nodded to the Head Auror and the latter two each placed an index finger to the goblet.

Wahler checked his watch and counted down.

“Three, two, one.”

Instantly Harry felt the familiar pull behind his navel and he was spinning in a whirlwind of color. A moment later his feet came into contact with soft, mossy turf.

He glanced around his surroundings and pulled his wand from its holster.

“Ready, boss?” O'Brien said to Harry, pulling out his own wand.

Harry nodded. “Ready as I'll ever be. Let's do this.”

**************

Only after Harry's cloak had whipped out of sight did Hermione raise her hand shakily to the spot where he had kissed her. The very corner of her lips…if she'd shifted just an inch closer to him…

She shook her head furiously to clear it of such forbidden thoughts. He was just telling her goodbye - purely platonic. That inch of movement would have pushed the barrier of being platonic and crossed into something new and very dangerous.

Sighing, Hermione picked up her reports and left her office quickly, trying to focus on anything but those few moments of Harry's presence.

She'd recently taken to her old mantra of avoiding Harry rather fervently after the day they'd painted the nursery. The only event that had required both their attendance had been Christmas, and Christmas at the Burrow was hectic enough to keep her mind off of things. But the fact remained that any instance they were together resulted in hours, if not days, of her mind reeling in every which direction.

Hermione reached the Disapparating zone in the Ministry and turned on the spot, feeling the familiar sensation of being compressed and then reappearing in her and Ron's living room.

“Ron?” she called out, wondering if he'd gotten home yet.

“In here!” Ron called back from the kitchen.

Hermione deposited her belongings on the coffee table and entered the kitchen, finding Ron waiting with two full glasses of wine. He was grinning from ear to ear.

“Happy Valentine's Day, love!” he said enthusiastically. He pressed one of the glasses into her hands and gave her a quick kiss. “I thought we'd start with some wine to celebrate before we go get dinner at that restaurant you like -”

“That sounds great, Ron,” Hermione said, smiling slightly at his infectious behavior. “I just need to get cleaned up a bit. And we also need to drop by to see Ginny before we leave.”

“What for?” Ron asked. “I'm sure Harry's already home and taken her out to eat somewhere. No point in interrupting them - or us, for that matter.”

Hermione took a small sip of her wine before setting the glass down on the counter. “That's just it,” she said. “Harry's not going to be able to make it home until later tonight.”

Ron frowned. “Why's that?”

“Wahler gave him an assignment.”

“Damn prat,” Ron scowled. “It couldn't wait until tomorrow?”

“Apparently not,” Hermione said. “And he's not a prat - he's your boss.”

“Same difference, really,” he replied with a shrug. “So Harry left it up to us to break the news to dear old Ginerva?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, apparently it was pressing enough that he didn't have the time to floo home or send an owl.”

“Fine,” Ron said. “But you can tell her. I don't want to be in the direct line of fire.”

“Ginny'll be fine,” Hermione said, shrugging off her work robes as she walked back into the living room. “Surely she'll understand Harry didn't have a choice in the matter.”

“Here's hoping,” Ron said doubtfully. “'Cause it'll be our necks on the line until he gets back.”

Hermione took about fifteen minutes to change and freshen up her make-up. She selected a very simple red dress and a white sweater. Ron was already dressed in a maroon jumper and slacks.

“You look nice,” Ron said when she stepped back into the living room. “Are you ready?”

“Thanks,” Hermione said. “And yes, I am. Let's Apparate, though - I've never cared to floo in a dress.”

“Alright,” Ron said and disappeared with a crack. Hermione picked up her handbag and followed.

They appeared just outside of Grimmauld Place. Ron knocked on the door as soon as Hermione had arrived, and Ginny opened the door a moment later.

“Oh! Hey, guys,” she said, looking quite surprised by their arrival. Her stomach was very large. She ushered them inside and closed the door. “Did you guys need something?”

“No, actually,” Hermione answered, fidgeting with her purse. “Harry actually sent us.”

Ginny's eyes narrowed and she tucked her hair behind her ears with both hands. “And why couldn't he come here himself?”

“That's what he sent us here for. He asked me to tell you he won't be making it home until later tonight.”

Ginny let out a huff of indignation and stomped her way rather slowly into the sitting room. She lowered herself carefully into an armchair and crossed her arms sourly. Hermione sat on the couch next to it. “Well great!” she said. “Of course he's going to be late today of all days.”

“He didn't really have any choice in the matter,” Hermione said soothingly, patting Ginny's hand. “Wahler gave him a last-minute assignment. And I'm sure whatever it is won't take him too long.”

Ginny didn't appear remotely pacified, but she let the matter drop.

“So it looks like you two have some plans.”

“Just going to dinner,” Hermione said.

“No big deal,” Ron added. He seemed uncomfortable. “So, er, how's the team doing without you?”

“Well enough,” Ginny said. “They were disappointed when I resigned, of course, but they'll manage well enough. I gave them enough heads-up to find a suitable replacement before the season starts. All the girls threw me a sort of baby shower slash retirement party.”

“You all did well this season,” Ron said. “What, fifth in the league?”

“Fourth,” Ginny replied smugly.

“Like I said, you did pretty decent.”

“I know,” she said. “And I'm going to miss it, but I can't commit the necessary amount of time to it once the baby's here. I'd still like to be involved somehow, though. After the baby's older. I was actually thinking about writing for the Daily Prophet.”

“That'd be perfect!” Ron said.

“It would be,” Hermione agreed. “Freelancing articles would be on your terms and you can do it from home.”

“Exactly my thoughts,” Ginny said. She pushed herself back into a standing position and grimaced. She settled a hand on her protruding belly.

“Anything wrong?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Nah,” Ginny said after taking deep breath. “Just a pang. Anyway, I know you guys have better things to do than listen to little `ol me whine about how she was so rudely abandoned by her husband on the day of love so I'll just ---”

She suddenly stopped speaking as a gasp of pain escaped her and she clutched at her belly with both hands. She heaved in a breath and closed her eyes as Hermione dashed forward.

“Ginny, are you okay?” she asked, now terrified.

“Much much much bigger pang,” Ginny gasped. She opened her eyes long enough to gaze desperately at Hermione. “I think the baby's coming.”

**************

Harry strode quietly through the forest surrounding the hunting cabin. After ten minutes of walking, they had cast a quick spell to discover the perimeter of the wards protecting the hideout.

In his wolf form, Harry took off around the cabin, careful to never come within a foot of the ward. He knew that if he so much as brushed against it Dolohov and whatever other Death Eaters were here would be instantly alerted to his presence. Wolf or human, he still had a magical signature. They couldn't breach the ward until they were absolutely prepared.

He splashed his way through a shallow stream that flowed downhill toward the cabin and sat down on the other side, thinking hard about the best way to go about this.

He estimated that the ward stretched about a half-mile in every direction, creating a wide circle of protection around the area. Harry was displeased about the largeness of the boundary. In a mission such as this, a half-mile was an enormous amount of ground to cover. They would be wide open to attack the entire time as well, and that was only if the Death Eaters didn't simply Disapparate before the Aurors could reach them.

However, one advantage Harry could see was the geography of the area. The cabin was located in a sort of small valley, surrounded by hills on every side. For hiding, it was a wonderful location - you could only see the cabin if you trudged your way to the crest of the hill, which the surrounding trails would deter you from. But once you discovered the cabin, everything about it was easily seen. With his heightened eyesight, Harry could clearly see every aspect of the hideout - every doorway and window, any obstacles that may slow their progress into the cabin, any cover that may benefit their advance.

Finally, satisfied that he knew as much as he could possibly discover from this distance, Harry charged full-speed back to the area where he'd left Roderick and O'Brien and transformed back into a human.

“Man, I can't get over how wicked that is,” O'Brien said, awestruck.

“It's useful,” Harry conceded. “But now's not the time to talk about it. Did you guys ever see anyone come out of the cabin?”

“No,” Roderick said. “Nothing.”

“Figures,” Harry muttered, running a hand through his tousled hair. “So we have no clue what we might be up against.”

“I think we can probably count on there being at least one other person with Dolohov.”

“I agree,” O'Brien said. “It'd be crazy to leave yourself without any backup.”

“Having more than one person here would actually work to our advantage,” Harry said. “Reduces the chance that they'll run. Having backup means they intend to fight back.”

“Fanastic,” Roderick mumbled. “So how are we doing this?”

“The perimeter's spread about a half-mile in every direction. The instant we pass through the ward they'll know someone's here,” Harry said. “So, first off, we should pass through it at the same time. The ward only alerts every time someone passes through it - it can't tell how many people that go through. Second, once we're through they won't know our exact location, but we'll be vulnerable until we get to the cabin. Which is why we'll be Disillusioning ourselves.”

“Simple,” O'Brien said. “No big deal.”

“I've chosen a location for us to enter from,” Harry continued as he ignored O'Brien. He pointed in the direction from which he'd run earlier. “About a quarter-mile that way. It's the best we can hope for. It's got more available coverage if they discover us. But there are no windows on that side either. Hopefully it'll give us some extra time and they won't see us at all.”

And without another word Harry set off in the direction he had pointed, and the other Aurors followed him closely. Once they reached the spot he had chosen, Harry stopped abruptly and nodded towards the cabin.

“The main door is just around the corner of this side,” Harry said. “Keep a bit of a distance between yourselves until we get closer. If the spells start firing, make yourselves visible so we can watch each other's backs. As always, if I give an order, just do it. No questions. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Roderick said, squaring his shoulders. In the sparse moonlight and soft glow of their lit wands, his graying hair and lightly lined face was more evident than ever.

“You got it,” O'Brien said soberly. Despite the man's joking disposition, he always knew when to get serious.

“Alright, then,” Harry said, brandishing his wand. “Disillusion yourselves and line up on either side of me. Ready? On my count. One, two, three.”

In one swift movement all three stepped through the ward. The eerie silence was more disconcerting than a thousand alarms announcing their presence.

**************

Hermione dashed hurriedly down the corridor of St. Mungo's. Ginny had just been settled into a room and now Hermione set upon the next most pressing matter: finding Harry and getting him here as soon as possible.

She stopped in front of the receptionist's desk and rapped the desk sharply to get her attention.

“Excuse me, where's a fireplace I can Floo from?” she asked.

The receptionist pointed lazily toward the stairwell. “One floor down. Third door on your right.”

Hermione muttered a quick thank you and set off once more, taking the stairs two at a time. She found the door she had been directed to and burst through it, scanning the area rapidly. The room was of modest size and contained six fireplaces, three of which were tall enough to stand in - the other three were strangely placed midway up the wall for more comfortable conversation if you only wished to Floo with your head.

Hermione dashed to the closest full-length one and snatched up a handful of the powder sitting in a bowl on a side-table. Wasting no time, she threw the powder into the fireplace and stepped into the emerald green flames.

“Alec Wahler's office, Ministry of Magic!”

She swirled in the green flames and eventually slowed to a halt.

“State your name,” said the cool female voice.

“Hermione Grang -- Weasley, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures,” she said.

“One moment while your floo is being transferred.”

Hermione tapped her foot impatiently, the warm sensation of the flames tickling at her limbs. A moment later, she revolved one more time and appeared in Wahler's office.

“Mrs. Weasley! What brings you here so late?” Wahler asked, standing up and greeting Hermione.

“Where's Harry?” she asked, ignoring pleasantries.

“He accepted a last-minute assignment,” Wahler said, raising an eyebrow. “Potter, O'Brien, and Roderick left about an hour ago.”

“I know he was sent on an assignment!” Hermione said. “But we need to get him back now.”

“I'm afraid that's impossible. We don't know his exact location anymore - going and searching for him would not only be a risk to whoever was looking, but it could also be a danger to Harry as well. We could compromise his position.” Wahler frowned. “What's so urgent that you would even suggest something like that?”

“His wife's having his first child, that's what!” Hermione fumed. “He needs to be there!”

Wahler's eyes widened, but he quickly shook it off and turned back to his desk. “That's…unfortunate,” he said solemnly. “But there's really nothing I can do.”

Hermione fixed the back of Wahler's head with a glare and would've liked nothing more than to smash something very large and heavy against the Auror's skull. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Then she opened her eyes and grabbed some Floo Powder from Wahler's supply.

“Tell him to come to St. Mungo's as soon as he steps foot into the Ministry,” she snapped as she threw the powder into the flames. “St. Mungo's!” she shouted furiously when she stepped into the fire, and a moment later she had returned to the guest Floo room.

Feeling defeated, she trudged up the steps with significantly less speed than she had descended them. She slowed down even further when she neared Ginny's room. With a feeling of apprehension, Hermione knocked softly on the door and entered.

“Hey, Ginny!” she said brightly, a falsely radiant smile on her face. “How's everything going?”

“Great. They gave me some kind of potion and I feel loads better,” Ginny replied. She raised an eyebrow as Hermione closed the door behind her. “Did you get Harry?”

“Er, no,” Hermione said nervously. “He's not back from his assignment yet. But, er, Wahler said he should be back really soon.”

A blatant lie, but Ginny didn't need to know that. Besides, Harry really could be back soon.

Which will hopefully be the case, Hermione thought anxiously.

**************

As soon as the three Aurors had crossed the ward, they each took off at a quick trot towards the cabin.

Harry felt his pulse pounding behind his ears as he drew nearer and nearer to the target. His eyes darted in every direction, searching and almost hoping for some sort of movement. If they came under fire, being in the open would greatly enhance their chances.

But as the cabin drew nearer, Harry knew he could not continue to hope for such luck. Whoever was waiting within the house was doing just that - waiting.

Harry inwardly winced at each crackle of leaves that followed his footsteps. He felt extremely tense - more so than usual - and he couldn't help but wonder if it had anything to do with his earlier confrontation with Hermione. She had been making him feel more and more on edge each time he had seen her since that damned incident in the nursery. And if there was anything he didn't like being on a mission, it was edgy.

He took a deep, calming breath as he reached the outer wall of the cabin. He really needed to focus.

After rapping his head to reverse the Disillusionment spell, Harry only had to wait a few moments before O'Brien appeared beside him, and Roderick soon after. They fixed him with serious and expectant expressions, waiting for further instruction. What now, boss?

Harry shook his head at their looks and gave a shrug. Stick to the plan. That's all they could do at this point.

He took one more breath and led the way around the corner. He stopped before the door, and spared one more glance at his partners. They each gave a sharp nod and held their wands higher in front of them.

Harry gazed at the door, steeled himself, and then jabbed his wand forward. With a crash, the door was blasted from its frame. All three Aurors propelled themselves into the dark cabin at once and were immediately met with jets of light coming from all directions.

Harry launched himself sideways as he dodged one of the spells, ramming into a table and sending everything on it careening to the floor. With a grunt of pain he directed his wand in the direction from which the other spell had come.

“Petrificus Totalis!” he shouted.

The cacophony of curses and yelling drowned out any possibility of Harry hearing the possible thud that would have indicated the success of his spell, so he squinted around in the darkness to see if he could find another opponent. However, the dimness prevented such an easy task.

“Lumos Maxima!” Harry said, and a large orb of light shot toward the ceiling, where it stilled. The pale light was enough for Harry to target his next duelist.

The man, whom Harry didn't recognize, seemed startled for a moment and then his face settled into a grim sneer.

“Avada—”

“Expelliarmus!” Harry yelled.

The unnamed opponent blocked the Disarming spell instantly and shot another curse immediately afterwards, obviously hoping to catch Harry off guard. However, Harry was quite ready for such a tactic.

“Protego!” he shouted, and the man's spell rebounded back towards the caster. The man obviously made to block it, and Harry took his adversary's moment of weakness to shoot another charm. Just as Harry had expected, the charm passed straight through the man's damaged Shield Charm and blasted across the room. He slammed into the wall, crumpled to the floor, and did not move again.

Harry gave a nasty grin of triumph, but it instantly turned into scowl as he saw not one but three different wizards move forward to resume the duel. How many Dark wizards were cooped up here exactly?

“Three against one?” Harry said with as much bravado as he could muster. “I wouldn't call that the fairest odds.”

“I agree!” O'Brien said, and Harry glanced over to see him standing by his side. “I'd say three against two would give us much better chances, wouldn't you say boss?”

If Harry hadn't been fighting for his life, he might have laughed at O'Brien's lighthearted comments. In his current situation he only smiled bitterly.

“I'd say so,” Harry replied. One of the three wizards shot a spell randomly towards him, and he waved his wand almost lazily to send it careening back towards them. They yelped in surprise and ducked and the spell exploded into one of the two opponents Roderick was facing.

“Thanks, mate!” Roderick shouted, and slashed his wand at his remaining challenger with renewed vigor.

Before Harry could yell a response or give further direction to O'Brien, the three wizards had stood up and charged them furiously. Two of them went for Roderick and the tallest of the three began firing spells at Harry.

“Stupefy!” Harry shouted.

“Expelliarmus!” the tall wizard said.

The similar red jets of light collided into each other and ricocheted throughout the room, shattering picture frames and windows as they went.

“Impedimenta!” Harry yelled.

The wizard was blasted into the nearest wall just as Harry's other opponent, but he picked himself up almost instantly and brandished his wand.

“Avada Kedavra!”

Harry threw himself sideways, sliding across the wooden floor. From the ground he glanced and saw that Roderick and O'Brien continued to duel their challengers, but the latter was now down to the darker-skinned rival. He quickly returned his attention to the tall wizard and pointed his wand, hoping to finish this now.

“Petrificus Totalus!”

The wizard instantly stilled and fell to the ground stiffly.

“Nice shot, Potter!” O'Brien shouted as he continued his battle with his obviously tired opponent.

Harry stood up and brushed the dust from his robes.

“Thanks, O'Bri -”

His words froze in his throat as he saw a shadowed figure step quietly into sight from one of the adjoining rooms. Before Harry could react, the figure had stepped closer and raised his wand at O'Brien's back.

Though the words that escaped the figure were unfamiliar, Harry recognized the slashing motion immediately, as well as the purple flames that swept across the room.

“O'BRIEN, BEHIND YOU!”

The Auror partially turned, but Harry's warning had come too late. O'Brien's eyes widened as the curse passed across his chest and then he crumpled into a lifeless heap.

Against all better judgment, Harry ran and fell by O'Brien's side. Unlike in the Department of Mysteries, he grabbed his friend's wrist and waited with baited breath for the small fluttering that would indicate life.

Harry closed his eyes tightly as he waited, inwardly pleading for the smallest sign.

But he felt nothing.

Damn it… Harry thought to himself. He stared down sightlessly at O'Brien's still, youthful features, quietly mourning. He thought of the man's family, the girlfriend that had expected him tonight, perhaps wondering if he was just running late…

And then hot, blinding anger flooded through his veins.

The same spell had been used against Hermione. If Dolohov had been able to speak, or if Harry had not hastily performed a Shield Charm on her…

“DOLOHOV!” Harry roared, pushing himself up and slashing his wand towards the bastard who had done this. “STUPEFY!”

Dolohov blocked the spell as he strode forward, his pale, twisted features coming into the light. He smiled at Harry's obvious distress.

“You don't seem to be too happy with me, Potter,” he said snidely. “Is there a problem? Don't like my spell, perhaps?”

Harry clenched his fists furiously as he continued to point his wand at Dolohov.

“As a matter a fact I don't,” he snarled.

“I don't understand why,” Dolohov said. “Your Mudblood didn't seem to mind it. Don't think that werewolf minded much either - what was his name…Lupin?”

“YOU SON OF A BITCH!” Harry bellowed, and, ignoring his wand, reared back his already clenched fist and punched Dolohov in the face as hard as possible.

The force of the blow caused Dolohov to lose his balance and almost fall to the ground. However, before Harry could throw a follow-up blow with his already bruised knuckles, the man O'Brien had been dueling jabbed his wand into Harry's side.

“Incarcerous!”

The invisible ropes wound their way around Harry's legs and chest, constricting his airway, and he tumbled to the ground, dropping his wand as he went.

Dolohov reached up gingerly and wiped away some of the blood that was pouring from his mouth. He glared down at Harry and Harry glared straight back, incorporating as much loathing as possible into his gaze.

Dolohov spat a mouthful of blood into Harry's face.

“Resorting to dirty Muggle methods, half-blood?” Dolohov said scathingly. “I think we might need to teach this bastard a lesson or two.”

In the periphery of his vision, Harry saw Roderick lying still on the floor. The thin wizard who had defeated him had come to crowd around Harry along with Dolohov and the dark-skinned wizard.

No, not him too… Harry thought desolately as he took in the sight of his partner.

But just as Harry was about to turn away, Roderick stirred slightly. The elder Auror shook his head slightly, dazed, and Harry desperately willed him to keep quiet.

Thankfully, Roderick had the sense to do just that as his eyes finally fell upon Harry. He looked shocked, but stayed completely silent.

Harry stared directly into Roderick's eyes, this time willing the Auror to use whatever Legilimency powers he possessed on Harry's mind.

Get out…get help. Don't worry about me…just get help!

Harry didn't know if it was Legilimency or simply good sense that made Roderick nod solemnly. And with a crack he Disapparated.

All the Death Eaters turned their heads sharply at the sound, and then Dolohov rounded furiously on the thin wizard.

“Idiot!” he hissed. “You let the other Auror get away!”

“I-I thought he was dead - ” the thin man said hesitantly.

“Obviously not you fucking moron!” yelled the dark-skinned wizard. “Aurors will be all over this place within the hour!”

“They'll be here sooner than that,” Dolohov said softly. His furious expression calmed a bit and Harry had no idea why.

Dolohov suddenly glanced down with a disturbing glint in his eye. “We'll have to make the most out of the time we have then, won't we? Rennervate the others and get Rowle.”

Without warning he reared back his leg and kicked Harry in the head with all his strength. There was a flash of blinding white, and then he faded into blackness.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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32. A New Life

A/N: Here's the second part of the Valentine's Day debacle. Hope you enjoy it! Um, and something fairly major is happening in the next chapter. Some will like it, some won't. Just giving a little bit of heads up. I'll probably post it by Friday or Saturday.

Thanks to EmmaRadcliffe, noorelisa, cranksatnyc, h/hr4ever11, kinikeens, and UKwildcat820 for the reviews! Again, you guys are awesome!

Chapter 32: A New Life

Panic crept further and further into Hermione's mind with each minute that passed.

At first she had been anxious about whether Harry would be here in time to see the birth of his baby.

Now it had stretched far beyond that.

Harry had been gone for almost five hours. He had had long missions before, but Hermione worried this was pushing the limit.

Something was wrong.

Hermione tightly gripped the magazine she was holding. She had been staring mindlessly at the same page for hours, brow crinkled, as she waited fretfully.

Ginny, of course, was not making matters any easier. The pain potions were beginning to wear off, and so was her patience.

“Where the bloody hell is he!?” Ginny fumed, her face and hair damp with sweat.

“I'm sure he'll be here soon,” Ron said.

“You've said that about twenty times over the past two hours!” Ginny said.

“And sooner or later I'm going to be right!” he grinned.

Ginny glared at Ron furiously.

“You have no idea how much I'd like to punch you right now.”

Ron fidgeted, his smile turning uncomfortable.

“But you won't, right?” he said nervously.

Ginny crossed her arms, scowling. “Let's see what happens when I regain the element of surprise.”

Hermione half-listened to the siblings' bickering. Her eyes kept flickering every few moments towards the door as if watching it would make Harry walk through it all the sooner. When the door did open Hermione almost came out of her skin.

Ginny's Healer stepped in and smiled warmly at the edgy trio.

“How are things going?” he asked.

“Same as the last time,” Ginny said sullenly, her arms still crossed. “Nothing to report.”

The Healer did a cursory examination to see how far along Ginny was.

“Well, you may not feel any different,” he said, “but things have moved along quite a bit. I'd say this baby is ready to come out.”

Suddenly Ginny's moody frown turned almost hysterical.

“He can't come out!” she blurted. “Not now!”

The Healer frowned. “Unfortunately, there isn't much negotiation in the matter. I won't move things along, but when the baby's ready, it's going to come out whether his father's here or not.”

Ginny now looked like she'd rather like to sock her Healer instead of Ron. However, she seemed to decide against this since he was responsible for delivering her child.

“Fine,” she said. “But not a second earlier than necessary.”

The Healer nodded and left the room, and Ginny's face settled once more into a furious scowl.

“Come on, Gin!” Ron said. “At least you've got a comfortable room…and the Healers are nice…and Harry's out making money for the baby…all you have to do is put a positive spin on things!”

Hermione winced behind the magazine. Certainly not a good thing to say to a woman in labor.

“Right!” Ginny said sarcastically, also wincing as a contraction overwhelmed her. “Like how because I'm sweating like a bloody salamander in the Sahara, you can't tell that I'm crying!” She proceeded to throw her empty water glass at Ron's head. “You can be such a moron sometimes!”

Hermione didn't even look up as she heard the glass collide with its target and the following whelp of pain.

Harry, please get here soon…

*********

Roderick felt almost light-headed with relief when he successfully Apparated from the cabin. The one-way anti-Apparition ward provided the Death Eaters an easy escape route if it was needed, and Roderick had certainly needed it.

He arrived back at the Ministry Apparition zone. It was almost ten at night, and everyone had gone home. Roderick stumbled wearily through the dark and silent Atrium, his heart heavy.

The mission could scarcely have gone worse.

O'Brien was dead, they had not successfully captured a single Death Eater, and to top it all off, Harry Potter was still there undergoing Merlin knows what. For all Roderick knew, they might have already killed him.

The lift, after what seemed an eternity, finally slid open at the appropriate floor and Roderick lurched forward, intent on reaching Wahler's office.

For the love of Merlin please let him be there…

He grabbed the door handle and wrenched the door open, and thankfully, Wahler looked up from his desk.

“It's about bloody -” he began, but stopped as he gaped at the Roderick's beaten condition. “What the hell happened -?”

“No time,” Roderick gasped out, clutching his side. “O'Brien's dead. We need back-up. Potter's still there.”

Wahler stood up immediately from his desk.

“How many are we up against?”

“Don't know completely…at least half a dozen I'd say. Probably a few more. Dolohov and mostly new blood from the looks of it. I think I heard him mention the name Rowle.”

Wahler nodded. “I'm going to need you to go to another office. We need as much back-up as possible. You try to Floo Smith, Fletcher, and Kresley. I'll work on getting Donovan, Tobias, and Roland. If you reach any of them, tell them to get their asses here immediately. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Roderick said.

“The prerogative is getting Potter out, not apprehending the target,” Wahler said, turning toward his fireplace. “And preferably as soon as possible - he's got a baby to get home to.”

*********

When Harry stirred, he had no idea how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? Days?

His eyes sluggishly tried to open, but didn't quite manage the task. His head hurt badly - enormously so - and he had a hard time focusing on his surroundings. People were talking, but he couldn't quite hear what was going on.

He tried once more to open his eyes. They opened to the barest slits, but Harry could hardly tell the difference. Wherever he was, it was very dark. Only the slightest bit of light permeated the thick blackness.

With effort, Harry opened his eyes further. His eyes fluttered lazily to take in his surroundings, but still nothing came into clarity.

Then the blackness was replaced by a blindingly white light and Harry clamped his eyes shut, wrenching his head to the side.

“Too much light, Potter?”

As Dolohov's voice wafted over his ears, Harry instantly became alert.

Now he remembered where he was.

Harry squinted from the glare of Dolohov's wand and scowled.

“Just a tad, yeah,” Harry said, and he was surprised by the increasing throbbing in his head.

He must have winced, because Dolohov smiled in a pleased sort of way. He looked particularly sinister in the glow of his wand.

“Hurts, doesn't it? But I wouldn't worry about that too much if I were you - you'll have much more to fret about momentarily.”

Harry tried to push himself forward and realized he was bound tightly to a hardback wooden chair. The ropes cut tightly into his arms - he couldn't move an inch.

“You and the bastards you brought with you killed two of my men,” Dolohov stated rather blandly, idly twirling his wand. “As you might imagine, I don't greatly appreciate that.”

Harry licked his mouth to moisten his dry lips. “And as you might imagine, I don't appreciate a group of fucking washed-up moronic Death Eaters killing my partners.”

“Washed-up?” Dolohov said. He pressed his wand into Harry's throat. “Just because the Dark Lord is gone doesn't mean his…mission… was forgotten. As you can see, our cause still has its followers.”

For the first time, Harry glanced around the room. The light from Dolohov's wand cast a dim glow around the room, and he guessed he was in some sort of a cellar because of the lack of windows. He had no idea if they were still in the cabin or if Dolohov had moved him.

Harry noted with a bit of foreboding that the other surviving Death Eaters had joined them. The dark-skinned wizard that O'Brien had dueled, the tall man Harry had knocked out, the thin, rodent-like man that had beaten Roderick, and a good-looking brown-haired man Harry had never seen stood around the room, watching the exchange wordlessly. Harry also saw one hulking blonde man whom he did recognize.

“Rowle,” Harry rasped. “Fancy meeting you here. I'd say this was a nice reunion, but of course I'd be lying.”

Rowle nodded, unsmiling.

Harry glanced once more at the others.

“Can't say I recognize your other lackeys here, though,” he said.

“You shouldn't,” Dolohov said. “They're new recruits.”

“Idiots-in-training?” Harry said scornfully. “That's brilliant.”

Suddenly Dolohov grabbed Harry by the hair and wrenched his head back, pressing his wand even harder into Harry's throat.

“Considering the situation you're in, I'd keep your smart-ass comments to yourself,” he said threateningly.

Harry made an effort not to grimace as the wand began to burn his skin.

“What's the point in behaving myself for you lot?” he said scathingly. “Obviously you want something from me.”

“Why would you assume that?” Rowle said, coming closer.

Harry turned his eyes towards Rowle since his head was still being held back.

“Because if you didn't you would've already killed me,” he said simply.

Dolohov smirked. “Smart boy. Of course, I knew you had to have had some modicum of intelligence to defeat the Dark Lord.”

“Voldemort was just as fucking mad as you-”

Dolohov jerked Harry's head back farther and jabbed the wand deeper into his neck, making him choke.

“Crucio,” he hissed.

Harry felt as though a fiery dagger had been stabbed through his neck. A guttural howl of pure agony escaped his lips as his limbs twitched in protest to their torturous treatment. He thrashed his head from side to side and the ropes cut further into his flesh as his muscles bulged in convulsions.

After an eternity, Dolohov raised his wand.

Harry fell back into his chair, gasping for breath and soaked with sweat. He shivered frantically.

“How dare you say his name!” Dolohov said. “You weren't worthy to lick the dirt from the Dark Lord's feet!”

Harry stayed silent, his head making him even woozier than before.

“The Dark Lord…underestimated you, I will admit. But who wouldn't? You were just a skinny half-blood teenager who had rather extraordinary luck and friends in high places.”

The other Death Eaters snickered loudly.

“But I'll do no such thing,” Dolohov said. “You've learned a few tricks since you came of age…quite accelerated, I've heard. Supposedly on the fast-track to becoming the youngest Head of the Auror Department the Ministry has ever had.”

Harry blinked furiously as he fought to remain conscious.

Dolohov punched him hard in the face, and Harry's mouth filled with the metallic taste of blood. He spat away from him, feeling sick.

“Can't have you falling asleep on us, Potter!”

Harry thought briefly that punching the living daylights out of him was not the most foolproof method to keeping him awake.

“Sorry,” Harry said, breathing raggedly. It hurt to talk. “Your bullshit talk is boring me. I'm surprised those losers over there stuck around to listen.”

As expected, Dolohov hit him once more, if possible even harder than before. Harry suspected he heard his nose crack.

“You've seemed to take a liking to these Muggle tactics, Dolohov,” Harry slurred, blood trickling steadily from his nose.

Dolohov put his face within an inch of Harry's.

“Do you have a death wish, Potter?” he growled.

“Sure I do,” Harry coughed. “For you, that is.”

“And this idiot's calling us morons,” said the dark-skinned wizard, a small amount of awe tracing his tone at Harry's audacity.

Dolohov glared at the man. “Go keep an eye out for any Aurors, Nakul.”

The dark-skinned man looked appropriately abashed and gave a small nod before walking out of sight. There was the sound of a door slamming, and then Dolohov returned his attention to Harry.

“Let me tell you something, Potter,” Dolohov said in a quietly sinister voice. “I can see how little you seem to value your own life - but how would you like it if we went after that pretty little wife of yours?”

Harry closed his eyes tightly, clenching his teeth as he tried to control his temper.

“Of course, maybe you'd rather us go after someone else…like that little curly-headed Mudblood wench you spend so much time with.”

Harry's eyes popped open instantly.

“I swear to Merlin if you so much as touch a hair on either of their heads…” he snarled, lunging once more against his restraints.

Dolohov laughed. “Oh oh oh, look's like we've touched a nerve,” he said. “Where is your loyalty, your pride, Potter? Trading a pureblooded witch for a filthy Mudblood? I can't say I'm surprised, though. I should've guessed you've been fucking that filth for quite-”

Before Dolohov could complete his sentence, he was blasted off his feet as if by a miniature explosion and collided with the tall Death Eater, knocking them both to the floor.

In a matter of seconds Dolohov was back on his feet, pointing his wand at a severely pissed off Harry, whose magic was radiating in torrents from his body.

“Impedimenta!” Dolohov yelled through bared teeth.

This time Harry was hurtled through the air. His already sensitive head hit the wall with excessive force, but the rest of his body was mostly protected by the chair. When Harry fell back to the ground, he was mostly surprised he hadn't passed out again. He knew he was quite close, however. Honestly, he would've gladly welcomed it at this point.

Dolohov leered at him as he crept forward, Rowle close behind.

Harry thought Dolohov was going to say something to him. However, without warning he kicked Harry swiftly in the stomach. The breath was knocked out of him, and he gasped for air, still bleeding profusely from his mouth and the gash he knew was in his head.

Before Harry could gather his senses again, Rowle stepped forward and kicked him as well. The force of the blow was enormous, and Harry knew his ribs had been broken.

Both Dolohov and Rowle took turns kicking him time and time again, and at some point he knew he must have passed out from the pain in his side. However, Dolohov had gleefully awakened him and given him another unendurably long dose of the Cruciatus Curse.

Before the torment could continue, however, Nakul returned, looking rather pale.

“The wards were breached.”

Dolohov looked up sharply. “Already?”

Nakul nodded curtly. “At least five times.”

Dolohov looked down with disgust at Harry. “Looks like the cavalry's here to save you,” he hissed. He pulled a long dagger from within his cloak and looked at it thoughtfully.

“What do we do, sir?” the thin Death Eater asked nervously.

Dolohov was silent for a moment. The other Death Eaters looked ready to bolt at any moment.

“Nothing,” he said finally.

“N-nothing?” the thin wizard asked.

“Yes, nothing, Krause,” Dolohov said, testing the point of his dagger. “We'll leave this sack of trash for another time. But before I go…”

He bent down low, almost whispering directly to Harry. “I'd like to give this bastard a taste of what's coming to that Mudblood whore of his.”

Then he stabbed Harry fiercely, burying the knife up to the hilt in his stomach.

Harry stared unseeingly at Dolohov, shaking as he felt warm blood seep onto the cold skin of his abdomen.

After giving the knife a final twist, Dolohov jerked it from Harry's stomach, stood, and turned away from him as though he were never there.

“Let's go,” he said coolly.

The cracks of Disapparition were almost drowned out by the sound of exploding timber as the door upstairs was blown from its frame.

About thirty seconds later Harry was dimly aware of stomping feet as they descended the stairs into the cellar and someone bending over him.

“Merlin…it's okay, Potter, we're getting you out of here - you'll be patched up in no time,” a voice said. It sounded very distant and a bit scared as well. Harry's vision was starting to fade completely, and he was quite eager for the blessed oblivion that would take him away, at least momentarily, from the extraordinary amount of pain he was in.

“By the time you wake up, you might have a brand new baby to knock you around instead…”

But Harry's exhausted and antagonized body barely took in this information before his eyes slipped shut and everything went dark once more.

**********

After Hermione had flipped though each page of the magazine she was holding for the sixth time, she stood up and began pacing frantically around Ginny's room, her pent-up energy finally bursting to the surface.

Ginny didn't say a solitary word regarding Hermione's anxious behavior, but her eyes followed her movements the entire time. Confined as she was, Ginny seemed to find some sort of solace in Hermione's frenzied actions. At least one of them could work off some worry.

The Healer stepped in shortly after Hermione began her pacing and examined Ginny. Almost apologetically, he informed Ginny that the baby was ready to be delivered.

Surprisingly, Ginny gave a nod with almost no hesitation.

“If it's time, go for it,” she said civilly.

The Healer nodded and returned moments later with two assistants.

“You're only allowed one individual in the room,” the Healer said. “I'm assuming you'd like your husband when he comes in?”

“Yes, I'd like that,” Ginny replied.

“Well, it's about time we got started…” The Healer glanced at Ron and Hermione, looking apologetic once more.

Hermione took the hint and grasped Ron's arm, leading him towards the door. “We'll be outside.”

Once the door had shut behind them, Hermione released Ron's arm and once more resumed her walking, turning a tight path in front of Ginny's door. Ron watched her apprehensively for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“Well, erm, I suppose I'll go see Mum and Dad in the waiting room,” he said. “D'you wanna come?”

Hermione shook her head. “I'll wait here.”

Ron, somehow guessing she would've given such a terse response, simply shrugged and left down the corridor.

Silence permeated the hallway after Ron's footsteps had faded away. The only noises Hermione could hear were the soft thumps of her own shoes on the tile floor and the much more frenzied sound of her heart beating against her chest. Her previous anxiety was nothing compared to how she was feeling now.

Before, she had simply suspected something was wrong.

Now she knew something was wrong.

She had sent Ron to Floo his boss again to ask about Harry's whereabouts, and her husband had informed her that Wahler was nowhere to be seen.

Hermione wringed her hands as she continued to pace. For the Head of the Auror Department to abandon his office before Harry had returned indicated something was extremely amiss - and she was going absolutely mental not knowing what was going on.

Her restlessness widened her path significantly until she was walking the entire length of the hallway, though she was careful not to cross in front of the waiting room. Frustrated, she decided to ease her tension by exploring more of the hospital. She was quite simply sick of the pregnancy ward.

She wandered aimlessly up and down the various wings of the hospital, managing to mostly ignore the more surprising (and usually disgusting) cases that were also occupying the hallways.

When she had finished roaming the deserted fourth floor for the third time, she figured she ought to go back and check on Ginny's progress.

However, just as she started back towards the double doors at the end of the hall, a group of Healers burst through. They appeared to be surrounding a gurney, and they were talking loudly and frantically to each other as they sped down the corridor.

Hermione heard bits and pieces of their jumbled speech as they hurtled towards her. She couldn't see the person on the gurney.

“He's lost a lot of blood -”

“—broken wrist and nose, definitely—”

“No telling how much more—”

“Surprised he last this long—”

Hermione, startled by the gravity of the state of the man being pushed towards her, flattened herself against the wall to make room for the herd of Healers as they hurried past her.

Then she saw the man on the gurney and felt as though her heart had dropped to her feet.

“HARRY!” she screamed, and was surprised that it came out as a sob.

He was almost unrecognizable. His dark hair was matted with blood from a large wound in his head, and the blood had trickled down to cover the left side of his face and neck. His glasses had been knocked off and one of his eyes was swollen shut. He was also bleeding from his mouth and nose, and the blood stood out in stark contrast to his deathly pale skin.

The Healers passed by and pushed Harry into an available room, but Hermione was hot on their heels. They immediately bent over his unconscious form and began passing their wands over his body, muttering to themselves. Hermione craned her neck to see him, but the Healers blocked him completely from few.

“What happened to him?” Hermione asked in a shriller voice than she had intended.

Either no one heard her in the frantic nature of the situation or they chose to ignore her in the light of healing the Boy-Who-Lived. However, Hermione was in no state to be unheard or unnoticed. She pulled out her wand, gripped the shoulder of the nearest Healer, and spun him to face her.

“What - is - going - on?” she breathed dangerously, pointing her wand at him. “What happened to him?”

The Healer's eyes widened at the unsuspected attack.

“We-we-we have no idea!” the man stammered. “Some Auror just came in and sent him up to us!”

“Fine,” Hermione said crisply, attempting very hard to mask the fear in her voice. “What's wrong with him?”

The man swallowed noisily. “We haven't established that completely.”

Hermione felt her wand hand shaking rather badly as the back of her throat burned.

“Will he - will he be all right?” she managed to ask, her voice growing much quieter. She noticed that she was crying but didn't really care.

The Healer seemed to soften then. “We don't know everything that's wrong with him, but we believe he'll be fine,” he said as kindly as one can with a wand pointed in their face.

Hermione felt as though she was going to melt with relief. She lowered her wand and took a step back, crossing her arms across her chest.

The Healer gestured to the door. “You should really wait outside…”

Hermione shot him as filthy a look as she could muster.

She wasn't going anywhere.

*********

Voices.

That was the first thing Harry was aware of after he lost consciousness.

After the ridiculous amount of pain, of course.

He couldn't understand what was being said - it seemed like cotton had been pressed into his ears - but he knew that people were talking. Occasionally someone poked and prodded him, and he inwardly hissed in agony. But eventually the pain eased up slightly though, and then the voices were gone.

He felt his awareness slipping away from him again as the silence enveloped him. He was so tired…

Then he felt a soft touch on the crown of his head. He knew instantly that it wasn't some Healer performing another spell on him - this touch was much more gentle and familiar.

He felt his hair being smoothed down, and then he felt his bangs being brushed back with soft fingertips. He was aware of them lingering in his hair. And then he felt a single fingertip brush his forehead, so light that he wasn't really sure if he felt it at all.

Perhaps he was imagining someone's fingertip tenderly tracing his feverish skin - his scar? Whether it was real or not, when the contact withdrew, he missed it.

But then he felt soft lips press gently to his forehead. They remained there for a few seconds, feeling almost cool against his skin, and then they were gone.

Then she gripped his hand tightly and he could feel tremors in the person's touch. Harry, almost as a reflex, curled his own fingers over the person's hand.

There was a soft gasp.

“H-Harry?”

Harry slowly opened his eyes (or, rather, his one good eye).

Hermione sat next to him, looking as though she'd been crying for days. She was very pale.

Always her, he thought mildly to himself.

He took in her attire and blinked tiredly at her.

“You - you look nice,” he rasped out. “Dressed up just for me?”

Hermione glanced down with tired eyes at her rather rumpled dress.

“No. I usually dress up for pleasant occasions.”

Harry winced at both the accusation in her voice and a particularly nasty throb that swept through his skull. He felt a thick bandage on his head and noticed that his bare chest was purple and black with bruises. He almost didn't notice his other bruise. There was also a bandage across his abdomen where Dolohov had stabbed him.

He swallowed in an attempt to moisten his throat.

“I take it you don't find this pleasant?”

Hermione stared at him through bloodshot eyes. “I've had better times.”

“Really? Me too.”

Hermione averted her gaze. “How…how are you feeling?” she asked quietly.

“Great,” Harry replied. “One-hundred percent.”

Hermione frowned at him. She was clearly in no mood for his jokes.

“Fine, I feel like a train ran over me. And then backed up.”

“You almost died.”

Harry was rather stunned by the shakiness of her voice and the tears that threatened to spill onto her cheeks.

“No, I'm fine -”

Hermione cut him off angrily as she jerked her hand from his and stood up abruptly.

“You had the Cruciatus Curse used on you four times, a broken jaw and nose, a fractured wrist, three broken ribs, a punctured lung from one of said ribs, a dislocated shoulder, burns on your neck, a major concussion and head wound, and a fucking stab wound, Harry Potter! Don't you dare tell me you're fine!”

Harry's jaw almost dropped at her heated outburst - in all the years he'd known her, he'd never heard her use language like that.

Just as he was about to stutter some sort of response, she continued, tears sparkling in her eyes.

“You almost died… again,” Hermione murmured.

Harry remained silent.

“When you were being brought in on that stretcher like that, it... for the smallest second…” Hermione took in a shaking breath and squeezed her eyes shut tightly. “It almost felt like the first time,” she said quietly. “Hagrid… carrying out your body, Voldemort's taunts, the screams... You can't imagine how much it hurt to think you were dead. It wasn't like one of your stupid Quidditch injuries - it was real…and I've never felt so much pain in my entire life.”

She wiped at her eyes irritably.

“Why, Harry?”

“Why what?” Harry said, his brow crinkling in confusion.

“Why did you agree to go tonight?”

Harry knew there was no point in making excuses.

“Because I had to.”

“Roderick told me you volunteered - you didn't have to do anything!”

“No,” Harry clarified, shaking his head. “I needed to.”

Hermione only glared at him.

“Why?”

Harry looked at her intently.

“For you,” he said quietly, holding her gaze.

Hermione's shoulders fell slightly. “For me?”

Harry nodded. “It was Dolohov. I wanted to be the one to…I dunno...”

Hermione's features softened, and she sat down again. She took his hand once more.

“You didn't need to do that,” she murmured softly, biting her lip and gazing at their intertwined hands.

“Yes, I did. And even after all this -” He gestured vaguely to himself. “—he still got away.”

“Who cares?” Hermione said. “I don't care what happens to him! I care what happens to you.”

“And I care about what happened to you in the Department of Mysteries,” Harry replied angrily. “I'm not just going to forget about that.”

“It's been almost ten years, Harry,” she replied, exasperated. “It's not like there were any lasting effects.”

“But there could've been,” Harry said furiously, trying to sit up. He fell back as pain shot through him. “You said I couldn't imagine how it felt to think someone I cared about was dead, but I can, Hermione. I watched him use that same spell on O'Brien that he used on you - the same one - and he's dead. If you hadn't silenced him, or if I hadn't shielded you -”

“But we did,” Hermione said, sounding angry herself as she gripped his hand more tightly. “I'm alive, I'm here right now. And I'm not going to let you kill yourself over `ifs'!”

“Getting the crap beaten out of me wasn't exactly part of my plan, Hermione,” Harry said. “And getting lectured for it was even further off target.”

“I'm not trying to lecture you!” Hermione shouted. “I'm telling you that you can't just recklessly pursue such dangerous schemes like this! Not for revenge, not for me, and especially not now!”

For a moment Harry felt confused.

Then he remembered what the voice had said to him before he blacked out.

By the time you wake up, you might have a brand new baby…

Harry leapt from his bed so quickly he felt dizzy, and he almost fell to the floor as pain shot through his body. Hermione caught him by the arm and helped steady him.

“Harry -” she began.

“Hermione, I have to see him,” he said urgently, meeting her anxious eyes. “I'm not going to wait around for these Healers.”

Harry waited, expecting Hermione to scold him for his rash behavior.

However, she did no such thing. Instead, she reached over and picked up a clean T-shirt that had been draped over her chair. She stood on tiptoes and started pulling the neck of the shirt carefully over his thickly bandaged head.

She smiled at his surprise.

“Don't just stand there - I could use a little help with this.”

Harry smiled back, sat down gingerly on his bed, and cautiously pushed his arms through the offered shirt. He was still wearing his filthy jeans, but Hermione cast a quick cleaning spell to remove the dirt and blood.

Once the spell was complete, she came to his side and, putting one arm around his waist and grabbing his arm with the other, helped him to stand. Not looking him in the eye, she slowly ran her fingertips over Harry's torso and upper arms, unwittingly massaging his sore muscles as she smoothed the creases from his shirt.

She stood back, gave him the once-over and nodded.

“Besides the black eye and bandaged head you almost look normal,” she said lightly, still avoiding his gaze, and took his arm. She pulled it over her shoulders and they slowly made their way to the pregnancy ward, both keeping a steady hold on each other's waist.

Finally, they reached the room and Hermione pushed the door open quietly, pulling Harry along with her.

Only three people were in the room. Ron hovered beside the hospital bed as Ginny cradled a small infant in her arms. Both were grinning widely, and their smiles only increased when Harry and Hermione entered. If Ginny was at all bothered by Harry's appearance, she didn't show it.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” Harry said hazily, staring at the dark-haired bundle in Ginny's arms.

“If you'd stop staring, you can hold him, believe it or not,” Ginny said, amused.

Harry still appeared almost awestruck, so Hermione pulled him closer to the bed. When she was sure he had his balance, she gently extricated herself from him and moved towards Ginny. Wordlessly, Ginny lifted the baby into Hermione's arms.

Hermione turned towards Harry, but she continued to stare at the baby. Harry watched as she smiled at the sleeping newborn. He felt warmth spread through him, and for that moment he forgot about Dolohov and O'Brien and his injuries.

Finally, Hermione turned her gaze to his, and Harry had to make an effort to look away from her brown eyes. He shouldn't be feeling like this, not now. Hermione shouldn't be handing him his newborn son - Ginny should. But as Hermione, smiling, placed the baby carefully into his arms, and kissed the newborn's head tenderly, Harry couldn't help but feel a certain rightness to it all.

Harry cradled the baby clumsily and examined him scrupulously, memorizing his features. He felt so tiny and fragile in his arms that Harry felt as though he might break.

“I think his hair's going to be as dark as yours,” Hermione said softly, letting her fingers slide over the fuzzy locks as she looked back up from the baby's face to Harry's.

“You think so?” Harry asked, still searching his son's sleeping face.

“He's not going to be a red-head, that's for sure,” Ron said mock-glumly. “Thanks, Harry - you've destroyed a Weasley tradition that's been around for generations. You and Angelina both, you inconsiderate black-haired misfits! Way to break the cycle.”

Harry laughed. “Someone had to.”

Ron and Ginny chuckled appreciatively, but the sounds of their laughter soon faded. All Harry was aware of was the soft, steady breathing of his son and the touch of Hermione's hand on his arm.

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33. Destructive Perfection

A/N: Okay, as I mentioned, some of you may blatantly dislike this chapter, while some of you might absolutely love it. For those who don't like it, I'll comment on that a little later. For those who do, please enjoy!

Thanks to Meli, hphg74, h/hr4ever11, EmmaRadcliffe, cranksatnyc, UKwildcat820, and Charlotte for your reviews! Wonderful as always!

Chapter 33: Destructive Perfection

“I can't believe I have to go to this bloody conference!” Ron said grumpily as he threw clothes haphazardly into a duffel bag. Hermione calmly picked up each article of clothing and folded it neatly before setting it back in its place.

“It's not as though you have these things very often,” Hermione said sensibly. “There's especially no point in getting ruffled about it since there's no choice in the matter.”

“That's another thing!” Ron said, lobbing a few pairs of socks into the bag. “I should have a damn choice in the matter! Harry's not going!”

“Really?” Hermione asked. She had been spending large amounts of time at Grimmauld Place since James had been born, but hadn't seen them in over a week, so she had not heard this bit of news. “Well, I'm sure he's busy with something else.”

“That's just it! He's not -- he just up and decided to take a few days off!”

Hermione sighed. “Once again, I'm sure he's busy with something.”

“He just got back to work! What could he possibly be busy with? I mean, I know Ginny's going to be gone to that Quidditch game today and James needs to be watched, but it's the principle of the thing! Mum could've watched him!”

Hermione gave a noncommittal shrug - there was never any point in talking to Ron when he was like this. She added a few more items to his duffel bag, zipped it shut, and offered it to him.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he flung the strap over his shoulder. He wiped at the sheen of sweat that coated his forehead. “The only possible good thing about this conference is it should be a damn sight cooler than it is here.”

“I would hope so,” Hermione said, unconsciously pulling at the neck of her dark blue T-shirt. She could hardly remember it ever being this hot in mid-August. “I can't wait for this heat-spell to break.”

“Me either,” Ron said. “Hopefully it'll be cooler by the time I get back. So what are you planning to do while I'm gone?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said. “I might just catch up on some reading since I have tomorrow off as well.”

“Why do I even ask?” Ron said, rolling his eyes jokingly. “Don't go having too much fun without me.”

“Of course not,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes back.

“Okay, then. I guess I'd better go,” Ron said, pulling the bag more securely onto his shoulder. “I'll be back in a couple days.”

“Right. Be sure to call if you get the chance.”

Ron pulled his new cell phone from his pocket distastefully. “I still don't see what Muggles see in these things.”

“It's much more convenient than owls or Floo, Ron. They're really one of the few things I'd say Muggles have over magic.”

“Fine,” he replied moodily, stuffing the phone back in his pocket. “I'll call if I get some spare time.”

He leaned down and gave her a quick peck on the lips before standing up straight.

“Well, see you later,” he said, and disappeared before Hermione could utter a quick goodbye.

She sat down on the bed after Ron left and pondered what she could do for the rest of the day. She glanced around the room, checking for anything that was out of place. As she expected, there was nothing.

She moved throughout the rest of the house, picking up a few items that Ron had managed to scatter in the small amount of time he'd been home. She replaced them in their proper locations, and then sat down once more, this time on the couch.

This happened every time she was off for more than a day.

She woke up almost as early as she would on a workday.

She cleaned the entire house from top to bottom.

She fixed herself and Ron a nice dinner.

And then she didn't know what to do with herself the rest of the time.

She sighed and picked up a rather uninteresting novel on the coffee table she had started the previous week. Settling herself back into the cushions, she sought out a more comfortable position, and then cracked the book open to the marked page.

She sat quietly, her eyes scanning the words pointlessly as the clock ticked methodically in the background. She read five pages in this manner and finally stood up restlessly, tossing the book onto the sofa.

“Fine,” she murmured to herself. She knew the source of her restlessness, and the later she waited the less chance there was of seeing Harry while James was awake.

*********

“Are you sure you don't want to come with me?” Ginny asked, clasping her bag shut. “It's not too late if you do.”

“For the last time, Gin, I'm perfectly fine staying at home,” Harry replied, bouncing James on his knee and causing him to laugh joyously.

“We haven't done anything alone together in ages though,” Ginny said. “And you haven't been to a Quidditch match in longer than that.”

“I know,” Harry said, exasperated at her persistence. “But I took today and tomorrow off work to spend time with my son, not to watch you work.”

“But it's not really working at all!” Ginny said. “It's not as though I'll be writing the article while I'm watching the match. Just taking a few notes. And Mum's already said she'd be more than happy to watch James.”

“Maybe the next one,” Harry said, continuing to bob his knee up and down. “But I'd really just rather stay here.”

“Alright, fine!” Ginny said, throwing her hands up. “You can't say I didn't try.”

“No, I can't,” Harry said, quietly enough so Ginny couldn't hear him.

“I should hopefully be back sometime tomorrow afternoon, depending on how long the match lasts,” she said crisply, picking up her bags.

“Sounds good,” Harry said.

Ginny crouched in front of Harry and smiled brightly at James.

“Bye, Jamie,” she cooed sweetly. She planted a kiss on the baby's forehead and then on Harry's lips. The kiss was very terse and Harry could tell she was angry with him.

“I'll see you both tomorrow,” she said, standing up and turning away. She exited the house into the backyard and Disapparated with a crack.

Harry sighed in relief and turned James around to face him.

“Your mum can be quite the handful, you know that?” he said. “Don't tell her I said that, of course.”

James toothlessly grinned in what Harry liked to think of as a knowing way.

Harry grinned back, and just as he stood up with the baby, the doorbell rang.

Curious, Harry laid the baby down on a quilt, quickly made his way to the entry and opened the door.

“Hermione!” he said, smiling widely. “What're you doing here?”

Hermione shrugged as she stepped into the house. “I was in the neighborhood and just thought I'd drop in to check up on my favorite godson,” she said.

Harry chuckled. “I think I'd start questioning your, er, `after-work activities' if you were just randomly in this neighborhood, Hermione. You can just admit you want to see my kid.”

“Guilty,” Hermione said with a smile. “Of the latter act, of course.”

Harry led the way to the living room and plopped himself on the couch. He waved a hand towards the baby off-handedly.

“The little charmer's all yours,” he said.

Hermione immediately scooped up the baby in her arms. “Was I interrupting any father-son bonding?” she teased.

“Oh, not at all,” Harry said. “We were just on the verge of cracking open a few firewhiskeys and watching the big game but then you got here. So no, nothing interrupted.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pouted at James. “The poor little thing's already being shoved into a primitive male stereotype!”

“Poor little thing?” Harry said disbelievingly. “First of all, I'm the one getting used here, seeing as any visitors I've received lately were here to see this little moocher, and second of all, he's putting himself into that stereotype by attracting any female within a fifty-foot radius.”

“That's because he's just so darn cute!” Hermione cooed, tickling her nose against James's. The baby laughed happily.

“Case in point,” Harry said, grinning at the exchange.

Hermione coddled the baby for a few more moments, observing the baby's smiling features as she sat down on the couch next to Harry.

“I can't believe his eyes are going to be brown,” Hermione said, a slight bit of disappointment lacing her voice as she stared at the darkening irises of the infant.

“I happen to like brown eyes,” Harry said, gazing pointedly at her. He was inexplicably pleased when he saw her cheeks blush slightly. She cleared her throat after an embarrassed moment of silence.

“Um, has Ginny already gone to the game?” she asked, evidently wishing for a change of subject.

“Yeah,” Harry replied. “She left not even five minutes before you got here.”

“Close timing,” Hermione said. “Who's playing?”

“It's Bulgaria versus Spain,” Harry said, amused that Hermione would continue this line of conversation.

“Really?” Hermione asked, her interest actually piqued.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “In Barcelona.”

“Is Viktor still playing?”

“Surprisingly he is. He's now one of the older members in the league, but he's still quite good. D'you still talk to him at all?”

“On occasion,” Hermione said. “I haven't written him since I got married, though.”

“Can't bear to break the poor guy's heart?” Harry teased, poking her playfully in the side.

Hermione squirmed a bit, giggling. “I'm holding your son, here!” she mock-scolded. “And for your information, I did tell him I was married. He wrote me back and congratulated me. I haven't written since then.”

“He's just hiding the heartache,” Harry said. “But speaking of Quidditch, it's time for the sport's newest star to get in a little practice.”

He then plucked the baby from Hermione's arms and led the way into the backyard.

*********

“Why do you insist on doing this?” Hermione whined from behind Harry as they entered the yard. The sun was starting to go down, but it was still very warm.

“Because he loves it!” Harry replied as he picked up the Firebolt leaning against the house. “It helps him get to sleep easier as well.”

In addition to the broomstick, he also picked up a small ball from the grass before swinging his leg over the Firebolt, all the while keeping a firm grip on James. With a soft kick he lifted off the ground and hovered just high enough where he could skim the top of Hermione's head with his trainers if he flew over her. He zoomed in slow lazy patterns throughout the yard, and Hermione could hear his commentary as she walked beneath them.

“Potter and Potter zoom to the left,” Harry said dramatically, barely angling the broom and then dipping it slightly. “They duck a nasty Bludger and then proceed to barrel roll to avoid the other Bludger, absolutely amazing! Potter tosses the Quaffle to Potter and together they speed towards the goal, almost smashing into the opposing team's Seeker as they do so. However, they're blocked by a big ugly brute of a Chaser and they desperately hurl the Quaffle towards Granger in hopes of winning the match - !”

Harry then proceeded to lower himself even closer to the ground and slowly dropped the small ball over Hermione, who stepped to the side to avoid it, her hands held primly in front of her.

“Weasley,” she said.

“Right,” Harry said. “But come on, Hermione, you so had that! That couldn't've been more than three feet above your hands. You're letting the other team win! What's the matter with you!?”

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at his seriousness. “How can I play Quidditch when I'm worried about my favorite guy falling from a floating twig?

“Easily!” Harry countered cheekily. “And don't worry, I won't fall - James has a good grip on me.”

Hermione shook her head as she continued to laugh. Despite her supposed concern, she inherently knew Harry would never drop the baby. “I sometimes wonder which of you two is more immature.”

“Why would you wonder about that? Definitely me,” Harry said. “James has a very serious disposition.”

“We'll see how long that lasts,” Hermione said, watching as Harry glided gently to the ground. “You set him up to be a troublemaker when you gave him his name.”

“I'm sure my dad and Sirius both highly disapprove of your disapproval,” Harry said, wiping sweat from his brow. “And who knows, it might turn out as an ironic twist and James could be the perfect little angel.”

“There's always a chance, I suppose.”

“You sound doubtful,” Harry said as he replaced the broom and opened the door for Hermione. After the heat from outside, his shirt was clinging to his stomach. She looked away pointedly.

“With Potter and Weasley genes, it's almost guaranteed,” Hermione said apologetically. “Nothing to be done.”

“Maybe I should ground him in advance,” Harry said, casting a mock-suspicious glance at the baby growing sleepy in his arms.

“Never!” Hermione said, tickling the baby. “I would miss him too much!”

“Sorry,” Harry said, turning away from Hermione so she could no longer reach James. “No aunt visits allowed during grounding.”

The baby gave a small cry from Harry's arm and Hermione smirked.

“So he disagrees,” Harry said dismissively, shrugging. “I'm the parent, I make the decisions.”

“Though I'm sure his cry was purely in relation to your horrible punishment,” Hermione said, “I have a sneaking suspicion that it's nearing his dinner time.”

Harry made a show of checking his watch.

“So it is!” he said.

“Would you like me to feed him?” Hermione asked.

“If you want to,” Harry said. “I'll get his bottle.”

He handed Hermione the baby and proceeded to the kitchen. Hermione made her way to the living room and Harry intercepted her as she sat down, the bottle already clutched in his hands.

“Here you go,” Harry said. “Bon appétit.”

Hermione, trusting Harry had made the milk the correct temperature, placed the tip into the baby's mouth. James immediately grasped at the sides with both hands, sucking greedily.

“Wow,” Hermione said, smiling. “You really were hungry, weren't you?”

“Speaking of hungry,” Harry said. “I'm starting to feel a bit famished myself.”

Hermione nodded. “I'll get out of here as soon as I'm finished feeding James.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “That wasn't me banishing you from my house,” he replied, amused. “That was more-or-less me asking if you'd like to stay and save me the misery of eating alone.”

Hermione thought about this, biting her lip. She couldn't remember the last time she and Harry had shared a meal without Ron or Ginny accompanying them.

“I don't know…” she said uncertainly.

“Please?”

“Well…” Hermione chewed her lip a bit more. “Are you sure you have enough?” she finally said.

“Technically I have no idea what I'm making,” Harry said. “But whatever it is I'm sure there'll be plenty.”

Hermione glanced up. “I suppose I could stay. I'd just be eating alone as well.”

“It's a win-win situation, then!” Harry said enthusiastically. “You get to have a first-class meal and neither of us have to look like pathetic gits!”

“Who said I wouldn't have a first-class meal on my own?” Hermione asked, ignoring the latter statement.

“No one,” Harry answered vaguely. “But surely it wouldn't be chef Potter quality.”

“I'll have you know I'm an excellent cook!” Hermione said indignantly.

“Of course,” Harry said, patting Hermione patronizingly on the shoulder. “You're a wonderful cook.”

Hermione shook her head as she repositioned James in her arms. “You are such a prat,” she said, laughing.

Harry chuckled as well and then gestured towards the almost empty bottle, which James was suckling lazily.

Hermione plucked the bottle from James mouth and handed it to Harry.

“I'll start on dinner as soon as I give James a bath,” he said.

Hermione stood up, angling James against her shoulder and rubbing his back gently. “I could give him a bath as well. It's no trouble.”

Harry raised an eyebrow mischievously.

“Wow, Hermione. First you hand-feed him and then you offer to give him a bath? Does Ron know about this relationship?”

Hermione swatted at his arms playfully. “Just get started on dinner, Potter!”

Harry gave a showy bow, waving the bottle in front of him as he backed out of the room. “Yes, master! I'll get right on that!”

Hermione picked up a pillow from the couch and chucked it at Harry as he rounded the corner. He ducked it, and then poked his head back into the room and grinned cockily. She stuck her tongue out at him and he withdrew his head; she could hear him chuckling all the way to the kitchen.

She carried James up the stairs to the nearest bathroom, continuing to shake her head as she went.

“Your father is a complete prat,” she said as she sponged warm soapy water over the baby's back. “What d'you think?”

The baby laughed at her and splashed happily.

“I know, I like him to,” she said in a slight tone of frustration, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Don't mention anything, though, okay? It might complicate things a bit.”

After she had finished bathing James, she dried him, dressed him in a light pair of pajamas, and carried him back down the stairs. The baby was quite drowsy by this point, and his hand resided lazily on her shoulder.

“All done,” Hermione said as she entered the kitchen, sniffing gratefully at the mouth-watering smell that wafted instantly to her nostrils.

“Great,” Harry said, turning away from the stove. “Let's go put the little guy in bed.”

“Yes, he's pretty tuckered out,” Hermione said, turning and retreating once more to the first floor. “All those Quidditch maneuvers really took it out of him.”

Harry followed closely behind her, his arm brushing hers as they entered James's nursery. Hermione felt rather uncomfortable with the contact as she thought of what had occurred - or almost occurred - the last time they had been alone together in this room.

“He usually doesn't go so crazy with the moves,” Harry said, “but he did have a beautiful lady to impress.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up once more as she laid the sleeping baby into the crib.

“H-he didn't need to do that, of course,” she said as lightly as possible. “He's quite the catch as it is.”

Harry didn't respond for a moment as he rubbed his son's back.

“Night, James,” he murmured softly. He bent and kissed the crown of his soft dark hair, and Hermione felt her heart melt. She had always known that Harry would be a wonderful father, but even she hadn't fathomed its fullest extent: the way Harry smiled when he made his son laugh, the way his eyes shone with the most sincere happiness, gratitude, and serenity as he simply watched James sleep. Smiling softly, Hermione bent down and kissed James as well in the same spot, running her fingertips lightly over his hair as she straightened up. She turned to find Harry watching her with interest, his arms folded, a small smile across his features. Hermione returned the smile as she met his eyes, reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder and run it down the length of his arm. Then she walked quietly from the room, Harry in her wake as he closed the door slightly behind him.

“Everything should pretty much be ready,” Harry said as they entered the kitchen a moment later.

“It's smells amazing.”

“It's just a little something I threw together,” Harry replied. “I had a few pieces of chicken I needed to cook and some asparagus, so I decided to make a pasta.”

“In that case it sounds amazing as well,” Hermione said. “I'm starving.”

“Me too.”

He quickly mixed the ingredients together and dished up a few spoonfuls onto two plates. He handed one to her and together they walked to the dining room. Harry sat at the end of the table and Hermione chose the seat next to him.

Hermione took a bite of her meal and had to hold back the sigh of satisfaction that threatened to escape her.

Harry grinned at her as he twirled his own fork into the pasta.

“Good?”

“Amazing,” she answered. “This is absolutely delicious.”

“I'm glad you like it,” he said genuinely. “Plus, you gave me an excuse to actually make something halfway decent. I probably would've just eaten a sandwich or something if it were just me.

“Glad I could be of assistance,” Hermione said, smirking as she scooped another large bite into her mouth. “That would've been just dreadful.”

“Exactly,” Harry said, also grinning. “The company's not half bad either.”

Hermione felt herself flush, again, and focused on spearing another bite of chicken and asparagus onto her fork. Why was she getting so flustered? There was really nothing uncomfortable about these statements. Completely innocent. She attributed it to the weather - it really was very warm.

“Do you want some wine?”

Hermione looked up, slightly surprised by Harry's sudden outburst. She was even more surprised when she found herself nodding.

“Great,” Harry said. “I'll be right back.”

He returned a moment later, clutching two glasses and an unopened bottle of white wine.

“I figured you'd appreciate something chilled,” Harry said as he poured them each a liberal glass. “You look a little flushed.”

Of course he noticed. “I-I do feel a little warm,” she said, accepting the glass as he held it out to her.

The wine was sweet and refreshing, and Hermione soon found herself accepting a second and then a third glass. By this point they were both beginning to act rather giggly.

“I can't believe you already took more time off,” Hermione said.

“I missed James,” Harry replied simply, a broad smile plastered to his face.

“But you've been off for almost four months since he was born!” Hermione argued, also grinning hugely.

“I know!” Harry said. “All the guys at work keep asking when my `paternity' leave'll be up.”

Hermione giggled. “Later than maternity leave at the Daily Prophet, apparently!”

“I know!” Harry said again. “Ginny's right peeved about it too.”

“I imagine,” Hermione said, collecting a few remnants of her meal and taking a bite.

Harry chuckled as she lay down her fork.

“What's so funny?” she asked.

“You've got a little something…” he said, gesturing vaguely to the lower region of his face.

Hermione brushed at the corner of her lips.

“Did I get it?”

“Not quite,” Harry said. “A little higher.”

She wiped a bit more onto her cheek and raised her eyebrow at Harry.

“Nope,” he replied. He extended his hand towards her. “It's right -” He suddenly tapped a small dab of sauce onto the tip of her nose. “—there!”

Hermione fixed him with a glare as he continued to chortle, but knew she must look rather unintimidating with her nose covered in alfredo sauce.

“Very mature, Harry,” she said, trying to sound as dignified as possible as she wiped at her nose with a napkin. “I would've thought fatherhood would've raised your maturity, not decreased it.”

Harry seemed rather unaffected by this statement. “Dinner's on you!” he said, pouring himself yet another glass of wine.

Hermione found this quite humorous and lapsed into giggles once more.

After several minutes in this manner, they wiped the tears of laughter from their eyes.

“Let's go sit in the living room,” Harry suggested, sobering up slightly.

“Okay,” Hermione said. Bringing their wine glasses with them, they settled themselves comfortably on the sofa. They sat for a few moments in amicable silence, their arms touching as they sipped on their wine.

“You know, you're really good with him,” Harry said, glancing sideways at her.

“Who?” Hermione asked, furrowing her brow.

“James. You're really good with him.”

Hermione shrugged. “It's nothing, really. Feeding and bathing him isn't really a big deal.”

“It's not just that,” Harry said. “You're amazing with him in general.” He paused. “Well, you're amazing in general.”

Okay, that one was a bit more blush-worthy, Hermione thought as she took a hasty swallow of wine in an attempt to hide her face.

Harry laughed at her thinly veiled embarrassment. “You don't have to blush every time I give you a compliment, Hermione.”

This, of course, only served to make her blush even further. “I wasn't blushing,” she mumbled into her glass.

“Sure you weren't,” he said. “Just the heat, right?”

“Just the heat,” Hermione said, nodding. She went to take another drink of her wine, and with a bit of disappointment found it empty.

“There's a bit left if you want some more,” Harry said, leaning forward and lifting the bottle from the coffee table. He reached over and grasped her hand, holding it steady as he poured the remainder of the wine into her glass.

His hand felt warm on hers and she was glad that Harry was holding it still; she was sure when he released her hand it would tremble quite badly.

Unfortunately, Harry noticed this and immediately replaced his hand in the same spot within seconds of letting go.

“You alright?” he asked, looking slightly concerned.

“Of-of course,” Hermione said breathlessly, desperately hoping Harry would release her hand. When he finally did, she promptly placed the wine glass down on the coffee table. Too much wine, she scolded herself.

“But seriously, Hermione, you really are great with him,” Harry said, continuing their previous line of conversation. “Are you planning for one anytime soon?”

Hermione glanced at him a bit somberly. “Actually, Ron and I have been…trying…for a few months now,” she confessed in discomfort.

Harry looked genuinely surprised. “Really?” he asked. There was an odd tone to his voice that Hermione didn't quite understand.

“Yes,” she replied. “Obviously nothing's come of it yet, though,” she added quietly.

“Is…is anything wrong?”

She shook her head, aware of the implication.

To be perfectly honest, Hermione didn't completely comprehend why she hadn't become pregnant yet. Ron had, unsurprisingly, insisted they try for a baby shortly after James had been born, but after three months there were still no results. Concerned, she had then persuaded Ron to accompany her to a clinic to ensure that becoming pregnant was even possible for them. But after a few tests, the doctors had asserted that they were both perfectly healthy.

Just bad luck, the man had said. Just give it some time.

Two more months had passed in the meantime, and Hermione became apprehensive that, somehow, she was to blame for it. She had been uncertain about having a child ever since Ron had suggested it, and she inherently felt that her hesitation had was causing her to somehow magically prevent it.

“No,” Hermione said, staring away from Harry. “Nothing's wrong.”

She didn't know if an air of sadness had crossed her features or if it had been in the tone of her voice, but Harry had evidently noticed.

After a moment he set his wine glass down decisively on the table, stood up, and extended his hand towards her, an expectant expression on his face.

“What?” Hermione asked curiously, tentatively reinstating the contact she had sought to escape moments before. Harry clasped her hand firmly and pulled her to her feet.

“We're going to dance,” Harry stated as if it were obvious.

Hermione cocked her head slightly, a disbelieving smile playing across her face. “You want to dance?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “I do.”

“There's no music,” she pointed out uncertainly.

He flicked his wand in the direction of a small radio sitting on a shelf, and music began to play softly throughout the room.

“Now there is.” He then tossed his wand onto the coffee table and offered his other hand.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, deliberating. His eyes shone brightly in the dimly lit room, and she couldn't help but return his brilliant smile. She realized she wanted very badly to go along with Harry despite the nagging warning at the back of her mind. Why shouldn't she be able to have an innocent dance with her best friend?

Determinedly, she removed her own wand from her pocket and tossed it alongside Harry's before taking his hand. His smile only widened at her acceptance, and his obvious gladness made Hermione feel even more confident in her decision.

His eyes flashing playfully, he began to pull her arms alternatively back and forth. She raised her eyebrows at his silly movements, but his lively spirit was contagious and she soon found herself imitating his motions with just as much enthusiasm.

With a grin, he continued to pull her throughout the room, and before long they had become enveloped within the turbulence of the moment, caught within a small world where there was just them, just them and the melody that surrounded and compelled their steps.

Harry twirled her and she twirled him, laughter escaping their lips and adding to the harmonious notes that were so thick in the warm air. They weaved together around the various furniture, stumbling occasionally but always falling into each other, never stopping their movement. Their intermittent clumsiness somehow felt appropriate and simply became integrated into their dance.

Throughout the dizzying, wonderful giddiness of it all, however, Hermione always remained aware of his warmth - the warmth of his hands as their fingers were interlaced, the hotness of his body when she twirled into his arms, the heat of his breath on her neck when they spun together in a tight circle.

She was vaguely surprised she could feel his warmth at all; she knew her own temperature was also high, and the beating of her heart was increasingly rapid against her chest, pushing the blood through her veins at a velocity that was making her lightheaded.

Finally, their dancing began to taper into something more manageable. They stood closely to each other, still smiling as they laid their heads against each other, their breathing coming in slow collective gasps.

As Hermione caught her breath, she became acutely aware of their intimate position. Her left hand was entwined within his right, and her other hand rested gently on his shoulder. His remaining hand lay softly against the small of her back, holding her closely. She found herself nestling herself even closer into him and his touch on her back became firmer. They had almost stopped moving and her heart was beating so hard in her ears that the music was all but a hum in the back of her mind.

Breathing unsteadily, she pulled back from him slightly, just enough so their eyes met. They stared at each other in the dimly-lit room, and Hermione felt herself immersed in his eyes, just as she had that day, so long ago, when they had painted the nursery together.

But this felt different. Then, Hermione had felt frozen, held in place in a calm sea of green; now, she felt as if she were being tossed violently on that same sea, engulfed and drowning under wave after wave of emotion. Her thoughts were muddled and all she knew was the feel of his hand on her waist and her frantic heartbeat and his emerald eyes…

“Harry…” she whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself. She didn't know why she said his name, but for some reason she felt it was necessary. Why it was necessary she also didn't know. Was it a warning…

…an invitation?

Before she was even conscious of it she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.

Only when she felt Harry tense up did her brain catch up to her actions.

Horrified, she leapt back from him.

“Oh my god, I-I-I'm so sorry,” she said frantically, covering her mouth shakily. “I didn't mean—”

She felt almost sickened with herself for being careless enough, stupid enough, to have made her feelings so obvious and she didn't dare meet Harry's eyes. She felt tears begin to spill onto her cheeks, and she spun away, intent on escaping before he could see them.

However, before Hermione could take a step, she felt a hand grab her wrist tenderly.

“Wait,” Harry said.

Hermione closed her eyes, gathering the nerve to turn around and face him. She didn't want to look him in the eyes and find the look of pity she knew must lay there now.

“Hermione?” he said more forcefully, tightening his grip on her hand.

Sighing unsteadily, she turned towards him. Then, finally, she looked up into his eyes again.

The blazing intensity she found within them made her feel as though her legs would give out from beneath her.

He was looking at her not with pity, but with a burning desire that she knew was mirrored within her own eyes - a want that was somehow, astonishingly, the same as hers.

Hermione remained still as she fought the searing heat that simmered throughout her body, overwhelming her already turbulent senses. Yet she felt herself almost relaxing under his piercing gaze despite the ravaging flames consuming her insides.

Harry gently took her other hand in his, and Hermione stared breathlessly at their intertwined fingers held between them, the only thing preventing their bodies from touching.

After a moment he freed one of his hands and slowly, tantalizingly slowly, reached up and placed it on the side of her face, directing her eyes towards him. She felt the blood catch in her veins as his face inched towards her, a deliberate movement that made her heart beat, if possible, even more quickly.

And then his lips were on hers, he was kissing her back, and Hermione knew she was beyond coherence.

She melted easily, so easily into his kiss and Harry released her other hand to entangle it within her hair. Her hands freed, Hermione grabbed the front of his shirt in fistfuls, desperate to bring him closer to her though there wasn't a hairsbreadth between their bodies.

She wanted somehow to pour everything she had ever felt for him, every thought she had had of him, every emotion she had felt for him for the past fourteen years into this moment, and she wondered if she had succeeded when his hold on the back of her neck became almost painfully tight.

She realized that her back was pressed against the wall, his free hand trailing along her body, and she pushed him away just enough to upset his balance. Taking advantage of his instability, she twirled them around as best she could and his back thudded into the wall instead. She felt him grin beneath her mouth and she couldn't help but smile back as he playfully reversed their position once more.

Instead of meeting her lips again, however, he pressed his mouth to her moist neck. She moaned as he trailed kisses along her collarbone, the hollow of her neck, the line of her jaw. Her breath came in halting gasps and her eyes closed of their own accord, his lips scorching her heated skin. Her hands caught in his damp black locks and she pulled him upwards to desperately recapture his mouth.

Suddenly, she was lifted upward by Harry's arms, pushed more roughly into the wall behind her, his stubble scratching her skin as his kisses became quicker, harder, more fierce. She wrapped her legs around his waist, winding her arms urgently around him, pulling him closer, as he kissed every exposed inch of her skin he could reach. Her breathing was coming in shallow gaps, and she was only vaguely aware of movement as Harry carried her up the stairs. She was engrossed by the feel of his fingertips on her back and the taste of the taut skin of his neck under her lips. His warm heavy breathing was so close to her ear she felt faint.

She almost thought for the briefest moment that she had fainted as she felt herself falling. But then a soft mattress was pressed against her back and Harry's shadowed form loomed over her, filling her vision.

As he bent to claim her lips again, Hermione pulled him upwards, tugging forcefully at his white shirt. He knelt upright just long enough to help her pull it over his head impatiently and they attacked each other once more. She was kissing him desperately, sought to kiss every inch of his chest, his body, but slowed as she came across his past wounds. Pausing for a moment, she stared at every scratch, every mark, her breathing becoming deeper, more measured. Then she traced her fingertips lightly over them, Harry hovering above her, frozen as he watched her careful movements. She finally turned her head up to meet his eyes, blank and almost wary. Hermione leaned up and slowly placed a lingering kiss at the corner of his mouth, then rested her face against his for the briefest moment, her breathing still slow and quiet. She kissed his cheek softly before moving to kiss every scar that covered his body: the scarlet oval over his heart where the locket had burned him, the puncture marks on his forearm, the faded lines on his hand, the small gash on his abdomen from Dolohov's knife, the dark bruise on his chest, and the scar on his forehead that had been the source of so much heartache in his life.

She took her time to kiss each of these spots tenderly, her lips lingering on each, and she felt his lips grazing her neck almost as delicately, although there was an edge of constraint to his ministrations.

Finally, she pulled his head downward and crashed her lips into his again, and he pulled her flush against him as his hands moved under her shirt and against her back. As she felt the contact with her bare skin, she yearned to feel more of him; Harry clearly had similar thoughts because a moment later she was sitting up and he was lifting her T-shirt above her head. At last she became free of her sweltering top and their skin was pressed together, moist with sweat and so incredibly warm…

And suddenly she felt something icily cold pressed into her back, and she jerked forward, unexpectedly jolted into some form of reason.

“Harry, stop, we can't -” she said abruptly in a strangled voice, somehow speaking as she pushed away from the iron-frame headboard. She didn't know how she managed it.

Immediately, Harry pulled away from her, though she could see it was difficult for him to do so.

“W-we can't do this,” she said, touching her swollen lips.

Harry stared at her a moment, his green eyes searching hers. His chest was covered in sweat, and his damp black hair was splayed across his forehead. It was all Hermione could do to not cut off his answer with her lips.

“Why?” he asked deliberately.

Hermione stared at him as though he'd gone mad, though considering how long it had taken her to get herself under some modicum of control she figured she must be mad as well. Why?

“B-because of Ginny. And R-Ron,” she said, her throat dry.

“What else?” Harry asked, his voice sounding equally strangled. “An excuse that doesn't involve them.”

Hermione shook her head, stricken.

“You don't know what you're saying, we've both had too much to drink -”

“No,” Harry said forcefully. “I know exactly what I'm saying, painfully aware of it. And I want to say it.”

Hermione stared unblinkingly into his eyes. They were just as lucid as they always were, perhaps even more so. She could also see the conflict in his expression, conflict that mimicked her own tumultuous emotions.

“I think we-” she began breathlessly, but Harry cut her off.

“Please, don't think,” he pleaded, grasping her wrist. “For once, for tonight, just don't… let's not think about anything.”

Hermione hesitated, but she was drawn once more to Harry's face. Her head and her heart were in a completely different state: her thoughts moved sluggishly through her mind, but her heart continued to beat against her chest like hummingbird wings, in fact hadn't stopped beating at this pace since he first took her hand to dance. She couldn't fathom one progressive thought during this moment. All she knew was that she had never felt anything close to the passion burning in her abdomen right now, and she knew she wanted this, had always wanted this, wanted it for so long…

And after a moment, she kisses him, allowing herself to forget the world once more. Her hand moves to his cheek and his hands cup her waist, gently pulling her closer to him. Her fingers graze his face and she lets herself be pulled further into his embrace. She feels her back press once more into the soft cotton sheets, giving in to the wonderful chaos, the destructive perfection of it all, and he falls with her, trailing feather-light kisses along her shoulder as she presses her lips to his neck, and the radio continues to play quietly in the room below them, innocent and all-but-forgotten.

**********

Hermione felt her eyes flutter open. She had no idea what time it was, but by the very faint light that pervaded the room she imagined it was dawn. She was curled into Harry's side and his arm was wrapped around her waist. She laid her face against his chest, her hand splayed across his stomach, holding onto those brief moments before reality could crash her sleepy bliss. Harry's heartbeat resounded softly, reassuringly, in her ears, and she closed her eyes, content to simply listen and be wrapped in the warm arms of her best friend.

But then Hermione heard a soft cry from the hallway, and she felt the fulfillment of the moment dissolve into a horrible, soul-wrenching ache. She buried her face into Harry's neck for the smallest instant, her eyes squeezed tightly, desperately shut, wanting to hide in his embrace, feeling only him, only ever him.

As James let out a louder, more insistent wail, Hermione pulled herself away from Harry's side, keeping the sheet wrapped tightly around her as she slid away across the bed and stood up. She felt tears welling up furiously in her eyes, and she scrambled about the room, frantically gathering up her discarded clothing as she fought to keep a sob from escaping her lips.

As she picked up her T-shirt from Harry's side of the bed, she felt her wrist suddenly grabbed gently and she knew she had woken him.

“Hermione -” he began, but she pulled her hand away, perhaps with more vehemence than necessary.

“I-I can't talk with you right now, Harry,” she said, turning away from his somewhat hurt gaze.

“Hermione, please don't leave -”

“I've got to,” she said. “I need to leave.”

Swallowing, she glanced at him, a beseeching look in her eyes. Please let me go.

Harry stared at her and gave a small nod, an almost unreadable expression on his face that made Hermione furious.

She would've rather him shout at her, demand that she stay so they could talk and sort everything out. It would've been so much easier to leave had that been the case. As it was, his silence and quiet acceptance only made her wish to fall into his arms once more, to hold him and kiss him until he smiled again and his eyes brightened.

Knowing she couldn't fight her tears a second longer, she turned and vanished.

As she appeared in her living room, it was all she could do not to immediately fall to her knees and give in to the wracking sobs that escaped her lips.

She looked around the room as tears flooded down her face: the straightened shelves, the clean coffee table, the forgotten novel thrown carelessly on the sofa— everything was just as she'd left it.

Nothing had changed, when in reality everything had changed.

She turned and darted into the bathroom, and shut the door quickly behind her. Dropping her clothes and the sheet she still clutched around her, she turned the shower on cold and stepped into the icy jets. A gasp escaped her but then she finally dissolved into painful sobs, sinking to the floor in gut-wrenching anguish.

The cold water fell onto her face and mingled with the hot tears that poured down her cheeks and she knew she had never felt so much guilt, so much regret… so much heartbreak in her entire life.

**********

A/N: Okey dokey then, here are the comments I promise. Let me break it down a little.

Firstly, for those of you who don't care for this and, however, are still interested in reading, this isn't a crucial part of the story. There is much much much more to come, and this one night is just that - one night. This isn't an affair fic where this continues and Ginny and/or Ron find out and they all get divorced and live miserably/happily ever after. Not the case.

Secondly, if this just completely grinds your gears, don't read it, simple as that. Sorry I couldn't keep ya, can't please everyone, etcetera etcetera. However, do not drop me flames in reviews expressing your disapproval about the situation and saying you'll no longer be reading. Don't want to hear it, and the reviews will just be deleted. Fair enough?

Okay, well I think that's all I have to say on the matter. Sorry for the rant…rude people really get on my nerves. Get this…lots of angst in the next few chapters. Can you believe it?

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34. Breaking Mirrors

A/N: Thanks for your feedback for the last chapter! As I predicted, some of you loved it, some of you not so much. Thanks to everybody for being polite, though! I very much appreciate it. As I've mentioned to a few people, I am by no means asking you to approve of their behavior (I certainly don't), but to kind of accept it for what it is. Some aspects may not be the most original, but hopefully I can convey things in an original enough way for people to be pleasantly surprised by the outcome. Also, hopefully I can just plain surprise people with some aspects I plan to bring up. Either way, please keep reading and giving me feedback!

This chapter is technically more filler than anything, but I felt it was necessary to convey where the characters are emotionally right now after the events of the last chapter. Hope you enjoy.

Thanks to cranksatnyc, noorelisa, UKwildcat820, miss moony, hphg74, Bexis, MarenKPotter, justduck, VampLvr, h/hr4ever11, Charlotte, and an Anonymous reviewer for the feedback!

Chapter 34: Breaking Mirrors

Ron walked rather lazily up the steps that led to his and Hermione's flat. Usually he would just Apparate directly into the living room, but he figured Hermione might appreciate some sort of warning after three days without him - he didn't want to startle her, after all.

When he reached the door, he gave it a sharp rap and promptly turned the knob, but found it locked. Hoisting his bag over his shoulder, he knocked a bit more impatiently on the door.

Still no answer.

She must be out, he thought to himself as he dug through his bag. Hermione insisted he use keys to enter the flat instead of his wand so as not to attract undo attention, which he frankly found to be quite a hassle.

After over a minute of rummaging, he finally extricated the small set of keys from his bag and inserted the correct one into the lock.

As he entered the room, the first thing he was aware of was how dark everything was. Not a single light was on and the curtains blocked out any sunlight that might have shone through the windows.

But he barely had time to dwell on this fact, however, because a small hiccup of surprise sounded from the couch as he dropped his bag onto the hardwood floor.

“R-Ron? Is that you?”

Puzzled, Ron groped along the wall until he found the light switch and flicked it on. As light flooded the room, he saw Hermione bundled on the couch, a blanket wrapped tightly around her. Her face was pale and drawn, and her hair was a mess. She squinted and blinked rapidly at him through puffy, bloodshot eyes as she adjusted to the sudden light.

“Hey,” Ron said, wrinkling his brow. “What're you doing sitting in the dark like this? What's wrong?”

“N-nothing's wrong,” Hermione replied in a somewhat raspy voice. “I just - I just haven't been feeling the greatest.”

“Oh,” Ron said. “I didn't know you were even home. Why didn't you answer the door?”

Hermione glanced at the door behind him. “Um…people have been knocking on the door all weekend,” she said quietly, pulling the blanket more tightly around her. “Just salesmen and what-not. I got tired of answering.”

“Oh,” Ron said again. He fidgeted uncomfortably as Hermione continued to stare lifelessly at the door. He sidestepped into her line of vision and she blinked as she quickly refocused on Ron.

“H-how was your trip?” she asked, an apologetic tone lacing her voice for her lack of attention. “Did you have fun?”

“No, not really…”

A moment of silent passed between them before Hermione realized she needed to continue the conversation.

“What did you do at the conference?” she asked.

“Attend lectures mostly.”

“You get those from me for nothing,” Hermione replied. Ron could sense that she had meant the statement to be humorous, but she had spoken half-heartedly. Nonetheless, Ron gave her a small smile in an attempt to cheer her up.

“And those blokes aren't nearly as good at it either,” he said jokingly, but then fell silent again. The aura of the room was downright depressing, and he found very little desire to talk.

“Are…are you feeling well enough to go out?” Ron finally suggested after the silence had persisted for almost a full minute.

Hermione frowned slightly, as if this idea were quite adverse to her, so Ron was quite surprised when she finally nodded in assent.

“I just have to clean up a bit,” she said softly, and then retreated into the bedroom, still clutching the blanket around her shoulders.

Ron furrowed his brow as he sat down in the spot Hermione had vacated. Although Hermione had insisted she had been ill, he couldn't help but feel that her behavior was a little off in a different way. She seemed quite preoccupied by something, and whatever that something was was clearly upsetting her. Why else would she be cooped up in the dark like this? And not only was she sitting in the dark, it looked like she had been crying as well.

Maybe she would tell him what was bothering her over dinner.

But Ron's musings were soon interrupted as Hermione exited their room, still looking quite cheerless, but presentably so.

“Ready?” Ron asked, standing up.

Hermione nodded silently as she collected her purse from a hook near the door.

“Where d'you want to eat?”

Hermione's face was shadowed by a veil of hair as she checked the contents of her bag. She paused, and when she spoke it was almost a sigh.

“Doesn't matter to me,” she said finally, slowly continuing her rummaging and not looking up. “You can pick.”

**********

Ginny frowned as she watched Harry attempt to sooth a crying James.

She had returned home from the Quidditch match yesterday afternoon to find Harry in an absolutely foul mood. Beyond a rather curt hello, they had barely exchanged a dozen words with each other. Mostly Ginny would just talk, and her husband would sometimes give a vague nod, if any response at all.

To top it off, James had been absolutely unmanageable since she had come home as well. She guessed that he was teething, and he cried almost non-stop whenever he was awake. She attributed this to Harry's irritability, which seemed to grow more and more pronounced with each passing hour.

“Come on, buddy,” Harry murmured tiredly as he rubbed James's back in a circular motion. “I know it hurts, but it'll stop soon…”

He stared vacantly at the wall as he said this, and Ginny was a bit concerned by the dark circles under his eyes. Although they had taken turns soothing the baby, it seemed that he still wasn't getting much sleep. He hadn't even bothered shaving since the day before the match, further enhancing his haggard appearance.

“How was work today?” Ginny asked offhandedly, although Harry had already been home for almost an hour.

“Fine,” Harry responded, little to Ginny's surprise.

She waited a moment, idly flipping a few pages of her monthly issue of Witch Weekly to see if Harry would bother continuing the conversation.

He didn't, of course.

“Have you had any more leads on Dolohov?” she continued.

“None.”

She gave him another chance to speak, but again, nothing came of it.

“The article for the match is going really well,” she finally said. “Krum was a little reluctant to be interviewed, but he seemed quite eager to give me some exclusive quotes after I mentioned I was Hermione's sister-in-law.”

She saw Harry, predictably, give a small nod, but was surprised to see a flash of emotion cross his face before it hardened into an unreadable mask once more. Or perhaps not completely unreadable - if anything anger could be discerned from his stony expression.

She cocked an eyebrow, confused by Harry's change in expression. She had spoken about her article multiple times - why would he seem angry now?

“Is something the matter, Harry?”

Ginny thought she saw the slightest tensing of Harry's shoulder, but she might have been mistaken - he was already tense to begin with.

“No,” he said brusquely, his back turned to her. “Why?”

“Don't even act like you don't know why!” Ginny said, exasperated. “You've been acting like a git since I got back.”

“How d'you mean?” Harry said, a note of cautiousness in his voice.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we've got a new record for the longest sentence spoken in the last forty-eight hours!” Ginny said sarcastically. “Quite the accomplishment!”

“I'm - I'm just not in a talkative mood,” Harry said defensively. “I don't see why you have a problem with that.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “There's a difference between being uncommunicative and giving me the cold shoulder for two days, Harry!”

“Well, I'm sorry,” he said quietly. “I've just had a lot on my mind.”

“That might've been useful information to know,” Ginny said. “I'm your wife, you can tell me these things - it sort of comes with the territory. So what's bothering you?”

Harry shook his head. “It's just…just some work stuff. There's nothing you can do about it.”

“Maybe if you just talked about it you'd feel better anyway.”

“No,” Harry said a bit more vehemently as he shook his head again. “It's…private. Classified. I can't talk about it with you.”

“Then who can you talk with about this?” Ginny said with irritation. “Because I'm frankly sick of your bad mood.”

Harry looked as though he were about to make a retort, but then closed his mouth and glanced away for a moment. When he turned his gaze back to her, there was a bit of remorse in his eyes.

“I'm sorry, Gin, really. I shouldn't be taking this out on you…especially you. I'll try not to act like such an asshole.”

“Baby ears!” Ginny said as she gestured to James, who had finally grown quiet in Harry's arms. “And you're forgiven if you actually hold to that.”

Harry nodded, but Ginny could already see his face beginning to take on the same emotionless expression.

Sighing, she stood up and placed her magazine on the chair behind her. Harry glanced at her sudden movement, and Ginny reached out to take the baby from him.

“We're all taking a walk,” she said briskly. “Go change into a more comfortable shirt so you can join us.”

Harry showed little surprise at her outburst, and simply left for their bedroom without another word.

*********

Hermione walked slightly behind Ron as they were led to a small table near the back of the Muggle restaurant he had chosen. Normally she would have been pleased by the privacy warranted by the secluded spot, but at the present moment she was absolutely dreading it. Being surrounded by dozens of noisy diners would have made the evening a much more enjoyable affair. The less they could hear each other, the less they would talk, and the less they talked the better.

As they were seated, their waiter pulled a small pad from his pocket.

“What would you like to drink?” the man said, turning politely to Hermione.

“Water, please,” she said, just loud enough for the waiter to hear. She didn't even bother looking in his direction.

“Alright,” he said, seeming a bit put-off by Hermione's reticent behavior. “And for you, sir?”

“I'll have a beer,” Ron replied more genially.

The waiter nodded. “I'll have your drinks ready in a moment,” he said, and walked away to fetch them.

The couple sat wordlessly as they perused their menus, and Hermione was grateful for a legitimate excuse to stay silent. The walk to the restaurant had been much more awkward, as Hermione was unforthcoming in conversation and Ron had no idea how to react to her unusually taciturn demeanor. Periods of silence were not uncommon between them, but generally it was an amicable sort of silence born from years of knowing each other. This was a different sort of quiet, heavy and charged with tension from what was not being said.

The waiter returned after a few moments and set down their glasses. Hermione mumbled a thank you and Ron immediately placed his order as soon as the man had taken out his notebook again. Hermione glanced to the menu and picked the first item her eyes fell upon - she really didn't care what it was.

The heavy silence returned as soon as the waiter left, and Ron fidgeted uncomfortably. His discomfort made Hermione feel even guiltier than she already did, but she still couldn't bring herself to speak. She could hardly look him in the eye, let alone hold a conversation with him.

“You, er, you've been pretty quiet…” Ron finally stated, adjusting his fork uneasily. He set it down and raised his eyes to her face. “Are you sure nothing's wrong?”

No, at the moment I'm pretty sure everything is wrong, Hermione thought.

“Really, Ron, I'm fine,” she replied, turning her eyes to his long enough to flash him a reassuring smile. Apparently it was convincing, because he returned her smile, seeming a bit relieved, and she felt an especially painful pang of remorse.

No matter his faults, he didn't deserve what she had done to him…no one deserved that.

“Good,” Ron said. “I was just feeling a little worried about you. You've seemed sort of off since I got back.” He shook his head, chuckling. “Guess my super-sharp intuition is a little hazy tonight.”

Hermione felt another pang at his light-heartedness, as well as the irony of his statement: for once, he was right on the mark.

“Well, don't mind me, I guess,” Ron said. “How was work today?”

Hermione blinked a few times. “Actually,” she said slowly. “I didn't go to work.”

Ron furrowed his brow, just as Hermione expected he would. “You didn't go to work?”

Hermione shook her head, mentally cursing her predictably responsible nature. “No,” she said. “I didn't.”

“Wow,” Ron said, running a hand through his hair. “You really must have felt bad - you almost never miss work!”

Hermione nodded. She'd only missed work for four occasions: Harry's wedding, her own wedding and honeymoon, her father's funeral, and the hooky-day she had spent with Harry (which Ron had no idea about).

“A Pepper-Up Potion didn't do the trick?” Ron asked.

“Um, we were out,” Hermione replied.

“I bet Harry would've brought you some if you'd owled him,” Ron said.

Hermione physically winced at the mention of Harry's name. “I - I know he would have, but I knew he was busy with James…I didn't want to bother him.”

Ron shook his head in wonder, but didn't reply straight away as the waiter arrived at their table with their food. He took a large bite of his steak before he looked once more at Hermione, who had only just picked up her fork.

“Merlin, I figured you would've brewed the potion yourself before missing work.”

Hermione moved her vegetables around a bit with her fork. “Well, I had…a lot to think about.”

She doubted any statement she had ever spoken was as deviously truthful as the one she said to Ron.

She was certainly not lying - she did have a lot to think about.

As Ron nodded in understanding, she knew he couldn't possibly understand what she had been thinking of. If he did, she doubted very much that they would be sitting in this restaurant, speaking amicably to one another. She honestly doubted that he would ever speak to her again if he really knew.

She had spent days thinking, and days trying to stop thinking…about that night, about the following morning, about her lack of self-control…

But mostly just about him.

She hoped that having time to herself would've allowed her to regain some sense of composure, some rationality that would make her understand her actions and, more importantly, how to rectify those actions.

But her rationality, once so kept and headed, had seemingly perished under Harry's gaze that night. She had exulted in his touch, and now she felt drowned by it. She thought that if she waited, away from his burning eyes and tempting hands, she could take control like she always did.

Instead, each thought had brought her further and further from control. All she could do was cry, and her sobs only increased when someone knocked on her door. She had stifled her anguished cries, however, because she knew it was him. He had knocked on her door for an hour straight - today, yesterday, and the day before. And she knew that he would continue to come every single day until she opened the door.

The rest of their meal passed with idle chit-chat, and Hermione sent her meal away when Ron was finished although she had only taken a few bites. When they exited the restaurant, they located a secluded alley and Apparated back to their flat.

Hermione placed her bag on the coffee table, feeling inexplicably exhausted by her short outing. She closed her eyes and ran a hand tiredly over her face, craving the sheets of her bed even though she had seen far too much of them over the past few days. But just as she was about to turn around and wish Ron a good night, she suddenly felt an arm wrap around her waist.

“I've missed you,” Ron said, kissing the side of her face.

Before she could think about it, Hermione jerked away, spinning around and taking a step back before her brain caught up with her.

Why did I just do that?

Ron looked at her in confused amusement. “Geez, jumpy much? What's wrong?”

Hermione stared at him blankly as he approached her again, and finally shook her head.

“No,” she said. “Nothing's wrong.” Maybe if she said it enough, it would be true.

Maybe if she continued to tell this to herself, she would stop imagining the hum of a radio in the background, or the feel of someone else's touch on the small of her back. Maybe if she said it long enough, in time, she would stop thinking—stop feeling to the depth of her soul—that the red-headed man kissing her right now was the wrong man.

And maybe, with a little more time, she would stop wanting to kiss someone else…the dark-haired man who was supposed to be the wrong one.

Really, maybe time was all she needed to re-right her world, the one that was recently turned upside down by an event that made her so painfully and guiltily aware which of her worlds—the world she was currently living with a red-haired man who loved her, or the flashing glimpse in a breaking mirror of the life she had lost with her emerald-eyed best friend—actually felt upside down.

Maybe.

***********

Harry sighed deeply as he selected a T-shirt at random from his closet.

Deep, measured breaths - those were supposed to clear your mind, weren't they?

But even as he gulped at the limited air in his room, Harry knew all the world's oxygen couldn't succeed in such a task during the past few days.

He pulled at the buttons of his shirt in agitation, pulled the shirt from his shoulders, and threw it harshly into the corner of the room. Before he could pull the clean T-shirt over his head, he couldn't resist peeking at his image in the mirror hanging over the dresser. As his eyes darted to his chest, he was plagued once more by the thoughts that had been running rampant in his head for days.

The bruise on his chest, which had been roughly half a foot in diameter just three days previously, was now the size of a small fist.

It had taken him hours after Hermione had left to notice the significant change, and even more hours to find the energy to ponder the difference.

The mark had been decreasing in size steadily since he had received it, but never in such a burst as this. It had taken almost eight years to reduce to half its original size, and yet it had made the same reduction within hours.

His fleeting theories were not enough to convince him of the cause of the change, and he had been wanting to ask Hermione about it for days - she would have the answer. She'd always had the answer.

But for the first time in his life, he couldn't ask her.

In an almost unconscious burst of anger, Harry's fist shot forward and collided with the mirror. The glass crunched under his knuckles, and tiny fractures laced from the point of impact. A hiss of pain escaped his lips as Harry pulled his hand back, and he observed his bloody fingers for only a brief moment before his eyes returned to the mirror.

His image was reflected oddly in the various shards, and he thought it strangely befitting to the current state his life was in. Broken and distorted.

“Harry, what was that? What's taking you?”

He tore his eyes away from the mirror at Ginny's call.

“It's nothing,” he said. Then, more quietly, “Reparo.”

He watched the shards of mirror on the ground float back up to rejoin the mending mirror. The glass seemed to meld together, and soon he was staring once more at his crisp image. He felt that it was a façade compared to the broken picture he had observed before.

Sighing, Harry slipped the shirt over his head and cast a quick healing and cleaning charm on his hand as he left the room.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “Couldn't find a clean one.”

“It shouldn't have been too difficult considering I washed laundry yesterday.”

“Well, I was looking in the wrong place then,” Harry said shortly. “Let's go.”

“Fine,” Ginny said. “Get the stroller.”

Harry nodded as he picked up the collapsed baby carriage. Ginny hoisted James a bit higher on her hip and led Harry from the house without another word. He popped open the stroller when they had reached the sidewalk and James was quickly transferred into the seat.

Harry glanced sideways at Ginny as they began walking. She pushed the stroller at a brisk pace, and a frown adorned her pale face. She was still not pleased with him, obviously. He hated to think what would happen if she ever found out about what had actually transpired between himself and Hermione…

He looked away as the thought crossed his mind, shame coursing like poison through his veins.

“Did you see Hermione over the weekend?”

Harry almost stopped dead in his tracks at Ginny's casual statement.

“No,” he said, more loudly than he had intended. He cleared his throat before he spoke again. “Why d'you ask?”

“Just curious,” Ginny said. “I figured with both Ron and I being gone you two might have gotten together for lunch or something.”

Harry swallowed. “We didn't.”

Ginny shrugged. “Okay. We might have to all get together in a few days to do something then. Maybe we'll have them over for dinner.”

Harry didn't reply, instead choosing to clench his fists in the pockets of his jeans. He had a strong feeling that such a gathering wouldn't occur, especially if Hermione had anything to do about it. Three days of pounding on her door with no answer certainly insinuated as much.

He had thought of just Apparating into her house on multiple occasions - if he could get in, that is. For all he knew, Hermione had removed his permission through the wards. He honestly didn't want to find out if she had, and he knew that bursting in unannounced and without permission would only hurt matters between them.

Unfortunately, this knowledge didn't reduce his desire to barge in there anyway. Out of all the years he'd known her, not once had she avoided him like this - if anything it was the other way around. He knew they would have to talk eventually, and the longer he waited the more anxious he felt about the impending discussion.

A pair of fingers suddenly snapped in Harry's face, and he jerked his head toward Ginny, dazed.

“What?”

“I was just wondering why you haven't been listening to a word I've said for the past ten minutes,” Ginny said, anger evident in her voice yet again.

Harry inwardly winced at her accusation since it was obviously true. He'd had no idea that ten minutes had passed let alone that his wife had been talking during that time.

“Let's just go back,” Ginny grumbled when Harry continued to stay silent and James began whimpering in his stroller. After about fifteen minutes they had made their way back to the recently vacated home.

The rest of the evening passed with much crying on James part and not much else. Ginny maintained a stony silence in response to Harry's distractedness, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak to her. Each time he turned to look at his wife, images of Hermione would push themselves to the front of his mind. His conscience simply wouldn't let him face Ginny under these circumstances, and the fact that his conscience tended to sound—achingly so—like none other than Hermione only served to prolong his muteness.

I've already got you in my head enough without hearing you give me a lecture on the same matter as well, Harry thought dejectedly.

It was around eleven at night and he was still up with James, whose cranky disposition had only been invigorated by their short walk. But he was finally growing drowsy on Harry's shoulder, and after a few more minutes James was set gently in his crib, asleep for the time being.

Harry crept softly from the room, across the hall, and then opened the door to his own bedroom. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that all the lights, including Ginny's bedside lamp, were off. The room was almost pitch black, and he made his way silently to his side of the bed.

Taking extreme care not to jostle the mattress, Harry lowered himself onto the bed. As he gently pulled the quilt to cover him, he breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

“Harry?”

Harry bit back the groan that threatened to escape his lips.

“I just felt you get into bed. I know you're awake,” Ginny said from beside him.

Harry nodded, knowing the gesture was lost in the darkness.

“Fine, don't talk,” he heard Ginny huff. “Just listen.”

Harry heard her adjust slightly, and imagined that she had just turned on her side to face him.

“Look, I know you don't want to talk to me about whatever's wrong with you, but this has to stop. It's not even so much that you've barely spoken to me, but you seem genuinely upset about whatever it is.”

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared at the ceiling. He felt Ginny's hand on his upper arm.

“I can tell this is hurting you - I don't know why, but you've literally seemed ill for the past few days. I just - can you please talk to someone soon? Try to figure this out?”

Harry lifted his arm—the one Ginny wasn't touching—and ran his hand over his face. His eyes closed involuntarily. He was too damn tired to figure this out - to figure out why it hurt so much.

“Alright,” he said, his voice sounding hollow. “I will.”

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35. Teamwork

A/N: Here's the next update! We now find out a bit more about what Harry and Hermione have been doing to deal with their guilt, and set things up for a more action packed chapter. This one's a little on the short side, but the next once is really long so that will hopefully make up for it.

Thanks to hphg74, auror_lumos09, EmmaRadcliffe, UKwildcat820, Charlotte, Meli, h/hr4ever11, noorelisa, and the Anonymous reviewer who just jumped on board with this story. Hope you guys (and everybody else) enjoy!

Chapter 35: Teamwork

Harry leaned back in his chair, staring severely at the ceiling above him with a scowl.

In all fairness, he really couldn't be blamed for his mood. Here he was, on a beautiful Saturday afternoon, sitting at his desk. Not that he minded working on Saturdays most of the time - it was when he wasn't supposed to be working on a Saturday when it really bugged him.

For some reason that was still unknown to him, he had received an owl requesting that he come in to work. But in the five hours he had been there, he had finished two reports he hadn't quite completed earlier in the week, replenished his supply of ink, drunk four cups of coffee although he wasn't particularly tired, and more-or-less simply twiddled his thumbs.

In other words, he had had nothing to do other than think for five hours, and these days thinking was the very last thing he wanted to be doing.

Almost two months had passed since he'd last seen Hermione. One month, three weeks, and four days to be exact. And Harry could honestly say that it had been the most miserable month, three weeks, and four days he had had in an extremely long time. If it hadn't been for James, it would probably be the most miserable he had ever had.

As it turned out, Hermione proved to be just as impossible to get in touch with as she had during the days following the night they had spent together. Since Ron had returned from his conference, Harry had mostly stopped going to his and Hermione's flat to bang on their door. There had been a handful of times, but only when he knew for a fact that Ron wasn't there. Hermione continued to ignore him, and Harry still couldn't bring himself to test if the wards were still keyed to his magical signature.

Given the fruitlessness of these home visits, Harry had instead opted to try to catch her at work. If he had to, he'd lock them in her office and force her to speak to him.

However, the first time he went to her department, the secretary had informed him that Hermione was busy and refused to see anyone at this time.

The next day, he was told Hermione was in an important meeting and wouldn't be available for multiple hours.

On the third day, Hermione apparently wasn't there at all.

Harry mused on this fact as he idly twirled a quill between his fingers. He wouldn't be surprised if Hermione had completely changed her schedule just to ensure they would never be in the Ministry at the same time. She was thorough after all.

Despite this, Harry had steadfastly continued his pursuit, and if Hermione knew anything about him, she should realize that he would never give up as well. In fact, he had been seeking her out even more actively than usual during the past few weeks, specifically because of one instance of Hermione's careful avoidance.

Harry's frown deepened as he reflected on this, his continual quill-twirling slowing as his agitation from that memory resurfaced.

About a month previously, Harry had been assisting Ginny with the laundry. It had been a quiet day, and nothing particularly memorable had occurred. It was therefore much more of a shock when he had opened the linen closet to replace a few quilts and was met with the sight of a pale blue sheet, neatly folded and placed near the bottom of a stack of other bed linens. A completely innocent sight to anyone else in the world that saw it, but a harsh slap in the face to Harry.

He had no idea when Hermione had returned it, but the simple fact that she had infuriated him. By replacing the sheet, she was not only refusing to see him, but also refusing to acknowledge that that night had ever even happened.

And Harry had no intentions of letting her do that.

“Hey Potter, you might want to loosen up your grip on that quill there - I'm pretty sure it's about to snap in two.”

Harry glanced down at his fist and saw that his quill was indeed on the verge of breaking in half. Very deliberately he untightened his clenched fingers and carefully set down the quill before looking up.

“Sorry, Mitch - wasn't even paying attention. What's up?” he said.

Mitch jerked his head to his left. “Wahler needs to see you - says he's got a case.”

“About bloody time too,” Harry said, immediately pushing himself up from his chair. “Did he mention anything about it?”

“Nope. Just that he needed to see you.”

“Alright, I'll be there in a second if you want to go ahead,” Harry said, gathering his cloak, wand, and other personal items.

“Oh, I'm not going,” Mitch clarified. “He just assigned me a different case - that's why I was in there in the first place. Something stupid about some nut jinxing Muggles a few towns away. Mostly harmless stuff, but he apparently needs a `stern warning.'” Mitch made air-quotes as he mimicked Wahler's harsh voice.

Harry grinned as he drew his cloak around him. “Which probably means I'm about to be sent on an equally mundane job. Which is exactly what I need today - more mundane tasks.”

“Tell me about it,” Mitch said, chuckling. “But I'll see you, Harry - I've gotta get going.”

“See you,” he replied, and Mitch disappeared down the hallway. With one final glance around his office, Harry also stepped into the hallway and trudged down to speak to his boss.

“Potter,” Wahler said as a means of greeting as he stepped into the office. “Close the door behind you.”

Harry did as he was told and then sat down in the chair opposite Wahler's desk.

“So what've you got for me?” he asked promptly, eager to occupy his mind with any case, no matter how dull.

“Good to see you too, Potter,” Wahler growled.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said in amusement. “I've just been cooped up all day - just ready to get started.”

“Good,” Wahler said. “Because I've got an unusual job for you - well, unusual since the Dark Lord's defeat.”

Harry's ears perked at this statement, and he sat up straighter in his chair.

“What is it?”

“Dementors,” Wahler said.

“Dementors?” Harry said, furrowing his brow. “I thought they were banished after the War.”

“They were,” Wahler said. “Which is why this is an unusual case. They were banished to colder, uninhabited regions on the Continent when Shacklebolt became Minister. But there's been sightings in Scotland - even some rumors of people being Kissed.”

Apprehension filled Harry's mind as he processed this information.

“Why've they come back?” he asked slowly.

“That's just it - we don't know. But we do know it's not random. This isn't a rogue Dementor wandering its way back into the country. It's a mass migration, all leading to the same area.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, his suspicions confirmed. “So someone's behind this.”

“Yes, it seems that way,” Wahler said with a scowl. “Although there could be some other force at play. Which is where you come in - I want to know who or what is behind this.”

Harry gave an understanding nod. “Got it.”

“No, I don't think you do,” Wahler said. “I want you to find out what's going on - I don't want you getting involved. When you figure it out, I want you to report directly to me. No one is to know you were even there. Understood?”

Harry frowned in annoyance, but he gave another nod. “Yes, sir.”

Wahler gave an approving nod, but then it was his turn to look annoyed. “But you're not going alone.”

Harry gave the Head Auror a confused look. These sorts of scouting missions were usually done alone since there was less of a chance of being spotted.

“I know,” Wahler said, reading Harry's expression. “But it's not my decision. Apparently the Creature Department is insisting on sending someone along. An ambassador, of sorts, according to Vintreem's note. She wants to make sure things are `handled appropriately.'”

Wahler scoffed, clearly finding the matter ridiculous.

“But like I said, they're insisting on it, so I've got no choice. Vintreem wants you to come down to her office when you're ready to leave.”

Wahler slid a note towards Harry. “Here are the coordinates as well. You'll side-along with your partner to this location, and from there you're going to scout the area until you find something of interest. Start by going north - it seems like more activity has been reported in that direction.”

Harry nodded as he read the paper and then slipped it into his pocket.

“I'll be back as soon as I find something.”

Wahler gave one final nod, bent over his paperwork, and began scribbling away, which Harry took as his cue to leave.

As he had already gathered all of his things, Harry headed immediately to the lift and made his way to the fourth floor.

************

Hermione leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes as she tilted her head upwards.

She had been working continuously for almost five hours straight, but she couldn't very well complain considering she had put this upon herself. After all, she'd been the one to change her work schedule to give herself the worst hours imaginable.

All to avoid Harry.

Hermione's eyes flew open as her thoughts drifted to her dark-haired friend - or whatever he was to her now. She hadn't quite figured that out yet.

She sat up and quickly returned her attention to her desk before her thoughts could go any further.

Despite the exhaustive nature of her new schedule, she couldn't help but find herself looking forward to these hectic hours. By preoccupying her mind with the endless number of files that came upon her desk, she didn't have to think about - well, other things.

Such as the night she and Harry had shared one month, three weeks, and four days ago. Or the fact that she had avoided him every day since.

Hermione stopped writing briefly as these errant reflections pervaded her buzzing mind, causing her to feel physically ill as the guilt flooded her. That seemed to happen a lot recently - the more time that passed, the guiltier she felt, and the guiltier she felt, the more sickened she became with herself.

She had never intended to avoid him for this long - truly she hadn't. It just happened that way. With every day she avoided him, the idea of seeing him became harder and harder. To be perfectly honest, she had no idea if he even wanted to see her anymore. Although she'd changed her schedule, it was really more of a precaution than anything. Perhaps he had attempted to intercept her in her office, but she really couldn't be sure. It's not as though Hermione could ask her secretary if he'd come by, especially since that would most likely cause the young witch to think that Harry had permission to interrupt her.

“Ms. Weasley?”

Hermione gave a startled jump at the unexpected disturbance and jerked her head upwards to see said secretary at her office door.

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she said, still holding the doorknob and standing awkwardly in the hall. “I didn't mean to alarm you.”

“That's - that's fine, Elizabeth,” Hermione said, refraining from clutching a hand to her rapidly beating heart. “Please just knock next time.”

“Yes, Ms. Weasley,” she replied timidly, inclining her head slightly. “I apologize for interrupting you, but Ms. Vintreem would like a word.”

“Alright, I'll be out shortly,” Hermione said, a bit more kindly than before.

The secretary nodded once more and then pulled the door shut, leaving Hermione to sag back into her chair. She sighed deeply as she collected herself, ran a hand through her bushy hair, and then left the office to see her Head of Department.

Cecilia Vintreem smiled brightly at Hermione when she entered. Hermione couldn't help but smile back - Cecilia had always exuded a very matronly air, and her refreshingly bright demeanor was often contagious, which was just what she needed.

“Hermione, dear, how are you?” the plump witch said pleasantly, gesturing for her to sit in one of the chairs facing her desk.

“I'm fine, Cecilia,” Hermione replied. “Just wading through paperwork as usual. How are you?”

“Wonderful! I've had a marvelous day.”

“You always have a marvelous day,” Hermione said with a laugh. “I have no idea how you manage it.”

“It's all about your outlook,” Cecilia said, straightening a few papers on her desk. “Positivity. Most of the time you realize half the things that upset you just aren't worth the time of day.”

Hermione shook her head. “I wish I could see things like that.”

Cecilia waved her hand dismissively. “You're still young - you've got plenty of time to practice.”

Hermione gave a somber nod as she folded her hands in her lap. “Elizabeth said there was something you wanted to discuss.”

“Yes,” Cecilia said, placing a pair of reading glasses on her nose. She peered closely at the papers she had just straightened. “I've got an unusual task for you.”

“Unusual in what way?”

“Unusual in the fact that you've been requested to accompany an Auror on a field mission,” Cecilia replied.

“What?” Hermione said, shocked. “Why would the Auror Department request someone from our level?”

“Because it deals with Creatures,” Cecilia said.

“That makes no sense,” Hermione said. “The Aurors deal with werewolves and what not all the time - they've never asked for our help before.”

“Trust me, I'm just as confused by this as you are. But Alec is insisting.”

“Why is this situation any different?”

“I suspect it has to do with the fact that it pertains to dementors -”

“Wait, hold on,” Hermione said, raising her hand to signal Cecilia to stop speaking. “Dementors?”

“Yes, according to Alec's note.”

“Well, then why am I here at all?” Hermione said. “Although I still find it strange they need assistance, someone from the Spirits Division—not Beings—should be involved.”

“Unfortunately, that's not possible at the moment,” Cecilia replied with an uncharacteristic frown. “The only two employees competent enough to be involved with an Auror case both called in sick today. Besides, you're clearly the most proficient at Defense in the entire Department.”

“Not necessarily -”

“Don't sell yourself short, Hermione,” Cecilia said in a stern voice, as a mother might do when their child is feeling unconfident. “You have the highest scores in practical Defense of anyone in the Department - Auror-level scores. Not only that, you've proven your skills in a stressful field environment -”

“Everyone had to prove their skills during the War -”

“Don't interrupt, dear. As I was saying, you've proven your skills outside of a test environment, and, most important of these skills, you can cast a corporeal Patronus.”

Hermione gave a huff of agitation as she continued, though she knew it would do no good. “Almost every Hogwarts student within three years of my age can cast a corporeal Patronus - we were taught during school.”

“That's irrelevant. I said you were capable of casting a corporeal Patronus - I'm not concerned with the abilities of your classmates.”

Cecilia watched Hermione for a moment and finally gave a small smile as she continued:

“Besides, you're considering transferring Departments, aren't you?”

Hermione looked at her boss sharply, her brow furrowed. “How did you know-?”

“Also irrelevant,” Cecilia said. “But is this true?”

Hermione stared blankly at Cecilia, and then nodded slowly. “Yes…I've been considering transferring to Magical Law.”

“An excellent choice,” Cecilia said crisply. “You've done all you can do for this department - you'll be able to do much more on that level. So this should be a good opportunity for you to begin the transition.”

“I don't intend to transfer to the Auror Division, Cecilia.”

“But you'll be working with them closely. And no, there are no other alternatives for this case.”

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to retort, a sharp knocking resounded from behind her.

“Come in,” Cecilia said loudly, drowning out the beginning of Hermione's complaint.

Hermione glared at her boss, but Cecilia had eyes only for the person who had just entered her office. The bright smile had returned to her face, and she gestured to the other chair beside Hermione.

“Mr. Potter, I'm so glad you could join us!”

Hermione spun around so fast in her chair that her neck gave an audible crack.

Harry Potter stood in Cecilia's office, looking almost as surprised as Hermione felt.

Cecilia clasped her hands on her desk as she continued to smile happily.

“Besides, I know how well the two of you work together!”

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36. The Mission

A/N: Okay, here's the pretty dang long chapter I promised (I think the longest so far). Sorry in advance if you get bogged down by some descriptions I put in later in this chapter…I literally drew up a floor plan for the place that is described to create a cohesive path for Harry to follow, and I just wanted to give some feel for the aura of the place. Anyway, I hope you enjoy! Oh, and just so you know, I'm rapidly approaching the end to my stockpile of chapters, so very soon the wait between chapters will increase (sorry in advance!).

Thanks to cranksatnyc, UKwildcat820, auror_lumos09, noorelisa, h/hr4ever11, EmmaRadcliffe, VampLvr, Meli, SpecialK220, and BB Ruth for the great reviews!

Chapter 36: The Mission

Hermione stared in disbelief at Harry, who hadn't moved a muscle since fixing his eyes on her. Disregarding the bewilderment, the expression in his gaze was unreadable. He appeared neither pleased nor angry at the sight of her - not even triumphant that he'd finally cornered her.

Oh Merlin…she thought. It had never crossed her mind that Harry would be the Auror she would be teamed up with.

But apparently Fate had other things in mind. Bastard.

“Harry,” she finally managed to choke out. “I - I didn't think you were supposed to be working today.”

Harry finally came out of his trance at her statement, and he fixed her with an abrasively gratified smirk.

“I wasn't,” he said in a falsely light tone. “Funny how things sometimes work out.”

Hermione flinched at his unfriendly demeanor, and turned away from him, resigning herself to what would doubtless be an emotionally exhausting few hours.

If Cecilia detected any sort of coldness to their exchange, she made no comment on it. “Please have a seat, Harry. I'm sure the two of you are anxious to be on your way, so I won't take up too much of your time.”

“No rush, Cecilia,” Harry replied in an almost mockingly casual manner. “I've got all the time in the world.” He sat down in the chair next to Hermione, and she could feel his eyes on her, but she refused to turn her head towards him.

“I'm sure your boss doesn't see it that way unfortunately, so I'll be quick. I promise Alec told you the location?”

“Yes, he gave me the coordinates just before I came down here,” Harry said.

“In that case, I really don't have much more to tell you. I'll leave it up to you to fill in Hermione on the details.” At this point she fixed Harry with a stern gaze very similar to the one she had given Hermione earlier. “And I trust you'll bring her back safely as well.”

Hermione couldn't resist peeking over at Harry at this point, and saw that he was looking at her in a considerably softer manner than before.

“Of course,” he said quietly.

“Then I wish you both the best of luck,” Cecilia said. “We'll see you back here soon.”

Hermione and Harry both nodded solemnly, stood up, and exited the office.

Hermione waited for the accusations to begin the moment the door had clicked shut behind them, but Harry didn't say a word. He led the way to the lift, up to the Atrium, and finally to the Apparition zone before he acknowledged her, and even then he did it wordlessly. He offered her his arm without even looking at her, and Hermione took it, gripping it much more tightly than necessary. Still he didn't look at her, but the next moment she felt the sensation of being forced through a tube and then she was standing at the edge of a forest, a cold breeze playing on her face. The green hills of Scotland met her eyes, but she couldn't bring herself to find much beauty in them at the moment.

She dropped her hand from Harry's arm as soon as they appeared and turned her back to him.

“Thanks for acting like a pompous git in front of my boss,” she said, though she felt strangely detached from the anger in her tone. She knew she had no right to be angry with him, but something clearly needed to be said…it just so happened that insults were the easiest things to say.

“My bad,” Harry said harshly from behind her. “I forgot you prefer the cold shoulder over outright disrespect.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Actually, that's not quite right either - the cold shoulder usually requires two individuals to actually be in the same room with one another. Even blatantly ignoring a person involves an acknowledgement of their existence. You seem to favor blocking people out of your life completely.”

Hermione closed her eyes tightly as tears threatened to spill from them. She had really expected nothing less than these comments, and felt she deserved much more. She was grateful Harry was standing behind her.

“That's not fair,” she said softly, hardly managing to believe her own words.

“Not fair?” Harry sounded quite incredulous. “You think I'm being unfair?”

Hermione could hear him pacing around behind her.

“I'll tell you what's unfair,” he continued angrily. “Unfair is having your best friend refuse to see you for two fucking months. Two months, Hermione!” He seemed to stop walking for a moment, and when he next spoke she was uncomfortably aware that he was standing directly behind her.

“Did you even miss me?” he said quietly.

Hermione wiped at her eyes as she began to cry, hoping she could somehow stem the flow before it got out of hand. If she started now, she knew she wouldn't be able to stop. Before she even had the chance to respond, however, she heard him sigh.

“Never mind - it doesn't matter,” he said. “We should get started.” His tone became more businesslike with each word he spoke. “In case you weren't told, we're trying to find out why dementors have migrated into this area. Who or what's responsible.”

Hermione bowed her head and nodded, but she didn't know if Harry was even looking at her.

“Point me,” he said, and Hermione glanced his way in time to see his spinning wand come to a stop, pointing directly into the forest behind them. “Let's go,” he said, and strode purposefully into the woods, leaving Hermione to trail along sadly behind him.

For the next half hour, not a single word was exchanged between the two. Harry continued determinedly through the lichen-covered trees, every now and again checking his wand to make sure he was going in the right direction, and Hermione simply walked behind him, intermittently staring at her feet and the back of his head as though she could perhaps see his thoughts if she examined it long enough.

The forest was intensely green, and she felt that it was mocking her - emerald staring down at her from every direction except from where she wanted to see it. The light decreased as they went deeper into the forest because of the thick canopy of green leaves above them, but eventually the fading sunlight began to peek through with more frequency.

At this point Harry threw out his arm to signal Hermione to halt. He pressed a finger to his lips, gripped his wand a little more tightly, and pressed forward at a much slower rate. Hermione thought that both of these actions were quite unnecessary considering their already intense silence, and she had been clutching her wand forcefully since they had Apparated.

Nevertheless, she slowed her pace and continued with much more care than before, listening intently for the slightest noise. But nothing could be heard beyond the occasional snap of a twig beneath their own feet and the soft rustle of their cloaks as they moved. Even the breaking of the twigs was muted due to the mossy ground beneath them.

Eventually Hermione could see a brighter gap of sunlight peeking through the trunks a few hundred yards in front of them, and as they drew nearer they saw that it was a break in the trees, perhaps a clearing bridging two sections of forest.

They proceeded even more slowly now, and Harry cast a Disillusionment Charm upon himself, which Hermione quickly mimicked on herself. As they neared the edge of the trees, they were surprised at the sight that met their eyes.

A huge mansion sat in the clearing, its stone façade staring menacingly at them from a distance. Actually, a small castle would be a more apt term to describe it. Although it was mostly rectangular, battlements reminiscent of medieval Scottish castles rose above the tall building. Ivy covered a large portion of its front, with lines of empty windows peeking through the thick vines to examine the forest indifferently. Directly in front of Harry and Hermione was a large tower situated at the end of the mansion, rising just as high as any of the battlements. As the two stared awestruck at the impressive fortress, they finally detected the wide double doors at the left end of the mansion, opposite from the tower. The sky seemed darker beyond the clearing, and the air had an unusually cold tinge to it.

“I think,” Harry said, “we've found where the dementors are gathering.”

Hermione watched him scan the area a moment more, and then he retreated back into the trees, just enough so that they would be hidden while keeping the castle and its grounds in sight.

Once they were back in the shadows of the forest, Harry removed the charm on himself, and Hermione once again did the same. Together they sat heavily on the ground, facing the mansion to wait for any sign of movement.

Although she tried to keep her attention on the forbidding mansion, Hermione couldn't help but glance over at Harry after several silent minutes. His arms were draped carelessly over his raised knees, and he held his wand loosely in his right hand, tapping it softly against his leg. Though he kept his eyes forward, she could tell he was deep in thought. He had a small frown on his face, and Hermione hated herself for causing him distress.

In a soft breath, she answered the question he had asked earlier, the one he hadn't allowed her to respond to.

“Of course I missed you,” she said quietly.

Harry didn't look at her at first, but after a moment he raised his wand and cast Muffliato on the small area surrounding them. Then he turned to Hermione, still frowning.

“You certainly have an odd way of showing it,” he said, but there was less animosity in his voice than before. “Usually you seek out someone you miss - your logic of avoiding me seems a little faulty.”

He was trying to keep a joking edge in this last statement, but Hermione could detect more sadness than anything.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I never meant -”

“It's fine,” Harry said, cutting her off. He fixed her with an intense stare, and the raw vulnerability in his gaze made her heart melt. “Just…don't ever do it again. Please. No matter what happens between the two of us.”

Hermione fixed him with just as intense of a stare, as though trying to ensure that he would believe the validity of her reply.

“I won't. I promise.”

Harry apparently did believe her, because he gave a satisfied nod. He turned his eyes towards the mansion again as though signaling an end to the conversation, so Hermione was surprised when he addressed her again.

“I missed you too,” he said in a low voice.

Hermione felt a warmth spread through her that she hadn't felt for almost two months at his simple words. She ached to reach out and touch his hand, to show him that she appreciated his comment, but at the same time she was almost frightened of instigating contact with him. Though perhaps it was a good thing to ignore her impulse for the time being - to acknowledge it would be to delve into the inevitable conversation they desperately needed to have, and this certainly wasn't the time or place for such an encounter.

“How's James?” she said instead.

A ghost of a smile occurred on Harry's lips. “He's gotten big,” he said. “And he's started to crawl.”

Hermione smiled as well. “I bet that's quite the handful.”

“Definitely,” Harry chuckled. “Me and - we can hardly keep up with him.”

Hermione noticed as Harry deliberately sidestepped saying his wife's name.

“How has Ginny been?” she said purposefully, knowing they couldn't avoid the topic forever.

“She's fine.”

Hermione waited for him to say more, but he didn't seem keen to disburse any other information.

“Well, have you seen much of Ron?” she asked. She was determined to get him to acknowledge one of their spouses.

“Yes,” he said, and she was pleased to see that he appeared more uncomfortable now. “I've spoken to him a few times at the office.”

“And?” Hermione prompted.

“And nothing,” Harry said, a slight edge to his voice. “Look, Hermione - I really don't feel like talking about Ginny or Ron until we've discussed a few other… more pressing things. Which we're going to do as soon as we're done with this.”

His tone left no room for negotiation.

“Alright,” she said quietly.

Night had almost completely overtaken the area by this point, and the only light provided to the courtyard was given by the moon. Hermione examined the sky above them thoughtfully - the stretch above them and the mansion was filled with thousands of stars, and she couldn't help but think back to what were ironically simpler times: sitting under a sky much like this one as they waited with a hippogriff to alter the course of time; picking their way through a familiar forest to meet the giant brother of Hagrid; lingering under the trees of forests that were completely unfamiliar to them, hoping and praying, with only the thin canvas of a tent protecting them from the outside world. Hermione wondered if Harry was possibly thinking of the same things.

But her nostalgia only extended as far as the stars - they ended abruptly in the sky beyond the mansion, creating a blank void of darkness that further attested to the creatures that resided there.

Engrossed as she was in the sky, she was a bit surprised by Harry nudging her shoulder and pointing to the middle of the courtyard. A tall robed figure had suddenly appeared at the very edge of the clearing, a little too close to their position for Hermione's liking. She was impressed that Harry had been able to see him in the darkness. The man was much more visible in the openness of the moonlit clearing, but the border of the trees was almost pitch black.

They both watched the figure until he had disappeared through the doors, and even then they continued to watch. After several long minutes, Hermione finally heard Harry move beside her. He stood up, and she did the same.

“Are you ready, Copper?” Harry asked lightly, his eyes never moving from the mansion.

Hermione gave a small nod. “As ready as I'll ever be, Swiftpaw,” she said, understanding the connotations of using their nicknames.

“I want you to stay in my shadows, on the side opposite to the house,” he continued. “If anyone's looking out of the windows it'll be less suspicious.”

“Are wolves even indigenous here?” Hermione asked curiously. “And I'm assuming we're in Scotland?”

Harry shook his head. “Yes, we're in Scotland - Glen Etive, to be exact. And no, wolves aren't around here. They used to be, but they've been extinct in the country for a while. Foxes are still around, but obviously I can't hide behind you. Our best bet is to hope that they don't know what species live around here, though I don't think that'll be a problem. I'm more concerned with making sure they don't see both of us - seeing a fox and wolf together is obviously more suspicious than just seeing a wolf.”

“You learned everywhere your form is indigenous to?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “It's pretty useful to know where it won't get questioned. Though I doubt that anyone's first thought when they see a wolf is whether or not it's indigenous to the area,” he chuckled.

“True,” Hermione said, also amused.

“Okay,” Harry said. “If we're clear on that, let's go.”

He immediately morphed into a large grey wolf and Hermione quickly changed into her fox form. Harry trotted forward to the edge of the trees and she scampered along beside him. When they emerged into the clearing, Harry was careful not to outstrip Hermione's pace. He walked briskly through the grass, which was surprisingly well-kept considering the remoteness of the location. Hermione held her breath as they hurried across the landscape, but before she had time to become too worried they had reached the mansion.

Harry quickly bypassed the door and slipped behind the corner just in case someone decided to exit the house. As soon as they were within the mansion's shadows, he transformed back into himself. When Hermione was also standing on two legs, she looked to Harry for further instructions. She could see he was thinking quickly, and he soon gave her a stern expression.

“I need you to stay here,” he said after he had wandlessly performed another Muffliato charm.

Hermione couldn't believe her ears. “You're kidding me, right? You must be joking.”

“I'm not,” he said firmly. “This isn't a game, Hermione. Here, you follow my instructions, and I'm instructing you to stay put.”

“Don't pull that card on me!” she said angrily. “You have no right -”

“Actually, I have every right,” Harry countered before she could complete her sentence. “I'm the Auror - I do these sort of things every day.”

“And I used to do them with you, if you recall!” She couldn't believe his insensitivity. “I'm just as capable as you are!”

“Did I ever say you weren't capable of doing this?” Harry said.

“You're implying it by insisting I stay out here! I was obviously sent here with you for a reason: it's only logical that I should help you!”

“If we were actually dealing with dementors, I'd be inclined to agree with you,” Harry said begrudgingly. “But we're not. I'm literally going to scout out the mansion and see if I recognize whoever just walked in here. It'll just be more difficult with two of us in there. I'll be in and out in no time.” He sounded as though he was trying to placate her, but Hermione was unconvinced. Unfortunately, she couldn't find fault in his judgment.

“But what if there's more than one person?” she asked in a last ditch effort.

“Then I'll have to leave anyway so we can get backup.”

Hermione wracked her mind for any other way to convince Harry to allow her to accompany him, but her search was unproductive.

Harry seemed pleased as he recognized her submission, which infuriated Hermione to no end.

“I'll be in and out in no time,” he said again, and pulled something from within his robes. Hermione realized it was his Invisibility Cloak.

“Here -” he began, but she instantly pushed away his proffering hands.

“Don't you dare try to give me that,” she said.

“Why not?” Harry said, bewildered.

“You're the one going in there,” Hermione said furiously. “As you've made it perfectly clear that I'm not allowed to go with you, I certainly won't be needing it.”

“But -”

“No,” she said more forcefully. “You may be able to make me stay out here, but you can't make me take that. And if you leave it here I'll just use it to follow you into the house.”

Harry gave an aggravated sigh. “Fine,” he relented. “You don't have to take the damn Cloak. But make sure you're Disillusioned.”

“I will,” she said.

“And keep an eye out for anybody else.”

“Of course.”

She could see Harry attempting to come up with further orders, but he finally nodded as he could think of nothing else. He slipped the Cloak around his shoulders as he walked towards the edge of the house, but before he ducked out of sight he glanced back at her.

“Did you ever block me from you wards?” he asked.

Hermione could see the question had been plaguing him for some time.

She shook her head.

“No. You could've come in anytime you wanted.”

Harry was seemingly satisfied with this answer, because the next moment he had raised the Cloak over his head and disappeared around the corner of the mansion.

*************

The first thing that struck Harry as he stepped into the cold shadows of the house was the sheer cavernous size of it. The sloped ceiling could be seen far above his head, and he guessed that it extended along every floor of the mansion. He stood in a large foyer that extended in front of him and to the right. A pair of tall double doors stood at the very end of the northern section, and a large window-lined corridor extended to his right. Harry debated for a moment about which way to tour first, and then decided on the double doors in front of him - there seemed to be a staircase to his right, so he would save that for later.

He trod silently across the white marble floors, his ears alert to the slightest noise, but the foyer was just as silent as himself. The doors loomed closer with each step, and when he finally reached the end he carefully pushed them open. Thankfully, no one seemed to be present on the other side, but Harry couldn't help but be momentarily astonished by the splendor of the room he had just entered. He stood in a room larger than the Great Hall, and by the expansive floor space he assumed it was a ballroom. Three enormous chandeliers hung at equally spaced intervals along the length of the room. There were also windows that were placed at the same intervals as the chandeliers, and although they extended almost to the ceiling, only the palest streams of moonlight crossed the floor (which Harry noted with a shiver was blood-red). The main light source came from the circular arrangement of candles in the chandeliers.

As Harry craned his neck to peer more closely at the candles and glittering crystals above him, he also couldn't help noticing the golden patterns on the arched ceiling. The detailed designs lacing their way across the ivory surface were simultaneously intricate and bold, and he found that he very much preferred to gaze at it than the starkly contrasting marble beneath his feet. However, he knew that he needed to get through this mansion as quickly as possible and turned his attention to more practical matters.

He quickly saw that there were two entries to the ballroom: the door which he had just entered through that led to the foyer, and an impressive staircase at the opposite end of the area. To his left were the windows, and to his right, a little more than mid-way up the wall, were two balconies arranged directly across from the gaps between the windows. He guessed that the balconies served the occupants of the house who didn't wish to directly participate in any events occurring in the ballroom.

Deciding to continue onward, Harry quickly made his way to the grand staircase and ascended to the next floor. At the top, he turned right and continued along a corridor that led into the bowels of the house.

Without the windows and candles to provide light, Harry found it very difficult to maneuver the dark hallways. He didn't dare illuminate his wand, so he remained close to the wall, using one hand to feel his way along like a blind man and holding his wand in the other. He noticed that there were unlit lamps lining the walls, and twice he felt his hand touch the smooth surface of wood, which he assumed to be doors, but he only paused for a moment by them to listen carefully for any sort of noise. When he heard nothing, he continued his slow trek down the corridor, grateful when he finally found the corner of the wall and was able to make another right turn.

However, he almost groaned as he saw that he was in another corridor that was almost identical to the last one. At least there were windows along this one, Harry thought - he was able to see where he was going.

Feeling a bit agitated by the size of the house, he strode forward and threw open the closest door he could see. Thankfully, no one appeared to be here either. Not that Harry could see, anyway. The room was even darker than the hallway had been, so he decided to take a risk and cast a quick Lumos.

As the soft light flooded the room, Harry could see that it was a library. Shelf after shelf of dusty tomes filled the room, as well as a few overstuffed, wingback chairs. The two doors that he had felt earlier were spaced along the right wall, and at the far end was one of the two balconies that he had noticed from the ballroom. Nothing at all suspicious.

With a sigh, Harry backed out of the room, quietly shut the door, and continued walking down the hallway. As he came to another wall, he noticed another door. He listened at the door, but just as before he heard nothing. He grasped the doorknob and went to turn it, but it barely budged. Frowning, he tried turning it a few more times, but nothing happened.

He debated for a moment about whether to try to unlock it with a Alohomora charm, but he decided against it, at least for the time being - he wanted to disturb as little as possible if he could help it.

Beginning to feel apprehensive at the lack of people, Harry turned from the door and walked a bit more quickly than before along the new passage. It was wider than the previous halls, and Harry could see the second balcony at the far end. He made his way closer to it, but found an archway halfway down the passage and went through it instead. To his right, he saw a large staircase that led to the ground floor. To his left, a smaller staircase that led to the second floor. Grumbling to himself, he turned left so he could search the higher floors.

When he came to the next landing, he could faintly see that the floors were covered in thick, deep red carpeting. There was only a wall to his right, so Harry had no choice but to turn left and try the first door he came to. He noticed small puffs of dust emitting from the thick carpet with each step he took, and again he wondered where the mysterious man had wandered to in this cavernous house - surely he was beginning to run out of places to look. Each door he opened increased the probability of finding him, and therefore each door Harry opened increased his trepidation. As he opened the next door, he stopped in his tracks.

Shit.

Squinting through the darkness, Harry saw that half a dozen doors lined each side of the narrow hallway. He quickly surmised that this floor served a residential purpose for the house's previous occupants. Cursing his luck, he strode to the first door on his left, resigning himself to a long and nerve-racking search.

However, when he cracked open the door, Harry began to wonder if the search would take as long as he had guessed.

A small, rectangular wooden table sat in this room, as well as a handful of hardback chairs. It was rather barren, Harry thought, and he would've passed it by had it not been for the fact that he realized he could actually see the room with ease. He pushed the door open a bit more, holding his wand at the ready, until the entire room was exposed to him.

Bingo, Harry thought grimly.

Three lamps were bracketed into the wall, much like the ones he had passed all the way through the house. However, unlike before, these three were lit. And better yet, there was another door at the other end of the room. A tapestry partially covered it, so Harry guessed that it was usually meant to be hidden.

I'm getting close now, he thought. He pulled his Cloak more tightly around himself as he walked forward, and gripped his wand more tightly than ever as he approached the door. Unfortunately, he could hear nothing on the other side, so he knew his search wasn't quite over.

He took as much care as possible to be silent as he opened the next door, and his eyes widened as he stepped into the next area. He had once again encountered another staircase, but this wasn't like any of the others he had seen in the mansion. The others had been wide, expansive, open, and not in the least bit intimidating disregarding the mission Harry was on. This narrow, dingy, spiraling stone staircase was the epitome of intimidating, especially since whoever Harry was looking for was almost guaranteed to be at the top. He inherently knew that he must be in the tower that he and Hermione had seen at the far right of the house. In other words, as far away as humanly possible from the main doors where he had entered the house.

Harry could feel himself shaking slightly as he finally steeled himself to ascend the stairs. He clenched his wand so tightly that his knuckles were white, and the eerie glow from the candles lighting the staircase made him uncomfortable - he almost wished for the darkness of the previous passageways. Without a single sound he crept up the stairs, and a little sooner than he would've liked he came to another door. And for the first time, he could hear voices behind it.

Pulling the Cloak from his head so he could hear better, Harry pressed his ear against the door.

“ - long do you think it will take?”

“Be patient. It shouldn't be much longer now.”

“I personally don't think this whole deal is worth a shit anyway. It seems like a long shot.”

Furrowing his brow, Harry strained to hear the conversation so he would know what to say to Wahler. He wasn't sure he recognized any voices, but hopefully someone would drop a name soon.

“Anything we try these days is a long shot. This is the most we've come up with in months.”

“Don't even bother with the git, Watts. He's just afraid of the dementors.”

A burst of laughter erupted from the room, and Harry wondered just how many people were in the room. He had heard three distinct voices, but the level of the laughter made him think there were more.

There was a murmur as the laughter died down, but it was so quiet Harry couldn't hear it.

“Ah, lighten up, Krause, we're just screwing with you. None of us want to be out here in the middle of fucking nowhere any more than you do.”

Krause? There was something very familiar about that name, but the memory alluded Harry's mind. He knew he had heard it somewhere, but he couldn't get caught up in his thoughts now. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the conversation.

“Not that we've been completely told what the hell we're sticking around here for…we brought the dementors and have been stuck here doing nothing ever since.”

“Like I said, be patient. If tonight works out, it'll be worth it.”

Harry pressed his ear so hard into the door that he felt as though it were being crushed into his skull. What were they planning?

He heard some grumbling from within the room, and then the same voice as before spoke up again, sounding harsher than before.

“Just because he doesn't tell us every little thing about his plans doesn't mean they won't work. Dolohov knows what he's doing.”

Harry felt as though his heart had dropped into his stomach. So that's where he'd heard Krause's name…he was one of Dolohov's new recruits. His hand unconsciously went to the raised scar tissue on his stomach where Dolohov had stabbed him so many months ago.

“If you recall, the last plan didn't exactly go the greatest…”

“Actually, it went quite well. Just because we ran out of time—”

“Would both of you shut up already?” This voice was, surprisingly, that of a young woman. She sounded rather bored. “That was last time. We can't do anything about that. So stop flapping your jaws.”

“Stop acting so high and mighty. I know we can't do anything about it, but it helps to know what mistakes we made.”

“And we've already discussed it. There's no point in wallowing in the past. We need to focus…We won't let Potter get away this time.”

If Harry had felt nervous before, it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Not only had his heart dropped into his stomach, but at the mention of his name it was beating so wildly that he felt it would burst through his skin at any moment. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as he backed away from the door, his breathing erratic. He had to get out of this place. Now.

He spun around to do just this, but halted in his tracks as he came face to face with the hulking, blonde form of Thorfinn Rowle.

As Rowle stared straight into his eyes, Harry felt a trickle of sweat trail down the back of his neck.

Shit shit shit shit I forgot to pull my Cloak back over my head.

However, luckily for Harry, Rowle seemed too surprised at the sight of the disembodied head of Harry Potter floating just outside the door of the Death Eater's hideout to do anything instantly. He whisked his wand towards Rowle's face just as the man opened his mouth to let out a yell.

A red light shot into the Death Eater's face as Harry wordlessly stunned him, and with a muffled groan Rowle collapsed. Lunging forward, Harry attempted to grab the front of Rowle's robes, but it was too late: the man's body fell down the staircase, thudding loudly against the stone as he went, and Harry winced as he heard the Death Eaters in the room behind him clamber through the room.

Not bothering to wrap the hindering Invisibility Cloak around his shoulders, Harry dashed down the stairs, leaping over Rowle as he went. He was so intent about descending the stairs that he completely bypassed the door he had come through, but he knew there was no time to turn around - he could already hear the Death Eaters thundering down the staircase.

Praying for another exit, Harry continued to fly down the stairs three at a time. As the staircase continued to spiral downward, he felt his heart sink. But thankfully another door came into view a few moments later.

“Thank Merlin,” he muttered as he threw open the door. The footsteps were coming closer every second. He ran into the next corridor, but he barely had the time to pick up his speed before he encountered another door. He grasped the doorknob and pulled at it urgently, but it didn't move.

“Shit! I really don't need this right now!” he hissed. He frantically pointed his wand at the handle, hoping his simplest spell would be enough.

“Alohomora!” he shouted, not bothering to keep his voice down. He felt like passing out in relief when the lock clicked. He had barely managed to open the door when a spell blazed past his head, ruffling his hair.

“You can't run forever, Potter!” he heard someone yell from behind him as he dashed out of their sight.

“I don't intend to!” Harry yelled back as he took off down the hall. “Just enough to get away from you,” he muttered to himself.

As he ran, he realized the door he had come from had been the door he had attempted to open earlier, which meant he was on the first floor once more. Yes - the archway that led to the main staircase was just ahead to his left. He picked up his speed another notch as he realized this, but skidded in a wide curve as he saw a dark-haired man waiting for him under the arch, brandishing his wand threateningly. Harry slid feet first beneath the man's initial spell and was on his feet again as soon as he had evaded it.

Unfortunately, he needed to elude a whole volley of spells as soon as he had stood to his full height.

“Protego!” he yelled desperately as he ran in the only direction that was available to him: towards the balcony at the end of the corridor. He felt his shield take one, two, three spells, but it shattered as he was within ten feet of his destination. He sprinted the last few steps for all he was worth, grabbed the railing, and launched himself over the edge.

“Concutio!” the female Death Eater shrieked.

Harry had just leapt to clear the balcony's railing as the spell made contact with his right leg. He felt the bones of his knee and lower leg shatter from the force of the spell, and he let out a scream of agony as he hurtled through the air. After a few seconds of his dizzying fall, Harry crashed to the marble floor of the ballroom, his Cloak falling from his hand. He lay there for a moment, blinded by pain, but he knew he had to get out - he couldn't just sit here. Hermione needed him. She might not know he was in trouble until it was too late.

His breathing ragged, he tried to push himself to his feet. However, his leg wouldn't support his weight. He struggled for a few more moments, each attempt clumsier than the last, and then he heard someone clapping. He jerked his head to the side to see the Death Eaters standing in a semi-circle around him. He saw that it was the woman who was clapping.

“Excellent try, Harry. I know that must hurt terribly,” she said sweetly.

“It does,” Harry muttered through gritted teeth. With one final push, he managed to rise to his feet. He was incredibly unsteady, but he was stable enough to raise his wand defensively towards the Death Eaters.

“Ooooh, I'm impressed!” the woman said, smiling. She had long hair nearly as dark as Harry's, and dark brown eyes as well. She was extremely attractive, and she certainly seemed to know it. She approached him slowly, tantalizingly, and circled him, letting her hand lightly graze his chest as she went. He knew better than to attempt to stun her - the other Death Eaters would curse him before he had the chance to blink. He considered grabbing her and pressing his wand into her throat, but he knew that wouldn't work either. Even if the Death Eaters believed his threats and were compassionate enough to secure her safety, Harry knew that she could easily throw him off balance with the slightest movement. It would be better to wait for another opportunity.

If there is one, he thought uneasily.

“Not many people would be awake after withstanding that curse, let alone standing,” the woman cooed. “Tough, talented, and good-looking…” Her mouth was right next to his ear, and Harry shivered unwillingly. She nuzzled the side of his face with the tip of her nose. “I could get used to having you around…” she murmured.

“That will be enough, Krista. I believe you've made Mr. Potter feel more than welcome.”

Harry's eyes darted toward the Death Eaters, and saw who had spoken:

Dolohov had finally joined the group.

“If you insist, Antonin,” Krista replied, sounding a bit disappointed. “I'll see you later,” she whispered seductively into his ear, and then sauntered over to rejoin her comrades. Harry watched her leave with distaste.

Dolohov smiled as Harry surveyed the group. “It's been too long, Potter. As you can see, we've increased our numbers a bit. I believe you know Krause -” The thin, balding man in the back gave a curt nod. “And Watts and Nakul of course -” A tall, bearded man and a dark skinned man both jerked their heads in acknowledgement. “And of course you've already run into Rowle...he should be joining us shortly. And the gray-haired man to the right is Curtis Burkes - I believe you may know his uncle from the Borgin and Burkes shop in Knockturn Alley.” The identified man smirked and gave Harry a short wave. Only one brown-haired, handsome young man stood unidentified in the back, observing the confrontation as passively as a student observing a lecture.

Dolohov then gestured towards Harry. “And of course you all should know Harry Potter,” he said sarcastically. “The Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, Savior of the Wizarding World…”

The Death Eaters gave a harsh laugh, and Krista smiled pleasantly at him.

Harry felt his bad leg shaking as he continued to hold out his wand. He could see blood pooling around his foot in the periphery of his vision. It blended in well with the marble floors.

“Now that the proper introductions have been made on my side,” Dolohov continued, stepping closer to Harry, “I believe it's time for you to make an introduction of your own…where is the Mudblood?”

Harry felt his blood run cold as he stared at Dolohov. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

Dolohov gave a short laugh. “I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. I know Granger was asked to escort you on this little mission if yours.”

“Well, you've been misinformed then,” Harry replied, hoping they would take the shaking in his voice and hand as a result of his leg wound. “I didn't bring anyone with me. This was supposed to just be a scouting job…I didn't think I'd need anyone else.”

Dolohov raised his eyebrows, his pale features contorting into a smirk as he gazed at Harry.

“There's no point in lying, Potter…we know more than you think.”

His smirk widened until he was full-out smiling at Harry, and the effect was immensely disturbing. But before he could question the Death Eater, the doors to the ballroom were thrown open, effectively distracting him from Dolohov - and if he hadn't been so intent on remaining on his feet, Harry was sure he would've collapsed to the ground.

Rowle and an unknown, black-haired man had just entered the room, and Hermione was pinned between them.

She was thrashing around frantically, pure fury in her face as she bucked and kicked against her captors. Harry couldn't help but feel a trace of pride as he noted that both Death Eaters were struggling to keep a grip on the angry witch. The feeling only increased when he noted the numerous scratches along Rowle's face and the bloody mouth of the dark-haired man, who was also clutching her wand.

Dolohov, if possible, smiled even more widely at the look of distraught on Harry's face. “Now that we're all here, would you like to make the proper introductions, Potter?”

The two Death Eaters, clearly fed up with Hermione fighting, shoved her roughly towards Harry. He managed to catch her before she stumbled to the ground, but the effort nearly made him fall as well. Hermione seemed shocked by the state of his leg, but she knew better than to question him at the present time. Instead, she gripped his left arm and helped to keep him steady. He found her hand and squeezed it, but his eyes never left the group in front of him.

“Well, Potter?” Dolohov urged.

Harry maintained a stony silence as he stared down the Death Eater, who gave a sigh after a few moments.

“Since Auror Potter doesn't seem too keen on speech, allow me to introduce the new arrival. This is Hermione Granger, or more recently Hermione Weasley, and she is a very close friend of Mr. Potter -”

“How close would that be, Harry?” Krista said, interrupting Dolohov. “I'd like to think that you wouldn't sink so low as to fuck a filthy Mudblood, but after all, I don't know you all that well - I may have misjudged your character.”

Harry felt a tic in his jaw as he glared at the dark-haired female, and he tightened his grip on Hermione's hand as he tugged her closer to himself. She rubbed her thumb along his hand, and he felt himself grow slightly calmer.

“Krista!” The dark-haired man who had helped bring in Hermione snapped at the woman. “Keep quiet unless you actually have something to contribute.”

“It's fine, Xavier,” Dolohov said, waving down the man. “I find your sister's outbursts to be quite…amusing. She means no harm by it. Besides, I would think the injury the Mudblood gave you would hinder your speech.”

Xavier looked as though he wanted to protest, but merely inclined his head slightly at the snide remark.

“But as I was saying…” Dolohov continued, beginning to pace up and down in the space between Harry and Hermione and the Death Eaters. “Ms. Granger is a very close friend of Mr. Potter. She's always been a close ally of his - surprisingly useful for a Mudblood,” he added dryly, and the Death Eaters snickered appreciatively. Harry again felt his jaw twitch a bit and his heartbeat rise, but Hermione again grazed her thumb against his hand.

“She's assisted Potter frequently over the years,” Dolohov said as soon as the snickering had died down. “All the way up to the Battle of Hogwarts when the Dark Lord was defeated.” His tone became slightly darker as he delved into the sensitive subject matter. “You might say that she is one of the primary reasons Potter is alive today.”

Although Harry couldn't help but wholeheartedly agree with this statement, Hermione suddenly turned towards Dolohov.

“I may have helped him, but I wasn't the one who defeated Voldemort,” she said, anger tingeing her voice. She still held tightly to Harry, making sure he was steady on his feet. “He did that without any help - they dueled and Harry won! And the sooner you realize that the sooner you can get over your sick obsession with a dead wizard who caused everyone nothing but pain!”

Harry almost winced, expecting a sharp retaliation, but Dolohov didn't seem particularly ruffled by Hermione's outburst; instead, he smiled at her in an infuriatingly patronizing manner.

“This is true, Ms. Granger…at least partially. Potter may not have had any assistance from you or any other witch or wizard, but his survival was a mere fluke. He had other, much more powerful assistance at the time.”

“Which would be?” Hermione said contemptuously.

“The Elder Wand,” Dolohov said calmly. “Had Potter not disarmed Draco Malfoy, the Wand would have had no allegiance to him. Without the Wand's allegiance, Potter would have been killed.”

The room was silent as Harry stared at Dolohov as he halted his pacing.

“That's what this is about?” Harry said. “The Elder Wand?”

“Don't sound so surprised, Potter,” Dolohov said, fiddling with his own wand vaguely. “Rowle and I were both present at the Battle, and even if we weren't, it would've been all too easy to recover the story from anyone else in attendance. You didn't exactly keep quiet on the matter. You were kind enough to explain everything to the Dark Lord before his death, and as you know, bragging about the Wand is the surest way to get it taken from you.”

Harry felt his face flush at the memory of his encounter with Voldemort. Dolohov was right - he hadn't exactly been secretive about the source of his victory. He wracked his brains as he processed the situation. Dolohov wanted the Elder Wand. Clearly, Harry didn't have the Elder Wand. Dolohov knew this, because otherwise he would simply disarm him and take Harry's wand, thinking it to be the correct weapon. The Wand was back with Dumbledore…Harry had replaced it. Again, Dolohov clearly didn't know this. Otherwise he could simply go to Hogwarts and steal it…

“You're too late,” Harry finally said after a moment's deliberation.

“How so, Potter?” Dolohov asked. “Enlighten me.”

“I don't have it.”

“Which is why I'm asking you where it is.”

“No,” Harry said, trying to make his voice sound arrogantly triumphant. “You don't get it. I destroyed it. It's gone.”

Dolohov laughed in a true show of arrogance. “Do you take me for a fool, Potter? Do you honestly expect me to believe you destroyed the most powerful magical object ever created? That you were even capable of such a feat? Just snapped it in half, did you?”

“Maybe a taste of the Cruciatus Curse would loosen his tongue?” Burkes suggested.

“No,” Dolohov said. “Torture hasn't proved to be the most effective tool to use against Potter in the past…” He smirked at Harry, flicked his eyes in Hermione's direction, and then directed them back at Harry. His intentions were clear, and Harry felt slightly sick to his stomach.

His mind whirred furiously as he desperately looked for a way out of this mess. The Death Eaters were blocking the doors to the foyer, which was obviously the best way out. He and Hermione could try to make a run for the staircase behind them, but they would be wide open to curses. And even if they managed to make it to the staircase, they could be cut off at any number of points throughout the house. No, outright running wasn't an option.

Then Harry glanced above him, and he knew what his only shot was.

Dolohov rapped his wand against his hand as he continued to stare at Hermione.

“Well, Potter? Do you feel a little more inclined to tell us the truth, or would you like your Mudblood to do the talking for you?”

Harry gripped Hermione's hand more tightly than ever, willing her to realize his connotation. She squeezed back, and he took this as a good sign.

Be ready, Hermione. This'll be our only chance.

Dolohov now seemed to be annoyed by Harry's lack of response, and his tone became more hostile by the second.

“Fine, Potter. Apparently you care less for that Mudblood -”

“STOP CALLING HER A MUDBLOOD!” Harry yelled furiously, directing his wand at Dolohov. Then, before the man could react, Harry jerked his wand upward.

“BOMBARDA!”

With a deafening explosion, the chandelier directly over the Death Eaters was blown from the ceiling and came crashing downward. Screaming in panic, they all threw themselves aside just as it smashed into the floor, the glass crystals shattering and flying in every direction.

“RUN!” Harry bellowed, and he and Hermione sprinted around the wreckage and towards the open double doors that led to the foyer. Harry tried to sprint, at least - his leg continued to hinder him greatly, and Hermione continued to support him as they dashed out into the cool night air. Harry used his wand to make the front doors shut firmly, and then began to cross the infuriatingly large courtyard.

“We just need to get to the trees!” he gasped, drawing in great mouthfuls of air as he limped forward as quickly as he could. He felt that he was about to pass out from pain, but he had to keep moving. “We can Apparate if we can reach them!”

Hermione uttered a small noise of consent as she tightened her grip on Harry's arm, but if she was going to say any more Harry didn't know, for at the same moment the doors behind them reopened with an explosive bang.

“Damn it!” Harry hissed. With Hermione leading him, he alternated between shooting spell after spell at the oncoming Death Eaters and shielding himself and Hermione. He felt a grim satisfaction as a weak cutting curse made contact with Nakul, whose face, arms, and chest suddenly became covered in shallow gashes. The dark-skinned man howled in pain and rage, which was enough to keep him momentarily distracted. An Impedimenta spell hit Krause a moment later, and he was hurtled back into the wall of the castle. The crack of his head against the stone was lost among the shouting and collisions of spells, but Harry knew the man was out for the count as he collapsed to the ground, unconscious.

Just as Harry began to think that they must be nearing the edge of the forest, that he and Hermione just might make it out of this alive, she suddenly came to an abrupt halt, dragging him to a stop as well.

“Hermione, what the hell are you -!” he began, but didn't finish his outburst as he saw that, amazingly, the remaining Death Eaters had stopped chasing them. In fact, they weren't even casting curses anymore. Instead, they were staring past Harry and Hermione, some into the sky, and others into the forest. Regardless of where they were staring, however, they all had one thing in common: a horrible smirk was etched into each of their faces, and for the first time Harry felt the unnatural coldness of the air and saw the goosebumps that had already erupted all over his skin.

“Harry…” Hermione whimpered from beside him, and he finally turned his head towards the forest, knowing what he would see.

Dozens of dementors hovered by the edge of the forest. They could barely be seen in the darkness, and they were shrouded in a cold mist as they moved closer to him and Hermione. Harry knew without looking that just as many were swarming through the sky above his head.

“Harry!” Hermione said more insistently, and terror was evident in her voice.

Despite the freezing air, Harry knew his forehead was coated with sweat, and the shaking in his leg was worse than ever. He raised his wand, and saw that his arm was shaking almost as badly.

Taking a deep breath, he tried with all his might to think of something, anything, happy.

But he was so tired. His leg was throbbing horribly, and the dementors were so close already. His hearing was muffled in his ears...he could barely hear Hermione's frantic shouting, as though he were listening to her from far away…

Wait, that was right. Hermione was here with him. She was standing right next to him, his arm flung around her shoulders as she struggled to keep him on his feet.

Hermione made him happy, Harry thought vaguely. He glanced through blurry eyes towards her, and her frightened brown eyes met his. His mind cleared somewhat as he gazed at her, and even more so as he thought about her lips sculpted to his, and the feel of her skin against his. He may not have told her, but that night had meant more to him than he could possibly describe.

Maybe he could do this…

But just a quickly as these thoughts flitted through his head, just as he managed to focus his wand towards the dementors once more, his mind wandered down a much less welcome path.

He had not been able to tell Hermione the way he felt because she had avoided him. She had skipped carefully around him in a spacious impression of the intimate dance they had shared, a painful mockery of the original.

The dementors were drawing ever closer, and Harry distantly registered that he had fallen to his knees.

She obviously didn't feel the same way. Otherwise she would've spoken to him a long time ago…she wouldn't have left him like that, with that sad and horrified expression on her face. No, she didn't want to be with him…she wanted to be with Ron…

The image of Hermione's fearful expression as she fled his room blurred as he stared at the real Hermione, who looked more frightened than he had ever seen her as she looked down at him. She was saying something, but no sound came from her mouth. He couldn't hear anything at all…

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, and then his eyes fluttered shut as darkness flooded his mind.

************

Hermione collapsed as Harry's knees finally gave way beneath him. His dead weight dragged her to her knees as well, and she frantically tried to keep him alert, though it was clear he was losing consciousness fast.

“Harry!” she yelled, shaking his shoulders. “You have to stay awake! I can't do this alone, please!”

Her shouting seemed to have no effect on him, and before long he sagged to the ground.

“No, Harry, come on, you can't do this!” She was positively sobbing now as she splayed her hands across his chest, but Harry turned his weary eyes up to her sightlessly. “I need you!”

“I'm sorry,” he whispered so softly that she could barely hear him, and then let his eyes close.

“No!” Hermione yelled. She pounded his chest desperately as she continued to scream, but she knew that it was pointless. Every second she wasted trying to wake him was a second that allowed the dementors to get closer, and therefore reduced both their chances for survival.

Breathing heavily, she threw herself towards Harry's wand, which lay a few feet from where he had fallen. She felt warmth flood through her fingertips as they made contact with the wood. It wasn't quite the feeling she got when she touched her own wand, but it was certainly enough to get the job done.

At least she hoped so. Both her own and Harry's lives depended on it.

She raised the wand and pointed it towards the dementors, which were close enough to be causing her an enormous amount of discomfort.

“Expecto patronum!” she said, and was horrified when a small silvery mist was all that emitted from the wand.

Damn it! she thought hysterically as the dementors batted away the charm as though it were a pesky mosquito. I've never been good at this spell at the best of times! Let alone when I'm being swarmed by dementors with Harry lying unconscious next to me…or worse…

She shook her head as these thoughts entered her mind, but it was too late - the seed had been planted. The dementors swarmed towards her more quickly than ever as they fed off her misery…they were upon her now.

No, she thought groggily. I have to do this…Harry's always been there for me…I need to be there for him.

She glanced down at him as she thought of this, and swallowed the lump in her throat as she gazed at his features in the pale light from the moon. She moved her hand along the contours of his jaw, never taking her eyes from him, even as the dark cloaks of the dementors swirled around her.

She wouldn't give up now. She couldn't.

And suddenly, against all rationality, against the freezing air that surrounded her, she felt a strange warmth in the pit of her abdomen, at her very core. It was so unmistakable and tangible that she couldn't imagine why she hadn't felt it before.

As soon as she noticed it, the fogginess was banished from her mind. It wasn't a happy feeling, exactly…it was more like a feeling of complete contentment, a feeling that was entirely detached from her current situation. But she knew, regardless of how this feeling was happening, that she needed to utilize it. Now.

With the warmth flooding her, Hermione raised her wand.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

Instead of the flimsy mist that came before, a more solid silvery substance shot from the tip of her wand, and began materializing into a corporeal Patronus. But as Hermione waited for the familiar shape of her otter Patronus, she was startled to see the charm condense into another shape entirely. It was much too different to be an otter…it was bigger, much bigger…with longer hair… a more pointed face…

Hermione stared at it blankly, unable to fully comprehend what had occurred.

Her Patronus had morphed into a wolf.

With a mighty growl, the Patronus bounded forward, its silvery hackles raised and teeth bared as it lunged at the dementors that had surrounded Hermione. Its shape emitted a powerful glow that nearly blinded her after the previous darkness, and through her squinted eyes she could see the dementors retreating into the sky and forest. The enormous wolf gave chase for a moment, but as the dementors disappeared it stopped, raised its head, and gave a resounding howl that resonated through the night. It echoed through the air longer than that of a normal wolf's, hanging in the air even as the ghostly form faded into the darkness.

She stared at the spot where her Patronus had disappeared for only the briefest moment before she heard an angry shriek from behind her.

“GET THEM NOW!”

Hermione instantly jumped to her feet as she saw the Death Eaters hurtling toward her and Harry. They had retreated to the walls of the house as the dementors had swarmed them, and she hoped it would be enough distance to ensure their escape.

She bent down and grabbed Harry, wrapping her left arm around his chest as she began to drag him backwards through the final few yards to the trees. With her right arm, she used Harry's wand to block the avalanche of spells that was hurtling towards them.

Dolohov was at the head of the group, fury in his face as he glared madly at Hermione. She heaved Harry back with all her strength, adrenaline pumping through her veins as the Death Eaters drew nearer. Tears were streaming down her face in earnest, and she barely noted through her terror that her shield, unmanaged, was maintaining its strength throughout the onslaught.

As she finally stumbled back into the trees, she saw Dolohov's fury reach a new height as he cast one final curse towards Hermione's shield. It shattered under the power of the curse, but now it was too late. Hermione glared defiantly at the group, wrapped her other arm tightly around Harry, and they both disappeared from the forest, just barely managing to hear the beginning of the Death Eaters' furious screams.

Hermione's knees crashed into the ground a moment later as she appeared in a calm grassy clearing. She honestly didn't remember where she had chosen to appear, but it didn't matter. She fell back into a sitting position as the final dregs of energy left her, still clutching Harry to her. As she settled down into the dewy grass, she gently placed his head in her lap, against her stomach, and tears flowed from her eyes more furiously than ever. Occasionally a stray tear would fall into his hair as she stroked the dark strands, and she clenched her eyes tightly to fight back her sobs.

What am I going to do now?

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37. Revelations

A/N: Okay guys, here's the big confrontation. Hope you enjoy! Please review, sans flames.

Thanks to SpecialK220, justduck, Charlotte, EmmaRadcliffe, UKwildcat820, noorelisa, VampLvr, RogueBHS, Paddy, and the Anonymous person for you're reviews! You guys rock! And thanks to everyone who is reading period…over 55,000 hits, so that's great!

Chapter 37: Revelations

The silence of the dim room was shattered as Dolohov slammed his fist onto the table, causing the goblet on its surface to be turned on end. The contents of the cup spread over the unfinished wooden table, seeping into its grain and dripping over the edge to create a pool of red liquid.

With a roar of rage, the Death Eater swiped his arms across the table to send the goblet and everything else rocketing into the wall next to him. The loud clattering was deafening, but the brown-haired occupant sitting at the other end of the table looked on impassively.

“All of that fucking planning for NOTHING!” Dolohov roared, sweeping around and slamming his hands against the wall. “The filthy half-blood still got away!”

“Which was always a possibility,” the brown-haired man said neutrally.

Dolohov turned sharply to the man and curled his lip in a snarl.

“Not according to your brilliant plan!” he said viciously. He pointed a finger accusingly at the man. “You swore it would work!”

“I never swore anything. I said we had a good chance.”

“And obviously you were wrong! You're the one who insisted on luring the Mudblood along for this, and if you didn't notice, she's the ENTIRE REASON HE ESCAPED!”

“By all means continue shouting,” the man said in a bored voice. “It really drives your point home much more effectively than speaking normally.”

“Just as your arrogant demeanor makes your point all the more successful,” Dolohov sneered back, though he did lower his voice. “But it's true - you insisted on including the Mudblood, and now Potter is gone. If she hadn't been here, he would've been ours. I told you the dementors would be all that was necessary for Potter's weak mind!”

The man sighed in a patronizing manner. “Contrary to your belief, Potter's mind isn't as weak as you claim. The only reason your plot did as well as it did was because of Hermione Granger, not in spite of her.”

Dolohov, for once, seemed confused by this statement.

“That's ridiculous,” he said, though he now seemed unsure of himself. Despite the youthfulness of the man in front of him, he had proven to possess a wisdom far beyond his years. “Why would the Mudblood have anything to do with this?”

“Because without her presence, Potter wouldn't have been nearly as susceptible to the dementors,” the man said calmly. “I'm aware you were under the impression that such a vast number of dementors could overcome Potter's Patronus, but I knew that without her it would have been a pointless endeavor.” He gave a small smile at this point, though it was neither conceited nor particularly happy. “As you may remember, he never managed to even attempt a Patronus, let alone produce a corporeal one.”

“And how did you happen to foresee this?” Dolohov said, unwillingly intrigued.

The brown-haired man twirled his wand between two of fingers. “It's of no importance,” he said indifferently.

Dolohov opened his mouth to respond with an angry retort, but the man held up a hand to silence him. Dolohov clapped his mouth shut, watching as the man's wand became still in his hand.

“I take full blame for our failure tonight,” the man said, his voice still toneless. Even his blue eyes were uncomfortably empty of emotion. “I made a small… miscalculation. I will be more thorough in the future.”

Without another word, the brown-haired man stood up, effectively putting an end to the conversation. He walked towards the door, but just as it was about to shut, he spoke once again.

“Dispose of Mr. Sanders as well,” he said. “We won't need him any longer.”

And with a soft click the man shut the door.

Dolohov stared, disgruntled, at the door for several moments, but then turned his head with a cruel smile. After walking a few steps, he knelt and lifted the chin of a bloodied man who was collapsed in a heap in the corner of the room. The man was barely conscious, but fear could be detected easily in his half-open eyes.

“But how about we have a little fun first?” Dolohov said, and raised his wand to the man's chest.

***************

Hermione didn't know how long she sat in the clearing, clutching Harry to her, but the sun was beginning to rise before she finally pulled herself together. The pool of blood around Harry's leg was substantial, and Hermione knew she should have attended to it sooner.

She gently laid Harry's head down in the grass and moved to examine his leg more closely. There had been no opportunity to inspect it before, but under the light of dawn she could finally see the extent of the injury.

A large portion of his calf had been blown apart by the force of whatever curse had hit him, and Hermione could see that the bone was clearly shattered. The sight of the white bone among his ravaged muscles made her feel ill, and she questioned her ability to heal such an extensive wound.

After a moment of hesitation, she decided to tamper with the leg as little as possible. The most pressing matter right now was to stop the bleeding; after that, a simple splint would be enough to get him to St. Mungo's for proper healing.

Pointing Harry's wand at the wound, Hermione muttered a spell that would alleviate the profuse bleeding. She did this to multiple locations on his leg, and when she was satisfied, she used a cleaning spell to rinse the wound clean. Lastly, she created a splint using a transfigured stick and length of thick string. When she finished, she was relieved to see that some color had returned to his face and his breathing had become more regular.

As she moved once more to sit at his back, she returned Harry's head to her lap. She loved the feeling of him being so close to her. A very strong part of her wished she could just stay here, holding him, sitting in the pale glow of the rising sun. No awkward avoidance, no guilt, no complicated circumstances that could change the balance of their lives forever.

“If only it could be like this when you're conscious…” Hermione muttered to herself wryly. She brushed his dark, messy hair away from his forehead, and then leaned down to place a soft kiss on the skin she had exposed. She allowed her lips to linger for multiple seconds, keeping her eyes shut tightly. She knew that when she opened her eyes, she would have to face the present, and she was quite frankly terrified of what it would bring.

“Please don't fail me now, Harry,” she breathed against his hair. “Anytime but now.”

She pulled away from him after a moment more and reluctantly stood up, relinquishing her hold on him. Taking a few steps back, she pointed the wand at his chest and heaved a sigh. She carefully arranged her features and emotions before she cast the spell.

“Rennervate.”

Harry's next breath was deeper and longer than the previous, and his eyes opened weakly as he exhaled. He was staring at the sky, and Hermione did nothing to call attention to herself, instead choosing to wait until he sought her out.

He took a few more deep breaths before he turned his head away from her, blankly observing his surroundings. It didn't seem like he completely recalled where he was, similar to the way you sometimes feel when you awaken in a strange home. After several seconds he finally turned his head in the opposite direction, towards her. She fidgeted nervously as he blinked several times, taking in the sight of her, and then she saw recognition appear in his eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, cautiously keeping her tone as neutral as possible. She folded her arms protectively across her stomach. It would be unacceptable to break down now.

Very slowly, Harry moved into a sitting position, but he released a sharp hiss of pain when he went to bend his leg.

“Disregarding the gaping hole in my calf?” He shrugged tiredly. “Okay. Are you alright?”

Hermione jerked her head downwards. “Fine.”

“I take it you got us out of there?”

She jerked her head again. “Yes.”

She was grateful when he didn't press the issue. Instead he looked guilty, and Hermione refrained from the urge to shake her head. Typical Harry.

His next words confirmed her suspicions.

“I'm sorry, Hermione. It was completely my fault and I should've -”

“Should've what, Harry?” she said, exasperated. “Taken me with you? Left me in the woods instead of by the house? It doesn't matter. I lived, you lived. You couldn't have done anything, so forget about it!”

She had said it more harshly than she intended, and Harry looked rather startled by the outburst.

“Fine,” he said, his tone slightly angry now. “I'll forget about it.” His face was set into stony determination as he bent his good leg and pushed himself from the ground. He swayed multiple times as he rose to his full height, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to step forward and help him. She doubted he would accept her help anyway.

When he had finally gained his balance, he fixed her with a severe look. “Are you coming to the Ministry with me?”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Ministry? You need to go to St. Mungo's and have your leg fixed.”

“It's fine,” Harry said gruffly. “I need to speak to Wahler first.”

Under normal circumstances, Hermione would've insisted he go until she was blue in the face. But these were not normal circumstances, so she gave yet another jerky nod.

“If that's what you want,” she said.

“It is,” Harry replied. “So are you coming with me or not?”

“I have to,” Hermione answered. “We only have one wand.” She stepped forward to hand over his holly wand.

“Right,” he said, taking it in his grip. “You can get another when we get there, at least until you can go to Ollivander's.”

“And you'll go to St. Mungo's after you speak to Wahler?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Are you coming with me there?”

Hermione shook her head. “No. I have some things I need to take care of.”

Harry's stare hardened even further as she said this. Hermione instantly realized the suspicion in his gaze and backtracked.

“I'm not trying to avoid you again,” she said curtly. “I just need to take care of something before we talk.”

Harry seemed incredulous of this, but nodded anyway. “And you'll have it taken care of before tonight?”

“Yes,” she said.

“Great,” Harry responded tersely. “So you should have no problem meeting me at the Leaky Cauldron around four.”

“No,” Hermione said, her own tone taking on a slightly angry edge, “that shouldn't be a problem at all.”

“Excellent,” he said, taking her arm roughly in his grip. “I'll be in room 10.”

Without waiting for a reply, Harry Disapparated, pulling an irritated Hermione with him. She was hoping that their later conversation would have much more pleasant results, but she somehow doubted it.

**********

After they had appeared in the Ministry and Hermione had snatched her hand back and stalked off, Harry himself stalked his way to the Auror Department. He noticed that the few people already at work were staring at him, and he figured it was his staggering walking pattern that was drawing their attention, as well as the rumpled and tattered state of his robes. For once no one spoke to him, but despite this small favor Harry found their gaping more infuriating than usual. Why couldn't they just ignore him for a change?

It was only at this intense wish for privacy that he realized what profound thing he had forgotten at the mansion.

“Fuck, the Cloak!” he exclaimed. Thankfully he was alone on the lift, so no one was around to hear his outburst. He thought furiously, wondering if he could possibly have just left it in the grassy clearing, but felt his heart sink as he recalled exactly where it was. It had fallen from his grip when he was blasted from the balcony by Krista's spell. Dolohov had to have discovered the Invisibility Cloak by now.

“Shit shit shit,” Harry groaned, clapping a fist to his forehead repeatedly. “This is the last thing I bloody needed today. The most dangerous Death Eater out there has possession of one of my family's ancient family heirlooms, which also happens to be one the most powerful magical objects in the world.” He laughed mirthlessly to himself. “No big deal.”

The lift opened, and Harry quieted his self-deprecating grumbling as he stepped into the Auror Office. Just as on the floors below, there were few individuals waiting around, but Harry was hoping Wahler would be one of them. He usually waited for his Aurors no matter how long their missions took, and Harry figured today wouldn't be any different.

“Alec?” he said, knocking on the door.

“It took you long enough, Potter!” Wahler grumbled from within the room “Get in here!”

Harry cracked the door open and stepped in quietly, trying his best to walk as normally as possible. Unfortunately, the agonized grimace he made with each step gave him away. Wahler looked surprised at his state.

“Damn it, Potter, what in the bloody hell happened to you!? I send you on a scouting mission and you come back with a quarter of your leg gone!”

“It's really not as bad as it looks, sir,” Harry said feebly.

Wahler gave a derisive snort. “Bullshit. Is Granger alright?”

Harry nodded as he sat down, appreciating the rest for his leg. “She's perfectly fine. No injuries or anything like that,” he said.

“That's good at least,” Wahler grunted.

“Glad to see where your preference lies,” Harry said, trying to lighten the mood. “Not that I blame you - she's much prettier than I am.”

Wahler gave a bark of laughter, which Harry took as a good sign.

“Well, tell me what's going on,” he said, waving his knarled hand impatiently.

“Er, alright,” Harry said. “First off, we found a mansion just a bit north of where you sent us.”

“Suspected as much,” Wahler said as he jotted down a note on a slip of parchment. “What else? Who was there?”

Harry sighed. “Dolohov.”

Wahler sat up straighter in his chair as he surveyed him. “Dolohov? How -”

Harry cut him off. “I really don't know, sir. But he's gotten more allies since the last time.”

Wahler frowned and leaned back in his chair. “Did you hear any names?”

Harry laughed. “Actually, I was pretty much introduced to the lot of them.”

Wahler chuckled as well. “I don't understand how these Death Eaters can be such idiots and still give us so much damn trouble.”

“Me either,” Harry said. “But he seems to have mostly the same lot except for a few others. Three of them. Curtis Burkes, and a brother and sister named Xavier and Krista. I didn't catch their last names.”

“I've heard of Burkes before,” Wahler said, writing down a bit more. “He's mainly been up to minor scams so far, but I guess he's looking to take a step up. I've never heard of the other two though.”

Harry shrugged. “They seemed pretty young, so it's not that surprising.”

Wahler placed his face in his hands and gave a tired sigh.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

Harry shook his head. “Not really. They didn't discuss any plans for the dementors. I…I actually think that it was all a ploy to get the Department's attention. I think they wanted another shot at me.”

Wahler gazed at him intently. “Why would you think that?”

Harry hesitated, wondering how much he should reveal. “Before they found me…well, the things I heard them discussing sounded like they were talking about me.”

Wahler shook his head. “But that seems like a gamble,” he said. “There was no guarantee that you would've been the Auror that was sent. An extremely low chance. If I hadn't had every other available Auror busy, I wouldn't have sent you.”

Harry felt his leg shaking badly despite the fact that he was sitting. “I don't understand it either, sir, but that's what I heard. I'll leave you the record of the conversation if you want to review it.”

Wahler gave a vacant nod as he stared at his desk. “Vials are in the cabinet behind you.”

Harry quickly found the vials and placed the memory of the Death Eaters' discussion within it. He ended the memory with Rowle's discovery of him. Harry was unsure if his boss should know anything beyond that.

Once Wahler had taken the vial, he dismissed Harry.

“Get that leg taken care of and then get some sleep, Potter. I know you need it. And don't worry about your wife either. We've already informed both her and Ron about your and Hermione's whereabouts. Actually, Weasley's going on a bit of a mission himself later tonight - probably won't get in until early tomorrow morning. I'm sure he'll will catch her, but if not, let Hermione know.”

Harry nodded, and then staggered back down to the Atrium, where he promptly Apparated to St. Mungo's.

***************

He didn't have very long to wait at the hospital. He had no more than set foot in the waiting area when a receptionist dashed in and directed him to the nearest Healer. Usually he would have complained at the special treatment, but he accepted it gladly today. Harry quickly explained the whereabouts of his injury, and the Healer immediately went about some diagnostic spells.

Once he was finished, the Healer gave Harry a small apology.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but due to the severe extent of your wound, there may be some lasting effects,” he said nervously. “Magic can quicken the natural healing of the wound, but it can't change the long term results. We can mostly repair the muscles and skin, but there'll still be scarring and you may have a bit of a limp.”

Harry shrugged nonchalantly. “I'm used to scars. It's fine.”

The Healer seemed immensely relieved at Harry's easy-going manner, and efficiently cast the proper spells on his leg. The shattered bones mended, the muscles reattached themselves to each other, and the skin knit itself together neatly before Harry's eyes within minutes. He experimentally extended his leg and detected a bit of stiffness, but other than that there was no extensive pain.

“Thanks,” Harry said. “That feels loads better.”

“My pleasure,” the Healer said, standing up. “The limping should become less troublesome over time. And if you have any problems, don't hesitate to come back.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said, and raised a hand to suppress the yawn that was about to escape him. He quickly thanked the Healer again and made a hasty retreat. He still needed to write Tom to reserve a room, and then he would Apparate straight there. His own bed was sounding absolutely amazing at the moment, but he knew if Ginny was home it wouldn't be an option. But he still wanted to get a few hours of sleep before he needed to meet Hermione. If their earlier conversation was any indication, he would definitely need his wits about him.

*************

As the clock on the wall inched closer and closer to four o' clock, Hermione couldn't help but feel herself collapsing into the numerous layers of her fear. So many things could go wrong…so many things would change…

She frowned as she stared at the ceiling, vacantly rolling her recently required replacement wand between the fingers of her right hand. After her short morning excursion, she had immediately returned home and lay down on her bed. Sleep never overtook her, and here she was, nine hours later.

Her brow furrowed as the same thoughts trailed through the already well-worn path in her mind. At first she thought her worry was unnecessary, that maybe she was overreacting. But she knew that those preliminary notions were completely untrue. In fact, by this point she was wondering why she hadn't ripped out the majority of her hair and dehydrated herself from excessive crying.

Surprisingly, not a single tear had escaped her eyes. Hermione speculated whether she was subconsciously saving her tears for tonight, when she might truly need them.

“I guess I should go,” she said to no one in particular as these depressing images flashed through her head. Harry would probably think she wasn't going to show up if she didn't leave now. Plus, Ron might be home soon, and then she'd have no opportunity to leave.

Even after she said this, she took several minutes to actually stand up. But she finally did, and then Apparated to the Leaky Cauldron before she could succumb to the temptation to sink back onto her bed.

When she arrived in front of the entrance, she slid into the pub and was grateful to find it so busy. There was less of a chance that she would be noticed. Using this to her advantage, Hermione sidled her way across the room until she reached the stairs that led to the upper rooms. She cast a discreet glance around the room, and when she thought no one was looking she quickly ascended them.

The room she was looking for was at the very end of the hallway. The black number 10 stood in sharp contrast to the pale wooden door, and she stared at it until she was sure she had her emotions under control. However, considering she'd had herself under control for the last nine hours or so, it didn't take very long. So, knowing she shouldn't delay the inevitable any longer, she cracked open the door and slid into the room.

As she closed the door silently behind her, she saw that Harry was already there, relentlessly pacing the floor. His hair was tousled as though he had recently woken up, and this was further amplified by the hand that he kept raking through the dark locks. She also noticed the pronounced limp that accompanied his steps, and she felt a sharp pang in her stomach as she watched him.

She hated that after all these years he still had such a burden on his shoulders, and she couldn't help but feel guilty about adding to it. She wanted it to be the way it used to be, where she could wrap her arms around him and listen to his problems, and when he could pull her against him and let her cry through her own troubles. That would be almost impossible now without forbidden memories intruding upon their minds, and Hermione wistfully wondered what it would be like to just return to being only his best friend.

Better yet, as Harry finally turned his emerald gaze towards her, she wondered what life would be like if they would have simply acknowledged each other ten years ago.

Hermione crossed her arms across her stomach.

A hell of a lot simpler, that was for sure.

*************

Harry's eyes fell on Hermione, and his furious pacing was stopped cold. He watched as she folded her arms across herself and met his eyes apathetically.

“Hey,” he said, all of his previous thoughts flooding from his mind.

“Hey,” she said in return. Harry hoped that she would immediately launch into some sort of previously prepared speech that he would be able to work with, but by the expectant look on her face he determined that he would have to begin the conversation.

They stared at each other blankly as he tried to gather his thoughts, but they continued to elude him.

“I've been trying to figure out what to say for the past few hours, but now that you're actually here I have no idea how to start,” he said lamely, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Hermione gave an understanding nod, but still said nothing.

He resumed his pacing for a few moments before distractedly stopping in front of the small table in the corner of the room.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked as he picked up a dark bottle from the table's surface.

Hermione frowned and gave a small shake of her head, resulting in Harry giving a careless shrug as he poured a liberal amount into a glass. He raised the glass to his lips and swallowed a few mouthfuls of the bitter liquid before setting it back down sharply. He saw that he had drained over half the glass and decided to top it off.

As the alcohol neared the glass's rim, he heard Hermione give a small sound of aversion and saw that her frown had deepened.

“Is this really so disagreeable for you that you have to get drunk just to talk to me?”

The uncalled for anger in her tone immediately set Harry's teeth on edge, and he picked up his glass again to take another defiant gulp. It burned his throat, but in a pleasant way. The borders of his thoughts were less concrete, and he felt that he could begin to think more easily. However, when he went to take another drink, the glass disappeared from his hand, as well as the bottle from the table. Harry turned to Hermione in time to see her replacing her wand in her pocket.

“I think that's enough,” she said curtly. “You're the one who arranged this, so stop avoiding it.”

Harry gave a small snort. “You would recognize avoidance,” he responded scornfully.

Hermione shook her head. “I've already apologized for that,” she said, her voice rising slightly. “I refuse to let you make me feel guiltier about it than I already feel.”

“Fine,” Harry said, his voice rising to match hers. “Let's get around to the real matter then, shall we?”

“Finally,” Hermione said nastily.

“Alright,” he said. He stepped closer to her. “Why'd you kiss me?”

The bluntness of his question seemed to momentarily stun Hermione's anger, but she eventually snapped herself from it. She shrugged her shoulders a bit helplessly.

“Because I wanted to,” she answered.

Harry was rather surprised by the calm honesty behind her words. He had expected her to have come up with an obstinate and thoroughly logical and thought-out excuse, so her simplistic reply was completely bewildering. However, he needed to know more.

“That's not enough,” he said, carefully observing her guarded features. “Why?”

“I don't know, Harry! I was drunk, you were drunk - it just seemed like an appropriate thing to do at the time!” Her voice was disdainful, and had risen even further in volume. She was practically yelling at him now.

“That doesn't answer my question!” he fumed, taking a step towards her. He was infuriated by the fact that she hadn't budged an inch since she'd entered the room. “I want to know why you wanted to kiss me, not what made you kiss me!”

“Does it honestly matter what I was thinking at the time?” she said furiously. “Why do you want to know?”

“Because before we can move past this, we need to know why it happened!” Harry bellowed. He felt years of frustration and emotions welling up inside of him, and he grabbed at his hair in anger. “I'm sick of this game we're playing! I just want you to be fucking honest with me!”

Hermione's eyes sparkled with unshed tears, and the air around them seemed to spark with their built-up rage. “Honesty works both ways, Harry!” she screamed. “So I think the better question would be why did you kiss me back?”

Harry felt a twitch in his jaw as the unanticipated response caught him off guard. He worked his jaw soundlessly for a moment before he could sputter out a reply.

“Don't…don't try to turn this around on me!”

“I'll turn this around if I want to!” Hermione shouted. Her arms were still crossed tightly across herself, but her expression had taken on a frightening edge. Harry didn't think he'd seen her this riled up since she'd set that flock of canaries on Ron in their sixth year. “Out of all the time I've known you, it's been me that's had to do all the giving! So I think I have every right to want your answer before I give you mine!” Her shoulders were heaving as she stared him down. “Why did you kiss me back?”

Harry inwardly winced at her unfortunately true statements. She had given more to him than he could possibly begin to realize, and he knew that she deserved an answer. But he once again floundered under her penetrating gaze.

“Because… well, I…” he began, stuttering slightly. His mouth all of a sudden felt horribly dry, and he knew his constricted chest was heaving as much as Hermione's. He swallowed the lump in his throat as she visibly became more and more aggravated with his hesitance, but he still couldn't bring himself to speak.

Finally, after he had endured minutes of soundless struggling, Hermione gave an infuriated sigh. When she spoke, her voice was both angry and desperate. “Damn it, Harry, please - because you what?”

Later Harry would wonder what would have happened if he'd simply kept his mouth shut until he could come up with a legitimate excuse. But a split second is hardly a sufficient amount of time to consider all of the possible consequences to any of his potential responses, and a split second happened to be all the time that separated Hermione's question from Harry's rapid and entirely impulsive answer.

He gave an enraged sigh much like Hermione's and roared at the top of his lungs:

“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!”

The words seemed to hang in the air like a dense fog as soon as they burst from Harry's lips, and he and Hermione stared at each other in pure astonishment as they fell upon both their ears for the first time.

Oh shit did I really just say that? Harry thought frantically as he searched Hermione's wide eyes for some insight to her thoughts. Even though he had never been able to admit it to himself until this moment, hearing those words out loud only cemented their certainty into his mind.

After Merlin knows how long, he'd finally told his best friend of fourteen years that he was in love with her.

He felt almost light-headed by the revelation, elated by the lifting of a burden that had been gripping his heart so tightly for so long. But just as quickly as the burden was raised from his chest, an even greater weight settled into it, only getting heavier with each never-ending second of silence that passed between them. With four words he had figuratively chucked himself from the edge of a cliff, and the quiet was like the rush of wind in his ears as he hurtled into the unknown - he only hoped jagged rocks were not the objects waiting for him at the bottom.

Harry studied Hermione for what felt like an eternity as a feeling of panic took a firm hold on his mind, forcing him to use every ounce of self-control he possessed so he wouldn't do something he'd regret.

Bolting from the room was out of the question, obviously…Hermione was standing in the way.

So short of barreling over her (which also didn't seem recommended), he was stuck here, frantically waiting for her to say something, anything. Usually he could detect some semblance of her emotions through her eyes, but for the life of him Harry couldn't gauge the expression in her flat gaze.

Relief? Happiness? Disappointment? Anger?

He wasn't sure which she was feeling - possibly all of them - but Harry could certainly recognize the one she finally latched onto as she began to speak.

“You love me?” she said, her voice dangerously low and shaking horribly. “And when did this revelation occur to you?” Her tone was contemptuous. Harry felt his heartbeat quicken as his panic increased in addition to the cold anger he felt at her words.

“I don't know,” he said truthfully, struggling to keep his own voice cool and level. “Does it even matter?”

“Sure it does,” she said, her voice scathing in its mocking sweetness. “It would really help to clear some matters up. Was it just now? Right after we slept together? Since I got married? Since you got married?”

“I don't know,” Harry repeated, his voice rising again as he began to lose his composure.

“Well, why don't you figure it out?” Hermione replied harshly. “I think it's pretty important. Was it earlier than that? Maybe when we were searching for the Horcruxes? Or back in Hogwarts even?”

She only seemed to get angrier with each question she asked, and even more so as Harry remained silent under her interrogation.

“Well, come on, Harry!” she shouted. “If it's time to open up, we might as well do it the right way!”

Blood pounded in his ears, and he breathed deeply through his nose. He thought he felt another tic in his jaw.

“I don't know, alright?!” he yelled. “I'm telling you now! Why does it matter how long I've known?”

A rapid reply burst from Hermione's lips, perhaps more immediate than Harry's own had been.

“Because I've loved you for almost ten years!”

Harry felt his jaw unhinge slightly as he stared at Hermione uncomprehendingly. Surely she hadn't just said ten years?

Hermione got a sad look on her face as she observed his expression. “And you still don't realize it,” she said softy.

“Realize - ten - I - how -” Harry sputtered, his mind reeling. He opened and closed his mouth multiple times before he managed to speak a complete sentence. “Why didn't you ever say anything?”

“When did I have the chance?” Hermione countered, seeming disbelieving that he would even ask her such a question. “By the time I'd come to terms with how I felt, you were interested in Cho and then Ginny right after!”

Harry shook his head at her logic, clenching his fists. “I broke up with Ginny at the end of sixth year! Hell, Ron was even out of the picture for a while! We had months to ourselves where you could have said something!”

Hermione gave a short, mirthless laugh. “That's a brilliant idea, Harry!” she said sarcastically. “Why didn't I think of that? `Hey, Harry, I've been in love with you since I was fourteen years old. Sorry to distract you from this miserable search we're on and that whole destined-to-destroy-or-be-destroyed-by-the-Dark-Lord thing.'” She gave a short shake of her head as another humorless laugh escaped her. “Did you really expect me to do that? Besides, when did you ever show the slightest indication that you felt the same? For Merlin's sake, Rita Skeeter published an article about our supposed relationship, Viktor and Cho both accused you of having feelings for me, and you didn't show the slightest hesitation in denying it! There was always such a thin line between you and I, where I thought, just maybe, if I tiptoed across it to suggest something more than friendship, it could work out. But the circumstances, the people—the timing—was never right. So why would I put myself and our friendship at risk like that? And besides, it's not like your track record of crushes indicated that I was even remotely your type.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Harry said, taken aback.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Athletic, specifically at Quidditch, popular, and extremely pretty,” she said, ticking the traits off on her fingers. “Ginny and Cho both seem to fit the bill fairly well.”

Harry frowned. Did she honestly believe she hadn't been talented or pretty enough for him? “I've dated two women in my entire life! I hardly think that constitutes me having a `type.' I…” He swallowed, took a small step closer. “I think you're beautiful.”

Hermione shook her head again at his response and raised her palm to him. Harry knew she would have taken a step back if she wasn't already so close to the door.

“Harry…” she said. “Just…just don't.”

Her eyes looked tired. Tired of ten years of silence, tired of the sadness, tired of their game. Harry suspected his eyes looked tired too. Tired of his own silence, tired of this charade, tired of the regret. They shouldn't be standing like this, across the room from one another in a dingy inn, looking at each other this way. They were supposed to be sitting with Ginny and Ron, maybe with Ginny snuggled comfortably into his side and Ron's arm slung carelessly over Hermione's shoulders. That's the way things were supposed to be, the way things had been obligated to be for as long as he could remember.

“Well…what do we do, Hermione?” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than it had been since they had begun speaking.

Hermione continued to look at him tiredly, but it was clear she had no more of an answer than he did.

“We...we can't go back to the way things were,” he said.

Hermione still said nothing. She averted her eyes slightly, gripped her arms more tightly around her.

“We can't just ignore this.” Harry didn't honestly know why he made himself continue speaking. Perhaps just to fill the void of stillness that would take its place. “We can't just…”

He trailed off, feeling impatience and renewed anger bubbling in his chest. He waited a few moments, giving Hermione yet another chance to speak. But all she did was close her downcast eyes, her lips moving soundlessly, seeming for all the world entirely disinclined to answer. Harry felt his throat burn, but he swallowed to regain his voice.

“Or we could just go back to pretending we don't feel this way about each other.”

He said this rather stiffly, and Hermione raised her head. Her brow was furrowed slightly, as though she were contemplating the meaning behind his words - waiting for him to continue.

“That would certainly be the easier thing to do,” he said. He waited for some sort of objection, prayed for one, but Hermione continued to be silent. Perhaps she didn't find his suggestion objectionable. Maybe that's what she wanted.

“Yeah,” Harry continued, his voice coldly casual. “I don't blame you for wanting to take the easy way out. You being with Ron is the simpler thing to do. Confronting this would change things. A lot less risks if things just stay the way they are - if we just forget about everything that happened.” His next words already tasted acrid in his mouth. “It was obviously a mistake.”

Hermione looked as though Harry had just reached across the room and slapped her across the face. Harry felt a grim satisfaction. He wanted her to cry, wanted her to lose the tough demeanor she'd been emanating since she'd arrived. If that happened, he would have an excuse to cross the room and pull her closely to him, so she could sob into his shoulder.

But instead her expression hardened again. Her eyes searched his face for a long time. They stood there, two people in a tiny hotel room, suddenly looking, really looking, at each other. Reassessing everything that they had once thought true about the other, redefining every aspect of a fourteen-year-relationship that was now harder to describe than either of them had ever thought possible. And it became clear to Harry, by the fierce independence in her stance, the sharp look in her eye, that she would not reveal to him such vulnerability. Not again.

He watched as she finally let her arms fall to her sides for the first time. There was an unsettling emptiness in her last look at him, an emptiness that was more disconcerting than any of her previous anger. She turned on the spot, her shoulders set stoically, and pulled the door open. But just before she disappeared into the hall, she paused. She didn't even glance back at him as she spoke.

“I'm pregnant.”

Then the door shut with a sharp snap, leaving Harry to stare blankly at the pale wood as his mind all but shut down.

He subconsciously managed to stumble over to the bed and sit down.

He released the breath he didn't realize he had been holding, and he opened his mouth to take another breath. Oxygen seeped into his lungs unwillingly. The air felt like it had thickened, felt almost solid.

His hand shook as he raised it to comb through his hair.

Then he felt overwhelming sadness as intense regret permeated his thoughts. Not just the burning regret of their conversation, his harsh words, but for Hermione's long unseen silence, for his too-late realizations, for waiting so long to confront each other, and for giving their hearts to the wrong people.

Harry swallowed at the lump in his throat as it began to burn again, but for once he didn't fight it. As he buried his face in his hands, he allowed tears to flow unchecked through his fingers.

**************

The next few hours passed in a complete haze. Without really registering his actions, Harry turned in his room key and went home. He was surprised he didn't manage to splinch himself when he Apparated to the front of Grimmauld Place, distracted as he was. It took him a few seconds to even realize that Ginny had greeted him until she had wrapped her arms around him.

“Hey!” she said enthusiastically, giving him a quick kiss. “I missed you!”

“Right,” Harry said, blinking. “Er, I missed you too.”

Ginny released him from her embrace and stepped back, smiling. “Did everything go well?”

Harry blinked again as he tried to focus on her question. “Sort of. There were some…unexpected developments.”

“Well are you at least happy with how it went?” Ginny asked, leading him to the kitchen.

Harry was glad she was not looking at him as she said this - he almost certainly would have averted his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess I am.”

“Great,” Ginny said. “I'm glad you're home on time, I made all your favorites for dinner.”

Harry saw that the dining table was indeed loaded down with many of his favorite foods, including roast chicken, potatoes, and numerous other sides. There was even a plate towards the end of the lineup heaped with treacle tart. Although he didn't feel the slightest bit hungry, he managed a weak smile.

“Thanks, Gin, it looks great.”

They both sat down to eat, and Harry only partially heard many of the things Ginny was saying. He pushed his food around his plate unproductively and gave the occasional nod or murmur of interest, but disregarding this there was no real communication on his part of the conversation. However, Ginny didn't seem to notice. Even in Harry's preoccupied state, he could still tell that she was more excited than usual. He wasn't particularly curious about what she was keyed up about, and figured she would tell him eventually anyway.

Sure enough, as Harry managed to swallow a final bite of treacle tart that he hardly tasted, Ginny let her fork drop with a clatter.

“Oh!” she said, practically bouncing in his seat. “I wanted to wait to tell you after you'd rested but I can't keep it in anymore!”

Harry glanced up from his plate, worry settling into his stomach. Surely not…?

Ginny smiled brightly at him and grabbed his hands from across the table.

“I'm pregnant!” she squealed happily.

Harry would have let his hands fall to the table if Ginny hadn't been holding them up.

“You are?” he said, trying to infuse some enthusiasm into his response. He figured he managed it, because Ginny nodded earnestly, her hair swinging about her face.

“Yes!” she said. “I found out yesterday, but you were gone and I couldn't tell you! Isn't it wonderful?”

“O-Of course it is,” Harry said. “It's…it's fantastic.”

“I know, I can't wait! I hope it's a girl this time,” she said, finally releasing his hands. They plopped down to the table like rags, just as Harry expected they would.

“And I hope it's alright, but I told Mum. I had to tell someone! And Ron knows as well, he was visiting there for dinner since Hermione was gone as well.”

Harry perked up for the first time.

“Ron knows?”

“Yeah,” Ginny said, beginning to pick up the numerous plates. “Like I said, he was there when I told Mum. So I bet Hermione knows by now as well.”

Harry closed his eyes as she took the first batch of dishes to the kitchen, feeling his stomach ache horribly. He thought of Ron and wondered if Hermione had actually seen him before he left for the night for his night shift. All Harry knew was that he needed to find out, and soon.

**************

But as Harry stepped into Hermione's bedroom later that night, he knew in an instant that she had seen Ron, and that Ron had told her about Ginny. Through the dim light sifting from the window, he could see Hermione's frame hidden beneath the covers of her bed. She was lying on her side, facing the wall, and at first glance may have just been sleeping. But it only took a moment more to see that she was curled into a ball, her shoulders quivering, and to hear the soft sobbing escaping her form.

As silently as possible, Harry crept across the room. But the sharp intake of breath and the sight of Hermione's tense shoulders showed that she had heard his steps.

Harry stopped at the edge of the bed, staring at her back.

“It's…it's me,” he said quietly.

Silence. He wondered if he should just turn around and leave. He was about to do just that when he finally heard Hermione's similarly quiet reply.

“I know,” she said, her voice quivering with a suppressed sob. “You're footsteps are different than Ron's…softer.”

Harry took her lack of harshness as a good sign, and finally gave into his urge to lie on the bed and comfort her. He sidled up to her side until his body was cradling hers, and wrapped his arms gently around her middle. She made no move to push him away, but she continued to cry even as he buried his face into her hair.

“I didn't mean what I said before,” he murmured. “It wasn't a mistake.”

“I know,” Hermione whispered, her voice thick from crying. “I just…I just don't know what to do.”

Harry kissed the back of her head. “Me either. But we'll think of something.”

They fell silent after this comment, perhaps both wallowing in the unlikelihood of finding a true solution to their predicament, but neither spoke a word regarding this hopelessness.

However, after a while Harry gave a soft chuckle, his face still tickled by Hermione's brown curls.

“This kid's going to have the most untamable hair imaginable,” he said lightly.

He could almost visualize her small smile as her shoulders relaxed, and a tearful laugh escaped her. Harry pulled her more tightly against his chest. The rational part of his mind was telling him that he should worry, but the illogical part was falling asleep with his hand splayed across Hermione's not-yet swollen stomach. Tomorrow would bring what tomorrow would bring, and, like always, they could get through it as long as they were together.

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38. What Is Right

A/N: Okay, so as I mentioned before my supply of chapters is running seriously low. Like two more after this and I'm all out. Since I'm finishing up my finals tomorrow, I would think I'd be able to write more, but as of right now I have a summer job that's going to take up the majority of my time, so we shall see…

Anyway, thanks to Mischiefmanaged86, RogueBHS, justduck, Paddy, KamiOnno, time9870, Charlotte, UKwildcat820, Meli, noorelisa, and the Anonymous person for your reviews!

Chapter 38: What Is Right…

“Hermione, you have to tell him.”

“You don't think I realize that?” Hermione replied, sitting back further in her chair.

“Of course I know you realize it,” Harry said. He also leaned back slightly, a small frown on his face. “It's just getting more and more pressing the longer you wait. Soon he'll know something's up.”

He punctuated the statement by glancing downward at Hermione's stomach, which was beginning to swell noticeably. She had recently taken to wearing the loosest clothing she owned, but before long Harry knew it wouldn't be enough.

Hermione caught his glance and crossed her arms over her stomach defensively, a habit that she had acquired since finding out about her pregnancy.

“I'm fairly positive he's already realized something's up.” She let out a small snort of amusement and gave Harry a half-smile. “Although his solution to the problem has been to place all of the sweets in the upper cabinets where I can't reach them. But nonetheless, he is noticing.”

Harry smiled back at her. “I guess it's a good thing that I've been supplying you with goods in the meantime then.”

“Unquestionably,” Hermione said, scooping a large bite of hot fudge-covered strawberry ice cream into her mouth, one of her rapidly materializing cravings.

In the weeks following their discussion, each day had been more-or-less the same. Harry would either speed through his work quickly enough to get off a few hours early or use his lunch-break to visit with Hermione. On many of these visits, he would bring her something she had mentioned off-handedly the previous day. But mostly they tried to talk about how to rectify the predicament they had landed themselves in.

Unfortunately, they were no closer to a solution than they had been on day one.

Harry suspected that the reason for their unproductive sessions was due to the fact that, probably on day one, they had realized there was only one possible answer, only one course of action that would give them the results they hoped for. Sure, they had skirted around this remedy, come in dangerously close proximity to it, been on the very verge of tentatively bringing the proposition forward…

But neither of them had suggested it, and he was beginning to wonder if either of them ever would.

Harry gazed at the table thoughtfully for a moment, and then opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione suddenly cut him off. She dropped her spoon in her bowl with a clatter, held up one palm for him to remain silent, and placed her other palm over her mouth. Her face was quite pale.

“Hold that thought,” she breathed, her voice muffled by her hand. She then stood up from the table so quickly she almost overturned her chair and dashed from the room, and a moment later Harry heard gasping heaves coming from the bathroom. He grimaced slightly at the sound, but stood up nonetheless and followed her.

Just as he knew he would, Harry found Hermione kneeling before the toilet, blinking vacantly as she caught her breath. He crouched beside her and pulled her hair away from her damp neck.

“You alright?” he said.

“Oh, excellent,” she muttered, closing her eyes at the feel of his cool hands on her skin. “I swear, there must've been a committee of sexist pigs who decided to come up with the side-effects of pregnancy. This is just miserable.”

Harry chuckled. “I wouldn't doubt it,” he said. After a moment he helped Hermione to her feet, who leaned over the sink as she quickly rinsed out her mouth and began to brush her teeth furiously.

“And the whole business of its name is complete rubbish as well,” she said, her toothbrush still in her mouth. She rinsed her mouth out again, cleaned her toothbrush, and placed it back in its spot next to Ron's. “I mean, morning sickness? It's four-o-clock in the afternoon - in whose mind would that be considered morning?”

Harry shrugged as he silently proffered Hermione a small towel, and she took it begrudgingly.

“Thanks,” she mumbled, dabbing at her mouth.

“No problem.”

Hermione sighed as she set down the towel, and then led the way back to the kitchen to continue their conversation.

“Sorry about that,” she said as she sat down again. She pushed aside her bowl and clasped both hands on the table before looking at him expectantly. “Weren't you about to say something?”

Harry fidgeted uncomfortably under her gaze, and rubbed the back of his neck as he attempted to gather the words he had wanted to speak earlier.

“Well,” he began. “I was just, er, just thinking -”

That you should tell Ron everything. That I should tell Ginny everything. That we should be together and be able to raise our son or daughter without worrying about what everyone else will think. That somehow, no matter how far-fetched it seems, we can manage to do this without destroying the lives of everyone we love…

Merlin, what wasn't he thinking?

Harry extended his hand to cover Hermione's, and he breathed out a quiet sigh through his nose.

“I was just thinking that it was about time for me to leave.”

“Oh. Is it already five?” Hermione said, disappointment evident in her voice.

Harry nodded, mentally berating himself for his cowardice. “Yeah…Ron should be here pretty soon.” He slid his hand from hers as he said this.

He watched as Hermione's eyes followed the path of his withdrawn hand, and as she clasped her empty fingers together and flitted her gaze from them to his face and back again. “Alright.”

Harry frowned sadly and scooted his chair back to stand up.

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

He didn't know why, but despite how much he hated leaving Hermione every day, it was at least partially worth it to hear her ask that simple question. At the beginning, it had been just that - a mere question, clearly meant for information alone, almost as though she needed to check if it interfered with her schedule. But more recently, the words had been adjusted slightly, the tone it was asked in tweaked the slightest bit.

It was no longer a question, but a request, and it was one Harry was more than willing to comply with.

“Of course,” he said. “And you know you can call me or owl me anytime you need anything, right?”

“Of course.”

“No, seriously, I mean anything. I don't care if it's getting you a glass of water because you're too comfortable on the couch to be bothered. I can pop in anytime you need me to, day or night.”

Hermione smiled at his serious sincerity, and stood up from her chair as well.

“I know, Harry. And thank you.”

She placed her hand on his arm as she said this, and he gave a small nod as well. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, but they had yet to discuss the boundaries that existed between them. They had come to an unspoken agreement to leave the matter of their relationship unexamined until they solved their issues, and as a result, Harry felt they were stuck in a figurative limbo of tentative gestures and touches. Even in private, even after that life-changing discussion, they were behaving as barely more than very close friends.

Harry knew that it was the proper way to go about things, but it was still frustrating to no end.

“Okay,” he said. “I'll see you tomorrow then.”

But before he could take a step back, Hermione wrapped her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest. He could feel the firm, rounded flesh of her abdomen against his own stomach, and could picture the tiny core of life growing larger and more distinct inside her with every passing second.

“Really, Harry,” she said, sounding muffled as she had earlier but instead because of the fabric of his shirt. “Thank you.”

Her fervent gratitude threw him slightly off guard.

“I just brought you ice cream,” he said lightly, though he still pulled her more tightly against him. “I know it's pretty important stuff, but it's not that big of a deal.”

She laughed and Harry felt his shirt move as she adjusted her head on his chest.

“No, it's a very big deal,” she said. “And it means more to me than you probably realize.”

Harry continued to hug her tightly to him for a moment more, but finally pulled away from her enough to look her in the face.

“Hermione, I -”

The clock on the wall suddenly chimed before he could finish his sentence, counting the hours abrasively. He allowed it to finish ringing as he stared at her.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

She looked back at him with equal patience.

As the echoes of the last chime faded into nothingness, Harry dipped his face close to hers. He could hear Hermione's shallow breathing and felt their noses graze each other. He saw Hermione's eyes flutter shut, and his own eyes closed unwillingly as an unsteady sigh escaped his lips.

“I should go,” he said softly, his eyes still shut.

“Okay,” Hermione replied just as softly. He felt the small gust of her breath on his neck as she said those two syllables, and a shiver traveled down his spine.

With an enormous amount of self-control, he directed his lips an inch to the left of her mouth and kissed her cheek. Then, without looking at her, he released his hold on her arms and vanished before he could prolong their goodbye any further.

************

As soon as the pop of Harry's disappearance had faded as thoroughly as the damned chimes of the clock, Hermione moved once more to the kitchen. Her posture was stiff and unwelcoming as she cleaned up the evidence of Harry's visit. Her gestures were stern as she ran a damp cloth over the top of the table, and she seemed incapable of relaxing the worry lines that had settled into her forehead after Harry exited.

Had they thought, really and truly thought, this entire thing through?

It was one thing to say that telling Ron was necessary, but it was completely another to actually tell him and deal with the after-effects. Didn't Harry realize what it would mean for Ron to find out about this?

Hermione's hands shook as she lowered her and Harry's ice-cream covered bowls into the sink, and it took her multiple tries to turn on the faucet to wash the dishes. The water gushed over her palms, and although the torrent of water temporarily disguised the trembling, she thought they looked unpleasantly pale and fragile. Her veins stood out in sharp relief to her white skin, her nails were picked nearly to the quick, and her fingers seemed uncommonly thin and spider-like, incapable of holding anything within their grip.

She pulled her hands from the now scalding stream of water and noticed with slight satisfaction the blotched pinkness scattered over the tops of her hands and knuckles. The fierce color gave her hands some semblance of life, even though they still smarted from the sting of the boiling water.

However, away from the distortion of the water, she thought her fingers looked, if possible, even more frail than before. After a moment's contemplation, she wondered if the cause of this feeble appearance had something to do with the rings adorning her left hand. She tilted her hand to catch the reddish rays of the failing sunlight, and the golden metal glinted deceitfully.

The rings seemed to peer at her innocently, and they held her gaze for a full minute before she quickly submerged them under the soapy water distastefully. Her fingers were effectively blocked from sight by the thick white suds, and she was careful to keep them that way as she finally went about cleaning the dishes.

Didn't Harry realize that there would be no turning back from this? That once she spoke those two simple words to Ron…

Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin as she felt a kiss on the side of her head.

“Hey, I'm home,” Ron said, stepping back to drop his bag on the recently cleaned table.

“I can see that,” Hermione replied, patting a dry towel against her shirt (where she had just slopped a fairly large amount of dish-water). “You startled me.”

“I can see that,” Ron mimicked, grinning as he unclasped his cloak. “It's not like I crept up on you or anything. I'm surprised you didn't hear me come in.”

“W-well I was t-thinking about a few things,” she replied, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as she continued to dry her blouse.

“Oh,” Ron said. “That explains it. You must've been thinking really hard about whatever it was for you to completely zone out -”

“I'm pregnant,” Hermione blurted.

“—like that. What?!”

“I'm pregnant,” she repeated, more weakly this time. She wrung the damp towel in her hands as she watched shock and then pure elation make its way onto her husband's face.

“Pregnant?” he finally said. “You're completely sure?”

Hermione nodded. “Positive.” Since when did her voice become this flimsy?

“Merlin, Hermione, this is amazing!” Ron yelled, jumping to his feet. He leapt towards Hermione and pulled her into a bone-crushing hug that left her gasping for breath. When he released her, he was still grinning from ear to ear.

“I'm gonna be a dad!” he yelled in exultation. “I'm gonna be a dad!”

He yelled it even louder the second time, as if wanting the entire street to know of this development, and Hermione felt her heart beat painfully in her chest. This was worse than she'd ever imagined it would be. Ron's enthusiasm felt like a punch in her already aching chest.

She watched sadly as he began to pace the room, running his hands through his hair and still smiling like a madman. He was almost trembling from pent-up excitement.

“This is just - I can't believe this is finally - we've got to tell everybody, Mum's gonna freak! And Harry's gonna flip too, this'll be -”

Hermione winced inwardly as he said this. “Ron…” she said, interrupting his rambling.

He was surprisingly quick to turn to her, and Hermione wondered if his cheeks were beginning to hurt from smiling so much.

“Yeah?” he said, pausing his relentless movements.

Hermione fidgeted under his happily expectant gaze, and her answer to his inquiry was so softly spoken that he had to ask her to repeat it. Maybe the insight she had gained into her frail hands was actually just a small glimpse into the bigger picture…maybe she just was weak.

“I said that Harry already knows.”

Ron's grin couldn't have slid faster from his face if she'd slapped him. His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment, and then it took another moment for his jumbled speech to form a coherent thought.

“Harry knows? You told Harry you were pregnant before you decided to tell your own husband?”

Hermione did not know exactly how to respond to this accusation, but fortunately (or rather unfortunately) Ron never gave her a chance to reply.

“What kind of bullshit is that?!” he spat, taking a large step away from her. “Honestly, what the hell were you thinking when you decided to tell Harry before you told me?”

His voice had risen quite high by this point, and Hermione hated the emphasis he was using on Harry's name. Yes, she had told Harry, their mutual best friend of fourteen years. She simultaneously felt her own temper rise as well as the staccato of the beat of her heart, which felt like it had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach. If he was this angry about simply telling Harry, she couldn't imagine what would happen if he discovered the truth about the baby…

“Harry had absolutely no right to know about this before me! Hell, I know he's our best friend, but his knowledge of it should've come a few people down the line! Our own parents don't know about this and yet Harry knows all about it -”

Closing her eyes tightly, Hermione rubbed her temples as the reverberations of Ron's yelling echoed through her ears. As far as she was concerned, she had been shouted at significantly too much in the past few weeks, and she was frankly quite sick of it. Her brain pounded painfully in her skull and she was becoming angrier by the second…if only he would shut up for just one bloody -

And suddenly, before she could even finish this train of thought, the room became utterly silent.

Hermione cracked one of her eyes open, expecting Ron to have stormed out of the room in his fit of rage. However, he was still in the room. The fact that he hadn't left surprised Hermione, but not nearly as much as the fact that, despite the silence, it appeared that Ron was still yelling at the top of his lungs. His face and ears were the typical Weasley red, and his eyes had widened until they were practically bugging from his face. His mouth continued to work furiously, the veins in his neck were straining, and yet Hermione couldn't hear a single word he was saying.

She cracked open her other eye at this point and cocked her head inquisitively at the sight of Ron soundlessly screaming at her. Crossing her arms across her stomach, she frowned and furrowed her brow. Why couldn't she hear him?

Experimentally, she raised the toe of her shoe and brought it down again against the tile floor, and the responding tap allowed her to realize that it wasn't her ears that were failing her - it was Ron's voice.

He had clearly realized this as well, which was the cause of his dumbfounded expression and overworking throat. Hermione watched him with a bewildered expression, rubbing a hand absently over her stomach.

Finally, once Ron recognized the fact that his efforts were fruitless, he shut his mouth and simply opted to glare accusingly at Hermione.

“Alright,” she said more calmly than she felt. “Are you going to let me talk now?”

Ron's ears turned an even brighter shade of red, but he still gave a reluctant nod.

“Good,” she said. “Because I'm not going to stand here and let you shout this complete rubbish at me. Yes, Harry knows. It wasn't exactly intentional for Harry to be the first one to know about it, okay? It just…slipped out the other day when I saw him at work. Sometimes I get utterly sick of your jealousy issues with Harry. It's not that big of a deal, so get over it.”

She gave a small sigh of satisfaction as she completed her small monologue, and she noticed her hands were still on her stomach. Ron was still staring at her reproachfully, though embarrassment could be seen in his expression as well. She allowed the silence of the room to continue a moment more and then waved her hand towards him.

“Can you talk now?” she asked curiously.

Ron tentatively opened his mouth and muttered something quietly to himself, and then nodded. “I guess so,” he said, disgruntled. “What did you have to go and do that for?”

Hermione almost started to tell him the truth, that she had had nothing to do with it, but decided against it just as she started to speak.

“You wouldn't pay attention to me,” she said instead. “That seemed like the easiest way to make you listen.”

“I guess I can't argue against that logic,” he muttered. “I'd just prefer if you didn't do it again.”

“Sure,” Hermione replied. “As long as you don't act like a prat like that again.”

“Right,” Ron said sulkily as he plopped himself in a chair. “Sorry about that.”

Hermione knew that he was only being so quick to apologize because of the news about the baby, but she was grateful nonetheless.

“So…” he continued, “I guess we need to tell everybody now? Harry's the only one that knows, right?”

“Of course,” Hermione said.

“Good,” Ron said, sounding relieved. “Then we should probably do it as soon as possible. I guess it's too late to do it tonight, but I think we can manage it for tomorrow.”

“That sounds fine,” she said.

“Alright then, I'll go owl Mum so she can get hold of everybody for dinner tomorrow night. We can tell her it's about your transfer or something so she doesn't get suspicious.”

“Sounds perfect,” Hermione murmured.

“Great,” Ron muttered. He rubbed at the back of his neck and stood up from the table again. “I'm…I'm gonna go take a shower and change.”

He quickly left the room, and Hermione could tell by the tenseness of his walk that he was still agitated.

With a groan, she fell into the chair that Ron had just vacated and buried her face in her hands.

She could already tell this was not going well, could feel it in the pit of her stomach. The second she had told Ron she was pregnant she knew it was wrong. As the words had escaped her lips, she had (and still) felt that they were horribly final, sealing her fate more completely than anything else in the world was capable of. And though she had no idea what fate was being assured, she was fairly confident it wasn't the one she had had in mind.

**********

As Ron and Hermione stepped into the bustle of the Burrow, he finally began to feel that things were falling into place. He had a good job, a nice place, a great family, a wonderful wife, and a child on the way. He straightened his tie as he walked into the midst of his siblings, grinning like a madman.

Everyone looked up as they entered the room, and George lifted his bottle of butterbeer good-naturedly.

“Hey, there's the lady of the hour!” he said jubilantly. “Congratulations on the promotion!”

Ron threw his arm around Hermione's shoulders as cheerful exultations of agreement followed his brother's words. He nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we're both pretty excited about it,” he said.

“Yes,” Hermione said, sounding slightly distracted. “Very excited.”

“Rightfully so!” Mrs. Weasley said, seemingly in a rare reprieve from her kitchen duties. “You'll be able to change so many things in Magical Law, dear!”

“Yes,” she replied, still not seeming completely present. Her eyes were darting around the room, calculating. “I'm quite excited about it. Is everybody here?”

“Well, not quite everybody. In fact, Arthur should be back any second now… Ah, I hear him in the yard now.”

A moment later there were two small squeaks as the front door was opened and closed, and then Mr. Weasley appeared in the doorway with none other than Katherine Granger in tow.

“Mum!” Hermione said, and for the first time she actually sounded excited. She crossed the room quickly and gathered her mother in a large embrace, which Katherine returned gladly.

“Hermione!” Katherine responded. “How are you?”

“I'm fine, mum,” she said, smiling happily.

“Oh, I'm wonderful,” Katherine said. “This was all told to me on rather short notice, but Harry insisted that I should be here tonight.”

Ron felt a small twinge of guilt at these words, and then jealousy at the softened, grateful look that appeared on Hermione's face. He really should have owled Hermione's mum, but as she said, it had been on short notice…

“I'm glad you're here, then,” Hermione said.

“Yes, I'm so glad you could make it!” Mrs. Weasley said, pushing Hermione slightly to the side to press a glass of wine into Katherine's hand. Ron shook his head as his mother, talking animatedly, ushered Katherine away from the group. The Weasley matron very seldom had opportunities to speak to mothers of her own age, so any time Mrs. Granger was in the vicinity Molly tended to monopolize her time.

As soon as both mothers had vanished into the kitchen, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her to an available seat on the couch. He sat down and she sat down next to him, holding her hands in her lap.

Angelina leaned forward in her chair as soon as they were comfortable, smiling widely at Hermione. She held her and George's youngest daughter in her lap, though the child was squirming restlessly.

“So when do you start the new job?” Angelina asked.

“Um, in a couple of weeks I think,” Hermione said, watching little Roxanne's antics closely. In fact, Ron saw that her eyes were moving around to every child in the room - Bill's son Louis, who was roughly the same age as Roxanne, as well as Percy's three-year-old daughter Lucy.

Ron couldn't help but smile at Hermione's observations - leave it to her to want to study up on the way children behaved before she gave birth herself.

“That's wonderful,” Angelina said, struggling as Roxanne attempted to make an escape. She tried to hold on to the toddler for a few more moments before finally giving up.

“Fine, Roxy, have it your way,” she said, setting Roxanne down on slightly unsteady feet.

“Be free, Roxy,” George said wistfully. “You're just a restless spirit like your daddy, aren't you? I won't let your Mum keep you down!”

“Excuse me?” Angelina said, raising an eyebrow.

“I said for Roxy to always listen to her Mum no matter what without exception. Why, what'd you hear?”

“That's what I thought,” Angelina said smugly as Bill, Fleur, Percy, Andromeda, Mr. Weasley, and Ron laughed. Hermione gave a weak chuckle, and Ron wondered if she was feeling well.

“So where are all the other kids?” Ron asked.

“Oh, zey are in ze backyard,” Fleur said. “'Arry is back zere as well.”

Ron felt Hermione shift very slightly next to him.

“Is Ginny back there too?” he asked.

“No, Ginny is in ze kitchen.”

“No she isn't,” Ginny said from behind them. Ron again felt Hermione shift beside him. “Ginny has emerged from said kitchen to inform everyone to converge upon the dining area for sustenance.”

“So dinner's ready?” George said.

“Yep.”

“Awesome,” Ron said, standing up. “I'm starved.”

*************

Due to the largeness of their group, dinner was being served outside. As Fleur had already said, the children and Harry were already there, and Ginny, Percy's wife Audrey, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger joined them as everyone burst into the cool night air. The normally frosty mid-October weather had been mercifully abated by a warming charm placed over the small backyard to make it comfortable.

Hermione and Ron brought up the rear of the group, and a few of the parents went to gather up their children to place them around the table. Harry was already at the table, situating James into a highchair.

Ron began to move towards him, but then realized that Hermione had already seated herself in a chair at the opposite end of the table.

“Er, Hermione,” he said, sitting down next to her as everyone else began to choose seats, “why are you sitting here?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, busily beginning to prepare her plate.

“I mean, it's not a big deal, we just usually sit next to Harry and Ginny…” Ron said uncertainly.

“Oh, I wasn't even paying attention,” Hermione said, not turning towards him. “But we're already sitting here, so there's really no point in moving is there?”

“Well, no…” Ron said. “It's just that you're acting a little weird.”

Hermione paused as she reached for a basket of rolls.

“How so?” she asked, still not looking at him.

“I don't know,” he said, tentatively reaching towards one of the bowls of shephard's pie as he carefully chose his words. “You've just seemed a little distracted.”

Hermione withdrew her hand without taking a roll and spread a napkin in her lap instead. “Well, I've got a lot on my mind. Is that all right with you?”

“Of course,” Ron said carefully.

He left it at that as he nervously finished filling his plate. He couldn't quite comprehend the tone of her voice, but he'd known Hermione long enough to know that she wasn't pleased about something. He imagined she was still riled at him for his behavior the previous day, and thus made the situation to let her be until after dinner. Maybe she'd be in a little bit of a better mood once she'd gotten some food in her stomach. That was always the case with himself, after all.

He certainly hoped so, at least as he shoveled mash potatoes into his mouth.

The thing was, who wanted to announce the beginning of their happy family with the new mother in question in a disgruntled mood?

*********

Hermione's goal throughout the entire meal was to speak as few words as possible. She tried to ensure limited eye contact, thus not drawing undo attention to herself, and the occasional inquisitive question directed her way was answered in a succinct and minimal manner.

She suspected Ron and Harry were the only ones who noticed her unusually taciturn behavior, but thankfully the former made no comment on it and the latter was too enveloped with his own quiet game to remark on it either. That was certainly one thing she appreciated about the Burrow - there was never a shortage of individuals to attract unwanted scrutiny.

After all, this was the first time in months that Hermione had been in the same place as Ron, Ginny, and Harry at the same time, and it was truly doing a number on her nerves. The few times Ginny even glanced her way caused her to shudder guiltily in her seat and hastily avert her eyes to her plate. Therefore Hermione was flooded with relief when Molly ushered the group back inside.

She was on the verge of leaping to her feet and dashing inside the moment Mrs. Weasley stood, but just as she began to move her chair, she noticed Harry sitting perfectly still among the rest of the bustling Weasleys.

“Are you coming in, honey?” Katherine asked as she neared Hermione.

“Oh, yes, of course. I'm just going to help bring in some of these dishes. Will you tell Molly I've got it?”

“Alright, but do hurry up - I haven't gotten a chance to speak to you all evening!”

“I'll be in in just a minute, Mum…it shouldn't take too long.”

Katherine flashed her daughter a small smile and then brought up the rear of the retreating Weasleys. The door swung shut behind her, and Harry and Hermione were alone.

They both stood up from the table and crossed the yard until they met at its hedge-lined border.

Harry glanced at her, but she couldn't quite make out his features in the darkness.

“I'm surprised you haven't announced it yet,” he said. He sounded very tired though Hermione knew it couldn't be later than eight.

“Ron and I never really discussed when we'd tell everyone…I'm sort of just letting him take care of it. It'll be very soon, obviously.”

Harry chuckled. “Does that have anything to do with why you're stalling out here?”

Hermione pretended to ponder the question although she suspected Harry couldn't see her any better than she could see him.

“Hmmm…that might have something to do with it.”

“I suspected as much,” Harry said.

Hermione laughed lightly, but quickly sobered as her mind turned to what had transpired the day before. She gave a soft sigh before she spoke. “Though there is something else as well.”

“What is it?” he asked, and she was surprised at the concern in his voice. Even without seeing her facial features, he was still able to pick up the subtlest changes of tone in her speech.

“Well…” she began hesitantly. “Did Ginny…er… did she exhibit any…strange forms of magic while she was pregnant?”

Hermione could imagine Harry's lips curving downward into a frown and his forehead furrowing in confusion.

“No…” he said slowly. “Not that I'm aware of, at least. But what do you mean by `strange'? What happened?”

Hermione found herself fidgeting uncomfortably, unreasonably embarrassed by what had happened. It wasn't her fault, after all.

“I sort of…well, the thing is, I'm fairly certain I had nothing to do with it, but I was just feeling so angry at Ron and it just happened…”

“What happened?” Harry said more insistently.

“Fine…I guess the best way to put it would be that I made Ronald go mute temporarily.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Harry let out a bark of laughter.

“I wish I could've been there for that,” he chortled.

Hermione giggled a bit as well. “It was rather funny,” she admitted, “but that's not the point. The point is that I didn't do it. He was yelling at me and -”

“Wait, why was he yelling at you?” Harry interrupted.

“I accidentally let slip that you already knew about the baby,” Hermione said dismissively. “It rather pissed him off, to put it lightly. But it doesn't matter. As I was saying, he was yelling and my head started to hurt and I was just thinking how lovely it would be if he'd be quiet, and then suddenly he was.”

Hermione heard Harry pick a few leaves from the hedge in front of him and start shredding them vacantly.

“It really just sounds like accidental magic…are you positive it wasn't you?”

Hermione sighed. “I obviously can't be entirely sure,” she said, “but I just really feel that it was…” She trailed off and placed a hand on her stomach as she shook her head. “I haven't lost control of my magic since I was ten years old…I just don't think it was me.”

“So…so you honestly think it was the baby?”

“Yes,” Hermione said. “I do.”

“Okay,” Harry said slowly. “Has…has anything like that happened before?”

“I…I think so,” Hermione said uncertainly. “When we were at Dolohov's mansion.”

“Really?” Harry said, taken aback. “When?”

Hermione turned away from the hedges to stare back towards the lighted windows of the Burrow. She could see the darkened shadows of people in the kitchen and knew she and Harry didn't have much more opportunity to speak.

“When the dementors were swarming us…I'm pretty sure the baby is the only reason I was able to cast a Patronus,” she said quietly. “I just…I couldn't think of any happy memories and you were dying…but right when I was about to give up I just felt this…I don't know exactly how to describe it…a warmth, I suppose, in the center of my body, and then I was able to cast my Patronus.” She glanced back at Harry's silhouette through the darkness. “That's really what made me realize I was pregnant.”

Before Harry could reply, there was a thud as the door was thrown open and light flooded part of the yard. “What's taking you guys?” Ron called. “We're all waiting for you in here!”

Hermione heard a crunch of dead leaves as Harry tactfully stepped back from her.

“Alright, we'll be in there in a second,” he called back.

“Well…just hurry up, all right?” Ron said, annoyance lacing his tone, and then the door was shut, enveloping the yard in darkness once more.

Harry stepped closer to Hermione again, and took her hand as they slowly made their way towards the house. Hermione wondered if this was what they were reverted to…two people only able to show affection under the cover of darkness.

“Have you heard anything remotely similar to this in anything you've read?” Harry said, his voice lowering as they came closer to the house.

Hermione shook her head. “Not that I remember… but that isn't saying much, I haven't exactly read volumes on witch pregnancy.”

“Okay,” he said as they reached the door. “Maybe we should do a little research into this. I mean, this seems harmless enough…have you noticed anything wrong with your health or anything?”

“No,” Hermione said. “Nothing beyond usual pregnancy symptoms…”

“Good,” Harry said, placing his hand on the doorknob. “Hopefully it stays that way. But we'll look into it in the meantime, alright?”

“Alright,” Hermione conceded, taking a small breath as he began to push open the door.

Harry glanced downward at her. “Are you going to be okay?”

She turned her eyes to his with a small, cheerless smile. “Do I really have any other choice?”

She saw Harry's throat bob as he swallowed nervously and pulled his gaze away from her.

“I -” he began, but Hermione cut him off. She wasn't in the mood for half-hearted reassurances that neither of them completely believed in.

“Let's just get this over with, okay?” she said.

Harry looked as though he wanted to say something more, but he merely gave a curt nod and led the way into the thankfully empty kitchen.

However, the second the door shut they were instantly bombarded by Ron.

“What took you? Come on!” he said, seizing Hermione's hand and dashing into the overly-crowded living room. He pulled her to sit next to him in the same spot they had sat earlier, and then proceeded to smile appreciatively at his siblings as they continued their usual line of banter.

Apparently they had been discussing Harry before they entered, because as he slowly entered the room after Ron and Hermione, they all turned their attention towards him.

“Zere you are, `Arry! We've been meaning to ask you…” Fleur said, “how `ave you been since your aczedent?”

“I dunno,” Harry said uncertainly. “I've been alright, I guess. Just the bit of a limp, really.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Percy said. “What doesn't kill you just makes you stronger!”

Harry snorted. “I disagree,” he said wryly. “Whatever doesn't kill me just really ticks me off.”

“Hear hear!” George said jovially from his position on the ground as the room burst into laughter.

Bill made a gesture to move from the seat closest to Harry to allow him to sit, but Harry waved off the offer.

“No thanks, Bill, I'll stand. Save it for if I actually lose my leg - I doubt I could pull off a fake like Moody could, so I'd probably be pretty immobile.”

“Fair enough,” he chuckled, settling back into his chair. “Though you did miss the chance to sit next to my beautiful wife,” he added, wrapping an arm around a smiling Fleur.

“Hey,” Ginny said, “his actual wife, and your sister I might add, is sitting right here!”

“Oops, didn't see you there, Gin,” Bill said with a wink. “How rude of me.”

“Especially with their child sitting right here as well,” Mrs. Granger commented, referring to James sitting in her lap. The other toddlers were playing in the center of the room, and the older children had escaped to amuse themselves with whatever they could find in the upstairs bedrooms.

“Not to mention with the other baby on the way,” Mrs. Weasley added.

George suddenly turned towards his mother so quickly his neck audibly cracked.

“Ow - what the heck do you mean by the `other baby on the way?'”

“Ginny's pregnancy, of course,” Mrs. Weasley said, bewildered by her son's reaction.

“What?! Ginny's pregnant again?” George said. “Why wasn't I informed of this?”

“We thought you were, dear! I owled you and Angelina last week about the news.”

Angelina looked thoughtful for a moment. “Right...” she said slowly. “I knew there was something I was forgetting to tell you.”

“Oh, thanks hon,” George said sarcastically. He cast a scowl about the room. “So everybody else knows?”

There were murmurs of assent as everyone nodded their heads.

“Oh, ages ago -”

“Yeah, Ginny told us -”

“Goodness, even I know-”

“Well that's just perfect,” George grumbled. He jerked his head towards Ginny and then to Harry as he swallowed some of his butterbeer. “Congratulations,” he said sourly.

“Ah, don't be that way, George,” Ginny said, smiling at her brother's antics. She stood up to give him a mollifying hug.

“Yeah,” Ron said, and Hermione noted a hint of triumph in his voice as though he had finally found a good opportunity to interject their news. She had to forcibly resist the urge to cover her face to ward off the attention and embarrassment that were about to come her way. “Especially since you're hearing firsthand that Hermione's pregnant and all -”

There was a collective gasp around the room, and Hermione wondered when and if the Weasleys would ever overcome the shock of pregnancies within the family.

Unlikely, she thought as almost a dozen eager faces (and one not so eager face) turned towards her simultaneously. She even saw Teddy and Victoire poke their heads down from the staircase, delighted smiles on both their faces.

“Another new baby?” Teddy said. “Cool!”

Victoire giggled, seemingly finding Teddy's words rather amusing.

“Are you serious?” George said, leaping to his feet and upsetting the balance of his crouching sister, who promptly landed on her bum. “Sorry, Gin, but you've already popped out a kid - gotta give the new mommy some attention!”

George was only the first of many to pounce towards Hermione and envelop her in a bear hug. Each woman's tight, empathizing embraces were followed by one of the men's moderate but firm hugs. They each kissed her cheek and her mother was practically bouncing around her in excitement, talking a mile a minute as she added to the incessant chatter enveloping the room.

“Isn't this amazing, Hermione?” Ginny said merrily over the din as she clasped Hermione's arms. “We're both pregnant at the same time! This will be so much fun!”

It took every ounce of self control Hermione possessed to control the blush threatening to blossom and to meet Ginny's eyes with a cheerful smile. She managed a moderately convincing version of an enthusiastic nod before Ginny wrapped her in a tight hug.

Past Ginny's curtain of fiery hair, Hermione could make out Harry sitting blankly on the vacated sofa, observing the proceedings with a faraway look in his eyes.

And as Ginny released her grip on her, as the evening continued in a turbulent blur, as Ron finally took her home, and for a long time afterwards, that image of Harry was burned into her mind, and his words to her so many weeks ago accompanied her thoughts as well.

I don't blame you for wanting to take the easy way out. You being with Ron is the simpler thing to do.

She finally began to wonder if his words were true.

The time had come for her to make a choice between what was right and what was easy, and more than any other time in her life she began to doubt herself.

Because, although she found nothing about this decision remotely easy, she found even less about it to be right.

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39. Gifts

A/N: Ugh, sorry guys, this one's a little late. I was planning on updating last Saturday (which just so happened to be my 20^th b-day), and I didn't get it done then, and I started a 10-hour a day job this week, so my time has been a little stretched and I haven't had time to get any writing done. Plus got some minor surgery done on Friday (just wisdom teeth, nothing big), so I may or may not be up for writing this weekend. Again, I only have one more chapter left, so after I update chapter 40 the updates will be much slower, at least for a while. The job's only going to be for about six weeks, so after that I'll have the freedom to write as much as I want thankfully.

Anyway, now that I've bored you with my life right now, please enjoy the chapter and reviews are appreciated as always! Thanks to everyone who reviewed the last one (see, don't even have time to call you wonderful people out by name! Love you guys though!)!

Chapter 39: Gifts

“Are you sure you're not too cold?” Harry said, his own teeth chattering as the cold wind blasted against his face.

Hermione shook her head slightly, although she used one hand to pull her coat a bit tighter around her. “I'm fine,” she said. “We're almost there, anyway.”

Harry nodded but nevertheless pulled her closer to his side as they crossed the street, their clasped hands hidden by the sleeves of their coats.

Hermione smiled slightly. “I said I wasn't cold.”

“Well I am,” Harry replied. “So you're really doing me the favor.”

“Right,” Hermione said with a roll of her eyes, appreciating the warmth Harry provided her.

Ever since her pregnancy, Hermione had taken a strong aversion to both Apparition and Portkey, so walking had become their primary mode of travel. Unfortunately, the bitter cold of London in late December made this trip to St. Mungo's considerably uncomfortable, so they were both quite grateful when the saw the glass storefront that indicated the entrance.

Once inside, Harry quickly ducked his head in an attempt to avoid attention and quickly ushered Hermione past the welcoming desk and up to the same floor where Ginny had given birth to James. At this particular reception desk, Hermione stepped forward to speak to the elderly witch that sat behind it.

“Hello, I have an appointment with Healer Clayworth?” she said, fiddling with the strap of her purse.

The receptionist nodded and pulled a clipboard towards herself before looking up at Hermione.

“Name?” she said, her thin lips stretching into a small smile.

“Weasley,” Hermione said, fidgeting even more as she sensed Harry behind her, quietly shifting his feet.

The witch took a moment to look at her clipboard and then gestured down the hallway. “You and your husband can go wait in room 604 - Healer Clayworth will be with you shortly.”

Hermione was glad the witch didn't glance too closely at Harry, as she didn't bother correcting her statement when she stepped away from the desk.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, then re-took Harry's hand and led him to the correct room, where they each took a seat as they awaited the Healer. As the minutes passed, she still didn't release Harry's hand, instead refocusing her fidgeting from her purse to his fingers. He made no comment as she did so, even when she began to touch his wedding band, adjusting it and twirling it idly around his finger.

Only when the Healer entered the room did she drop his hand, and she did so quite reluctantly.

Healer Clayworth was a tall man, almost as tall as Ron, with sandy hair streaked with gray and light brown eyes. He was probably in his early fifties, his eyes and mouth lightly lined.

“Hello,” he said amiably, reaching out and shaking Hermione's hand as she and Harry stood up. “I take it you're Hermione. As I'm sure you already know, I'm Healer Clayworth.” He then turned and extended his hand to Harry, who shook it rather stiffly. “And you must be the father.”

“Her husband couldn't make it today,” Harry responded, his shoulders set rigidly. “I'm just her friend. Harry Potter.”

“Harry Potter?” Healer Clayworth said. Hermione was pleased that his eyes didn't dart to Harry's forehead. “My apologies. I just assumed…well, at any rate it was very kind of you to accompany your friend.”

Harry gave a curt nod in response.

Clayworth seemed a bit uncertain about Harry's cold demeanor, but nonetheless turned to Hermione again with a smile.

“Well then, I suppose there's no point in delaying things with idle chit-chat. I'm sure you've both got plans for the holidays. Would you please remove your coat and take a seat on the table, Hermione?”

“Of course,” she said. She deposited her purse, scarf, and jacket into the chair she had just been sitting in and Harry helped her onto the table. He hovered protectively beside her as the Healer went through a series of routine spells to check the general health of both Hermione and the baby.

“Everything seems to be going rather well,” Clayworth said as he wrote down the results of his final spell. “The baby is perfectly healthy.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and Harry placed a hand on her shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. She reached up almost unconsciously and placed her hand over his.

“That's wonderful,” she said, smiling brightly at the Healer.

“Indeed,” Clayworth said, returning the smile. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied. “But there was something else I wanted to ask about…”

“That's what I'm here for,” Clayworth said.

Hermione hesitated. “I was just…have you ever experienced any pregnancies where the baby seemed to exhibit…premature magical qualities?”

Clayworth frowned. “'Premature magical qualities'? What exactly do you mean? An increase to your own magical ability, changes to your own qualities…?”

“Well, not exactly,” Hermione said slowly. “It's more like…I wouldn't call it an increase in my own magical abilities, but it seems as though the baby is causing physical manifestations of magic.”

A look of intrigue crossed Clayworth's face. “Physical manifestations? Random outbursts of magic?”

“Not entirely random,” Harry interjected. “The outbursts seem to be tied to Hermione's emotions.”

“Yes,” Hermione agreed.

“Well, to be perfectly honest it seems like a case of accidental magic.”

“That's what I said,” Harry replied.

“But it's different,” Hermione insisted. “I haven't had an incidence of accidental magic since I came to Hogwarts.”

“It is unusual for fully trained witches and wizards to have such incidents under normal circumstances,” Clayworth conceded.

“Exactly,” Hermione said.

Clayworth remained silent for a moment as he brought a hand to his chin.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “I've heard of infants exhibiting magical capabilities before - that's not wholly uncommon— but magical outbursts from the womb…”

“Have you heard of anything like it before?” Harry asked.

Clayworth glanced towards him, and nodded. “I've heard of it, but only of two cases within my entire career. I've never seen it firsthand, however. It's a very rare situation.”

“Well are there any dangers from it?” Hermione asked.

“As there have been so few cases, I can't answer with complete authority, but I'm fairly certain there isn't any true danger. The baby is healthy and you're healthy - there doesn't seem to have been any adverse side effects. However, I would like to continue monitoring your condition as the pregnancy progresses.”

Hermione nodded. “Of course.”

Harry helped Hermione stand up from the table and they both shook the Healer's hand once more, thanking him for his time.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied as he shook Hermione's hand. He chuckled softly. “Again, congratulations. If there's one thing I can say for certain, it's that you have an exceedingly powerful witch or wizard growing within you.”

Hermione blinked slightly at the Healer's comment, and then glanced sideways at Harry, who met her gaze with a bewildered expression. Even with the Healer watching, she couldn't help but smile at him.

“Thank you, Healer Clayworth,” she said as they began to leave the room. “I'll be sure to set up another appointment shortly.”

Once they were out in the street again, Hermione grabbed Harry's hand, interlacing her fingers in his. Despite the cold metal of his ring, she smiled contentedly as he pulled her closer to him.

*************

Later that night, Hermione couldn't help but allow her mind to wander as she sat curled up on the couch, a blanket covering her legs and part of her protruding stomach. But then again, her mind had been wandering for many months now.

She and Ron were sitting amiably in the living room of their flat. The television was on, bathing the room in a pale flickering light, but Hermione couldn't quite force herself to watch whatever holiday special was on. Ron seemed to be enjoying himself as far as she could tell, but she suspected this had just as much to do with his love of television in general as the program itself.

After about an hour of this, Hermione heaved herself from the couch with a tired sigh and stretched slightly.

“I'm going to make myself a cup of tea,” she said. “Do you want anything?”

Ron shook his head vaguely. “Nah, I'm alright.”

“Okay,” she said as she moved to the kitchen. “I'll be right back.”

She turned on the light as she passed through the doorway and pulled her favorite mug from the cabinet. After filling the cup with water, she flicked her wand over the cup and immediately set the liquid boiling.

However, just as she had placed a teabag into the water, she heard a sharp rap on the window behind her. The noise wasn't exceedingly loud, but it was sudden enough to cause her to spin around with her wand at the ready. Her heart thumped quickly in her chest as she pointed her wand at the darkened window, but then she noticed the tapping was continuing. She took a step closer, and furrowed her brow as she saw a small pebble floating innocently on the other side of the glass. It was the pebble that was knocking against the window, and there was a patterned nature to its tapping.

She cocked her head as she listened, and after a moment lyrics sprung unbidden into her thoughts:

Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts, teach us something please…

The absurdity of it caused a disbelieving smile to cross her lips, and she quickly crossed the rest of the kitchen to quietly raise the sash. When the window was fully open, the pebble hovered in front of her face for only a moment more before plummeting to the ground below. She followed its path downward, and was uncommonly delighted as she saw it land a few feet in front of Harry, who stood looking up at her with a wide grin on his face as snow fell softly into dark hair. She watched as he tucked his wand into the pocket of his dark coat and then beckoned her downward with a quick wave of his gloved hand.

Hermione quirked her eyebrow at his gesture, curious as to what he wanted but of course unwilling to voice her query for fear of Ron hearing.

Harry rolled his eyes at her hesitation and simply waved her for to come down once more. She smiled as his insistency, and rolled her own eyes as she closed the window. What was he up to now?

Thinking quickly, she promptly snatched up the garbage from the bin and stepped into the living room. She held the bag up slightly as Ron glanced over at her.

“I'm going to take out the trash.”

Ron sat up slightly, squinting at her through the dim room. “You don't have to do that. I was going to take it out in the morning.”

“That's okay,” Hermione said as nonchalantly as possible. “I wanted to get a little fresh air anyway.”

“If you're sure,” Ron said, sliding back into his original position.

“I'm sure,” Hermione said, and quickly donned a thick coat and shoes before dashing from the house, her feet light as she flew down the three flights of stairs that would take her to the street. She came to an abrupt halt as Harry intercepted her at the base of the stairs.

“Rocks on the window?” she said, her lips twitching. “Really?”

Harry gave a small shrug. “What can I say? Moment of brilliance.”

“Moment of incredible corniness, you mean.”

“Given the huge smile I saw on your face when you opened the window, I'd say it's a fair assumption to say you like corniness,” he said, a roguish glint in his eyes.

“Well…” she said, smiling, “maybe just a little bit.”

A brief pause elapsed before Harry jerked his chin towards the bag she still held in her hand.

“Do you want me to take that for you?”

Hermione glanced down at the trash and nodded as she handed it to him. “It was the only legitimate thing I could think of to come down here,” she offered as explanation.

Harry didn't reply as he left her side momentarily to place the bag in the trashcan. He returned and shoved his hands in pockets, a smile on his face.

“That whole rock thing would be a lot easier to pull off if you actually had a house instead of a third story flat.”

Hermione placed her own bare hands in her pockets as well to ward off the cold. “Surely you don't expect to be doing that very often, do you?”

Harry turned his head upwards to gaze at the sky, his glasses protecting his eyes from the snow, which was already falling faster than when she had first looked out of the window. “I don't know…should I be expecting to do that sort of thing very often?”

She scrutinized him quietly for a moment as he returned his eyes to hers. It was a loaded question, and both of them knew it. She was saved the trouble of replying, however, as Harry shook his head.

“Sorry, cold's just getting to me a bit…How is that going, by the way? The house search,” he added at her puzzled expression.

“Oh,” Hermione said, trying to arrange her face and voice into a semblance of neutrality. “Ron's still set on the house in Ottery St. Catchpole…” she said, shifting her feet. “I can't fathom why he can't understand the possible consequences of living so close to his mother. I think he thrives on the idea of being able to eat meals there on a more regular basis.”

“He probably likes the idea of being in a village with a higher population of wizards as well.”

“That too,” Hermione said. “But I know you didn't come over here just to ask how house-hunting was going.”

“Very true,” Harry said seriously. “I also wanted to get you out in the street in your pajamas.”

Hermione blushed slightly as she glanced down at her cotton pajama bottoms and pulled her coat more tightly around herself as she glared at Harry.

“Well if that's all you wanted I guess I can go back inside then…”

“Okay, okay,” Harry said, chuckling. “There's another reason as well.”

Hermione looked at him curiously as he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, opposite of where he kept his wand. After a second of blind fumbling, he grasped something and pulled his closed fist out of his pocket. Then he held out his hand and uncurled his fingers to reveal a small present, pristinely wrapped in gift paper of pale gold.

Hermione stared at the package for a moment before looking again at Harry.

“What is it?”

“It's a present. And here I was thinking you were supposed to be smart...”

“Haha, very funny,” she replied. “Obviously it's a present. But what is it?”

“Usually it's customary for the receiver of a present to actually open the present to find out what it is.”

“But Christmas isn't until tomorrow,” Hermione objected, nervousness creeping into her tone.

“Are you purposely being difficult?” Harry laughed. “It's Christmas Eve - it's only a few hours until the real thing. I wanted to give it to you alone. There probably won't be an opportunity for that tomorrow.”

Hermione bit her lip for a moment, and finally reached out to pluck the box from Harry's hand. “Fine,” she sighed. “I'll open it.”

Harry placed his now empty hand back into his pocket. “So enthusiastic,” he said with a smile.

Hermione smiled slightly in return before turning her eyes to the perfect little box with a sense of trepidation. She suspected its contents, had suspected it as soon as he'd reached within the pocket of his coat, and she was both afraid and exhilarated at the prospect of finding out.

Very slowly, she peeled back the first corner of the paper, relishing the smooth glossiness of its texture. She repeated this on each edge, intent on making sure she didn't rip it and soil perfection. Harry didn't comment on her lengthy procedure, merely choosing to observe her progress with a calm expression.

Finally, even more slowly, she pulled the paper free from the box, and despite her earlier conjecture, she still couldn't prevent the little leap her heart performed.

Free of the golden paper, and already collecting a sprinkling of snowflakes that stood in stark contrast to its dark color, was a small velvet box.

Hermione was amazed that such a small, unobtrusive little object could cause a person so many emotions. Her mind was reeling with so many different thoughts that she couldn't manage to solidly grasp a single one, leaving her in a chaotic blur of false nothingness, like she had been rendered deaf in the middle of an uproarious rock concert. She blinked as her gaze rose to Harry's, who was studying her pensively. She glanced down at the seemingly innocent little box, and then back to Harry, who inclined his head almost imperceptibly for her to continue.

At this small urging, she bowed her head once more over the box, grasped the velvety top with quivering hands, and gingerly pried it open.

But all of her apprehension flooded from her in a single surge as she looked in wonder at the item in the box.

There was indeed a ring nestled in the silky blue interior of the box, but not in the way she had expected. The ring was a part of a small silver pendant that was attached to a delicate chain of the same metal. The pendant consisted of a perfect circle, and suspended within was another circle, although this one was almost teardrop shaped. The two rings were attached at their upper peaks, resulting in gaps between them shaped similarly to a crescent moon with its tips pointed upward. Finally, embedded at the bottom edge of the teardrop-shaped ring was a small, dark green gem.

Hermione softly fingered the pendant, which shimmered faintly under the dim streetlights.

Harry finally broke her out of her mesmerized examination.

“Do you like it?”

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it, and then opened it again as she searched for appropriate words.

“Harry, it's beautiful…”

He looked quite relieved when she finally spoke. “Good…for a second there I thought you were disappointed or something…”

Hermione blushed slightly. “Well, not disappointed, exactly…politely bewildered, perhaps.”

Harry raised an eyebrow and looked at her knowingly before lowering his gaze. “I'm glad you like it at any rate.”

“I do,” Hermione said sincerely. “I love it.” She immediately pulled the necklace from the box, handing it to Harry before twisting around as if to prove her point.

“Can you put it on for me?” she asked, pulling her hair away from her neck as she glanced over her shoulder.

Harry smiled slightly. “Of course.”

Hermione stayed perfectly still as Harry carefully brought the chain around her neck. He fumbled somewhat with the clasp due to his gloved hands and the dim lighting, and Hermione shivered as his warm breath washed over her bare neck.

When he stepped back, Hermione allowed her hair to fall back into place and raised the pendant from her chest, inspecting it once more. Her eyes lingered on the green gemstone.

“Is there any particular reason you chose this color stone?” she asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the necklace.

“Actually, yes,” Harry said. He paused. “It's…well, I picked it for the baby.”

“The baby?” Hermione said, now looking at Harry fully. “What does -”

“It's an emerald,” he said. “Emeralds are the birthstone for May…”

“Which is when the baby is due…” Hermione finished quietly.

Harry nodded mutely.

Hermione's heart swelled in her chest as she moved slightly closer to him, keeping her eyes on his own emerald irises. “That was…that was very thoughtful of you, Harry.”

She noticed him sidle closer to her as well, closing their proximity. He reached up and brushed away some of the snowflakes that had fallen onto her face. Hermione laughed slightly and brought her own hand up to sweep away the snow that continued to fall in his already damp hair. He laughed as well. Both of them were shivering, and they found the fact that they were prolonging their discomfort for the sake of this secret meeting almost absurdly amusing. Yet they continued to stand before one another, unmoving.

It was Harry who started to speak first:

“There's something else I -”

But before he could finish his sentence, another voice called out from above them, mingling with and overpowering Harry's words.

“Hermione, are you alright?”

Hermione jerked her head towards the source of the noise, and both she and Harry almost unconsciously moved closer into the shadows of the building, where Ron would have less of a chance of seeing them if he looked over the staircase railing.

“I'm fine, Ron,” she called back. “I just…I'm coming back up now.”

“Okay,” Ron called back. “Hurry up though, you don't need to be out in this kind of cold.”

“Okay,” Hermione said, and was grateful as she heard the door to their flat slam shut. She closed her eyes and opened them again to see Harry's standing a few feet away from her.

“I'll see you later, Hermione,” he said quietly, and before she could stop him he had disappeared with a soft crack.

She sighed softly as she crossed her arms across her stomach, using one hand to reach up and twiddle the silver rings on her chest. Then she pushed the chain into her shirt and returned to her flat and her interrupted cup of tea, which she found had grown cold.

************

“Okay,” Ron said as he slipped on his coat. “I have absolutely everything ready.”

“Really?” Hermione asked incredulously. “So you finished wrapping those last few presents, loaded everything in the car, picked up the cake we're taking, and went out and bought the groceries your Mum wanted?”

Ron grimaced slightly. “Has anyone ever called you needy?”

Hermione sighed. “I'd assumed as much…I did everything this morning.”

“Oh. Well, then I guess we can go then?”

“Yes, we can go.”

“I still don't see why we have to drive…” Ron grumbled as they left the flat.

“Because Apparating is out of the question and Flooing makes me nauseous,” Hermione said exasperatingly, rolling her eyes as she opened the door to the passenger side of the car. “I'd rather not arrive at the Burrow and vomit all over the Christmas tree - I have a feeling it'd put a bit of a damper on the holiday spirit.”

“I get it,” Ron said as he looked at her over the roof of the car, but he didn't appear much happier. “I just don't look forward to being in a car for the next hour.”

“Fine, Ron!” she said, her temper erupting forth suddenly. She slammed the passenger door shut again furiously. “YOU go ahead and leave and I'll drive myself there! GO AHEAD!”

Ron blanched as Hermione stormed over to the driver's side. He held up his hands to her in a sign of surrender as she placed her own on her hips.

“Come on, Hermione, don't be that way! I'm sorry.” He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to lead her over to the other side of the car. “I didn't mean to upset you. It's just that it's Christmas and I wanna get over there as soon as possible, you know?”

He opened the door for her and looked at her entreatingly. Sighing, she slid into the car, but didn't respond to his apology.

The entirety of the ride passed in a similar state of silence. Occasionally Ron would say something to breach the quiet, but Hermione would only respond with a noncommittal grunt, if she replied at all. Consequently, it seemed immensely longer than an hour when they pulled up to the fence of the Burrow.

When Ron had turned the car off, he quickly rushed over to her side and pulled open the door like he had before.

“Thank you,” Hermione murmured as she stepped out.

“You're welcome,” Ron said, nervousness in his tone.

Once they had laden themselves with the numerous gifts and groceries from the car, they pushed open the gate and made the way to the front door, where they were met by Mrs. Weasley.

“Happy Christmas!” she said, pulling them each into a hug despite their burdens. “Oh, thank you dear, I've been needing those groceries.” She pulled the bags free from Hermione's bundle and led them into the kitchen.

Bill, Fleur, Audrey, Andromeda, and Hermione's own mother were bowed over the counters, cutting, chopping, and peeling various vegetables. They each stopped what they were doing as Hermione and Ron entered and embraced them as well as they could without dirtying their hands.

“Hey Mum,” Hermione said. “I see they have you busy.”

“Oh, it's nothing,” Katherine said airily, kneading a piece of dough with her flour-covered hands. “I don't get much of an opportunity to cook for anyone besides you, Ronald, and sometimes Harry and Ginny. This is a nice change.”

“And unless you'd like to join in, ze boys and children are in ze living room or in ze backyard,” Fleur said as she returned to chopping carrots and celery.

“As well as Ginny and Angelina,” Audrey added, peeling a potato. “I suspect Harry and George do most of the cooking in their houses…”

“For Angelina's sake at least, I hope not,” Bill said. “Who knows what George experiments with.”

“I'm surprised you're not out there,” Ron said.

“I actually like to cook if you can believe it, Ron,” Bill replied. He held up a piece of chicken he had just cut with a grin. “At least while dealing with beef, chicken, or pork.”

“Yes, I notice you don't participate in much of ze baking,” Fleur said with a smile.

“What can I say?” Bill said with a grin, his scars stretching over his skin. “I'm a carnivore.”

The group continued to banter, so Ron and Hermione quietly left the room to greet the rest of the Weasleys.

Most of the family was in the room, including the majority of the children. However, Hermione quickly noticed that Harry was one of the few absent.

After everyone had cheerfully said the obligatory greeting of “Happy Christmas,” Ron and Hermione deposited their gifts among the already enormous pile at the base of the lavishly decorated tree and made their rounds of hugging the family properly. Almost everyone clutched either glasses of eggnog or bottles of butterbeer in their grips and were dressed in shades of green and red (mostly Weasley sweaters, of course).

Charlie was deep into a game of exploding snap with little Molly, Percy's oldest, but he managed to look up long enough to tip the neck of his bottle towards the door that led out to the backyard.

“Dad's out that way,” he said vaguely, and then returned his attention to the game.

“Alright,” Ron said, and immediately left the house. Hermione followed as well, hoping Harry would also be outside.

Her hope was quickly fulfilled, but she had to fight down a giggle when she saw him.

Harry was indeed outside, holding James within the additional warmth of his jacket, but he was standing not with Mr. Weasley or Percy, but with none other than Luna Lovegood.

Ron seemed as amused and bewildered to see Luna as Hermione was. “Mum didn't tell me she was inviting Loony…”

“Ron!” Hermione chastised.

Ron waved his hand nonchalantly. “You know I don't mean anything by it. I'm just surprised she's here.”

“True…I'm surprised your Mum didn't mention anything,” Hermione said, looking back across the yard to observe Harry's expression. He bore the customary disorientated look that was almost impossible to ward off when in Luna's presence, but he seemed lighthearted as well, which (Hermione was reluctant to admit) was also a side effect of Luna's eccentricity. The former Ravenclaw was currently pointing to a dead hawthorn bush with a cautionary air, and Harry seemed to struggle down a grin as he moved to carefully cover James' mouth and nose loosely with his jacket before bending down to inspect the plant himself.

“Wonder what they're talking about…” Hermione said with a smile as she started to pick her way through the layer of snow that coated the grass.

“No doubt something completely barmy,” Ron said as he followed her.

Harry straightened as they approached and took a large step back from the shrub before moving his jacket from James' face.

“Hey guys,” he said, smiling.

“Happy Christmas, mate,” Ron said, grinning as he looked from Harry to Luna. “Good to see you, Luna. Didn't know you'd be joining us.”

“Yes,” Luna said, tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear, which Hermione noted bore an earring shaped like a small red Christmas stocking. A matching necklace lay on her lime green sweater. “Daddy's very busy in Norway following up a story on a Umgubular Slashkilter sighting, and Mrs. Weasley was kind enough to invite me here so I wouldn't be alone for the holiday. It was very thoughtful of her,” she added vaguely.

“That sounds…interesting,” Ron said.

“Yes, quite interesting. I would have gone myself if I hadn't been exposed to a Clabbermonk bite recently…It's very dangerous to travel overseas with such an affliction, of course.”

“Of course,” Ron said, nodding knowledgeably.

“Well, we're glad you're here at any rate,” Hermione said.

Luna smiled and nodded before she looked once more at the hawthorn bush. “Harry and I were just catching up.”

“Yeah, Luna was just telling me a little bit about Wrackspurts,” Harry said casually. “Apparently they tend to reside in hawthorn bushes.”

“Although since it's winter the colony has been severely reduced,” Luna said, bending over the plant and gently touching its dead leaves.

“I think I've heard you mention them before,” Hermione said. “What do they do, exactly?”

“Wrackspurts use the qualities of hawthorn roots to induce a mild sedative effect on their prey as well as predators,” Luna said. “Gnomes are quite fond of them, which is why I believe the gnomes in this area are a bit clumsier than normal. Babies can grow very tired from exposure, which is why I told Harry to cover James' mouth before he observed them. In adults, they can make your mind go very fuzzy, which is what happened to Harry.”

Hermione turned just quickly enough to see Harry avert his eyes from her to the ground, a faint redness in his cheeks as he cleared his throat nervously.

“Right,” he muttered. “Wrackspurts.”

Luna patted Harry's shoulder sympathetically, although a faint smile crossed her lips, one that Hermione couldn't quite place. “Don't worry, the symptoms should wear off in a few moments.”

Ron snorted in amusement before pushing his hands in his pockets and addressing Luna again.

“So, this story your dad's following up...Uglublia Skashmisher or whatever it was… is he trying to find out if it exists?”

“Umgubular Slashkilter,” Luna corrected. “And he's trying to prove they exist.”

“Same thing, isn't it?” Ron said. “I mean, how does he know they exist if he hasn't proven it?”

Luna turned her pale blue eyes on Hermione, and the knowingness within them almost forced her to avert her gaze. But she continued to stare at Luna until she turned to glance briefly at Harry, and the small smile on the blonde's face as she turned back to Ron made Hermione's mind spin wildly.

“Just because someone hasn't proven something exists doesn't mean it's not there or that it's not real,” Luna said, twiddling her necklace as she stared vacantly at the sky. “It just means you haven't seen it yet.”

**********

When the group returned to the house, Mr. Weasley and Percy now in tow, they had barely stepped into the warmth before Mrs. Weasley shooed them back outside.

“I need you all to go and get rid of all those gnomes in the backyard,” she said. “I can't very well have the grandchildren out playing in the snow when those little pests are bigger than the majority of them. And it doesn't help matters that they're attracted to the Christmas lights. Hermione, Luna, you two can stay in of course, but the lot of you better not dither back there for more than an hour while we finish all the cooking!”

Charlie, Bill, George, Teddy, and Victoire all filed past Mrs. Weasley at this point, bundled in their coats to ward off the cold.

“I'm going to dither for two hours just to show her who's in charge,” George said once his mother had closed the door.

“Not if I have anything to do about it,” Bill growled. “Search for the damn gnomes so we can get this over with.”

“Plus, we need to show Teddy and Victoire how this is done,” Harry said, ruffling his godson's currently green hair. “And way to get into the Christmas spirit, Ted.”

Teddy grinned as his hair changed from green to red and back to green. “I was gonna go for red, but I figured that was already covered.”

Harry, Hermione, Luna, and Victoire all laughed as the red-headed siblings scowled good-naturedly.

“Good one, Teddy,” Charlie said. “Really witty.”

“I thought so,” Harry said. “Why do you think I always wear green?”

“Because it makes your eyes pop,” George said, batting his eyes teasingly.

“Is that supposed to be an impression of me?” Ginny said from behind them as she entered the yard. “Because it's pretty crappy to be perfectly honest.”

“You recognized it, didn't you?” George said. “But what can I expect? Everybody's a critic these days.”

“Sorry to devastate all your plans of becoming an actor,” Ginny said as she pulled on a hat. “But you're much better at de-gnoming, so I'd stick to that before Mum denies you food.”

“To eat or not to eat…?” George said, raising his hand to his chin as if pondering the dilemma. Then he lowered it and dashed off to the nearest bush, shaking it and causing a disgruntled gnome to leap out. “Is that really even a question?”

Everyone else nodded their agreement and proceeded to move throughout the garden looking for gnomes. Ginny, Luna, and Hermione walked behind the search party, but didn't participate in the actual de-gnoming.

As Ginny and Luna discussed Luna's theory about the Wrackspurts' influence on the gnomes (Hermione tuned out everything beyond this), Hermione kept her eyes on Harry and Ron. She didn't know why, exactly, but for some reason she found herself evaluating - and comparing - their every move.

Many of the differences that Harry and Ron had possessed in Hogwarts were still relevant, but she couldn't help but see them in a different light. Harry had always been shorter than Ron, for example, although the growth spurt he had had before sixth year had certainly closed that gap significantly. Still, Ron had a good three, maybe even four inches on Harry. She noticed how Harry's dark hair was more closely cut than it used to be, perhaps given the fact that he was less self-conscious about his scar, and Ron's red hair was a bit longer.

She noticed their smiles as they joked with Teddy. Ron had always been quick to smile, a sincere, ear-to-ear grin, and it was something that Hermione had always appreciated about him. He never seemed to lose his boyish excitement for life, and his smile transformed his features. Yet, perhaps he was too quick to smile at times. Ron was obviously excellent at defusing tension with humor (as most of the Weasleys were also adept at), but he very seldom acknowledged when a tension needed to be there, when something serious needed to be treated as more than a joke.

And then of course there was Harry's smile. That crooked grin of his that had melted her heart on more than one occasion. Harry didn't smile as much as Ron usually did, but it only made the times that he did all the more precious. More importantly, however, there was an enormous difference between the smile he gave in photographs and the one he reserved for his closest friends and family. If he turned that particular smile on you, you knew you to the deepest level that you were truly appreciated and cared for. If he grinned at you that way, you knew that he was grateful for you in a way that was beyond words, perhaps as a result of the childhood he had missed or the future he could have lost.

When they turned towards her and the other girls and waved, she met their gazes earnestly, trying to search them even from across the yard. Ron's pale blue eyes were often as easy to read as his smile - when he laughed, they lit up with that same excitement and happiness. When he was angry, they could grow icy with rage, as she had seen on numerous occasions. Harry's eyes, on the other hand, were as masked as Ron's were open. The fact that she could still read them just as easily, if not more so, than Ron's was a skill that Hermione had always been proud of. She doubted even Ginny could see through his defenses as easily as she could.

Hermione continued to watch the pair silently, even as she vaguely addressed Ginny and Luna's attempts to draw her into the conversation. She very much wanted to stop her thought process, forget her troubles in whatever gossip Luna and Ginny were discussing, but now that she had begun she couldn't stop herself. She even found herself comparing their physiques, which of course made her feel guiltily uncomfortable. Both Ron and Harry were rather fit, as expected given their careers, though in differing ways. Due to Ron's naturally taller and lankier frame, he had leaner, wirier musculature than Harry. She could even detect some of his personality in his languid, casual way of movement that could easily be seen in his long, loping walk, the way he stretched when he woke up in the morning.

Comparatively, Harry was slightly stockier, with a stronger jaw, thicker arms, somewhat broader shoulders, and (Hermione thought with an ill-disguised blush) a more defined chest and stomach that Ron's love of food prevented him from quite achieving.

In general, due to his upbringing and hardships, Harry was simply rougher than Ron for lack of a better word, from his masked expression to his more calloused hands…

But then Ginny finally succeeded in breaking through her thoughts with a quick snap of her fingers.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” she asked. “You haven't said a word since I came out here.”

“It's nothing,” Hermione said with a reassuring smile. “I'm just thinking of some things.”

She was quite aware of the thoughtful gaze Luna fixed upon her, but she ignored it determinedly.

“Well stop it then!” Ginny said. “It's Christmas! You should be relaxing, not dwelling on your job or whatever it is.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “Stop dwelling. I'm sure it'll work itself out.”

Hermione glanced at Luna and then back towards Ginny. “You're right, I'll try to stop thinking about it.”

“Of course I'm right!” Ginny said. “It's no good to work yourself up, especially with the baby.”

Hermione nodded as she watched Teddy send a gnome flying over the fence to the appreciative whoops of Harry and Ron and the enthusiastic clapping of Victoire. She noticed that as soon as the creature had landed with a muffled thump in the snow on the opposite side, everyone began to pick their way back to the house, leading her to believe that they had saved the last for Teddy.

However, as Hermione was watching she saw a lone gnome slink out of a bush. The gnome crept up behind the group, and Ron gave a yelp as it tripped him and sent him flying face-first into the snow. His face red as he spat out mouthfuls of white powder, he leapt back to his feet and lunged at the gnome, who deftly dodged him and skittered a few feet away, cackling all the while. Ron shouted curses towards the gnome, which of course drew the Weasley matriarch from the house.

“Ronald Weasley! There are children here! If I hear one more foul word from your mouth I swear you won't be putting a bite of food into it!”

“Well the bloody thing isn't responding to my yelling anyway!” Ron growled.

“You haven't exactly conveyed an assertive presence with them though, Ron,” Arthur said. “What you need to do is -”

“And don't you encourage Ronald to be more violent with the gnomes!” Molly shouted shrilly. “What sort of example is that setting for Teddy? We want peace in this house, not assertiveness!”

Arthur seemed to wilt under his wife's angry glare. “Yes, dear,” he said meekly.

Ron rolled his eyes as Mrs. Weasley retreated once more into the house. “Gee, I don't know where I learned that whole unassertive thing from,” he said with a smirk.

“No,” George said. “He said to be assertive with the gnomes. Being assertive with your wife is suicidal.”

“What's assertive mean?” Teddy asked curiously.

“It means you should probably do almost everything your wife tells you without complaint,” Bill said.

Charlie tucked his hands into his pockets with a grin. “Which is exactly why I will never get married.”

“Right, because dragons are much easier to deal with,” George said sarcastically. Then he raised a hand thoughtfully to his chin. “Actually…”

“You do realize that we're standing right over here, don't you?” Ginny said.

“Only two of you,” Bill pointed out. “One of which happens to be almost everyone's sister.”

“Fine,” Ginny said. “That means that I'll be taking George down in a snowball fight.”

“Why!?” George said.

“Do I need a reason?” Ginny said as she placed her hands on her hips.

George eyed his sister warily as he took a step back. “If I hadn't been around for her childhood, I'd think she hadn't been hugged enough.”

“Maybe she was hugged too much,” Charlie pointed out.

“I guess that does seem more likely,” George said. “Apparently hugging has a dark side. But fine - if it's a snowball fight you want, it's a snowball fight you'll -”

Before he could finish his sentence, a snowball that no one had recollected Ginny picking up smashed into George's face.

“—get,” George said, spitting snow from his mouth. A mischievous grin crossed his face as he bent down to calmly gather a handful of snow. “Now you asked for it,” he said. “You just wait and -”

“All the food's ready!” Mrs. Weasley called from the doorway.

“I win,” Ginny said cheerfully, and then pranced into the house.

Everyone looked expectantly at George, who gave a shrug as he dropped his newly formed snowball back to the ground.

“I'll get her later,” he assured them.

“Now why does that give me a bad feeling?” Charlie said mock-thoughtfully.

“Haven't the foggiest,” George said casually, and then led the chuckling group back into the warmth of the house.

Dinner was a much more informal affair than usual, if a Weasley dinner could ever be described as formal. All the food was placed on every available surface throughout the kitchen and everyone simply piled a plate high with ham, turkey, mince pie, stuffing, sweet potatoes, cranberry sauce, green beans, rolls, and an assortment of other treats before resuming their positions within the living room.

Hermione thought is was a quite picturesque scene - Bill, Fleur, and Angelina were seated on one couch, laughing as Fleur expertly balanced her plate while she fed two-year-old Louis; George sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the couch, his plate mostly untouched as he struggled to feed Roxanne, who was also two-years-old and who seemed much more interested in anything but her food; Andromeda, Mrs. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger sat on another sofa, chatting amiably between bites; Arthur, Audrey, and Percy were each sitting in mismatched chairs, seemingly involved in some sort of job-related discussion as Charlie, who was seated on the floor like George, divided his attention between them and the other children, who were sprawled all over the ground in front of the Christmas tree, sharing food and laughing happily; Teddy and Victoire sat slightly away from the younger children, nibbling on their rolls as they played a side-game of checkers while simultaneously shooting longing looks at the pile of presents beneath the tree.

Hermione, on the other hand, was sitting among Luna, Ron, Harry, and Ginny in front of the fireplace. She couldn't help but feel jealous as she watched Harry and Ginny's practiced mannerisms. Ginny fed James bite-sized portions of turkey and beans as Harry consumed his own food, and when James had eaten his fill he was passed to Harry so Ginny could eat. In fact, Hermione was watching their interactions so closely that she was quite startled when Ginny turned to face her.

“So Hermione…” she began. “Have you picked out any names yet?”

It took a few moments for Hermione to gather her thoughts. “Um…no, not really,” she said. “We haven't talked about it.”

“Yeah we have!” Ron said. “We talked about it the other day, remember?”

Hermione blushed slightly, realizing that she had been referring to herself and Harry. “Right, I forgot,” she said, smiling weakly. This was absolutely true as well - she couldn't remember a single name Ron had suggested, and she was fairly certain she hadn't volunteered any names either.

“Well what were you discussing?” Ginny said.

“I mean, I personally like Felicia,” Ron said. “You know, if it's a girl, obviously.”

Hermione shook her head as she recalled a rather cruel girl in her primary school who had been rather fond of snatching her books away. “No, not Felicia.”

“I agree,” Luna said. “It doesn't have the right aura about it.”

“Fine,” Ron grumbled. “Just an idea.”

“What about for a boy?” Ginny asked. Hermione noticed that Harry had turned his head to look into the fire, a pained expression on his face.

“Well…” Ron said. “I think I'd like a boy to be named after me.”

Hermione inwardly grimaced as he said this. Now she remembered the conversation.

“Ronald Jr.?” Ginny said incredulously. “You're not serious, right? One of you is quite enough.”

“Yes, I'm serious,” Ron said, the tips of his ears turning red. “What's wrong with naming the baby after me?”

“It just…it just seems like the wrong name,” Ginny said.

“Yeah,” George said from behind them. “Two Rons don't make a right!”

Ginny winced. “Really, George? You really just went with that?”

“Come on, Gin, that was just begging to be said!” George said.

“I know, but it doesn't mean you actually have to say it,” Ginny said.

“You just don't have the comedic eye I do,” George said. “And if you'd like to join us by the tree, we're ready to open presents.”

“Okay,” Harry said, quickly standing up with his and Ginny's plates clutched in his hands. “I'll just put these up.”

“And I'll put these up,” Hermione added, snatching up Ron and Luna's plates along with her own as she stood up just as quickly.

Both Harry and Hermione quickly entered the blessedly empty kitchen and dumped the plates unceremoniously in the sink, where a sponge was already working on other dishes. They both leaned heavily against the counter for a moment before Harry glanced over at her.

“No matter what happens,” he said, “please, for the love of Merlin do not allow my child to be named Ron Jr.”

Hermione smiled slightly as she gripped Harry's hand reassuringly. “That's a promise,” she said.

Harry flashed her a half-smile, a feeble attempt at the grin Hermione had thought about earlier, and gently dropped her hand as they returned to the living room. However, before they had crossed the threshold, George gave a shrill whistle that halted them in their tracks.

“What the hell was that for?” Harry said.

George didn't answer, but simply pointed towards the ceiling above them with an impish grin.

Both Harry and Hermione looked above them simultaneously, already knowing what they would see. And their suspicions were confirmed as they saw a small sprig of mistletoe suspended from the ceiling.

And just as synchronized as they had looked at the ceiling, the pair lowered their heads to fix their accusing gazes on George.

“Really, George. Mistletoe?” Harry said.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, mistletoe,” George confirmed. “Good eye.”

“Obviously not good enough,” Hermione said, shooting George a glare. “I didn't see this earlier.”

“That's because it wasn't there earlier,” George clarified. “Special kind that appears randomly. What's the fun in putting up the normal kind? Maybe one or two pairs get caught and then everyone's on the lookout. This is much more entertaining.”

“Oh, yes,” Hermione said sardonically. “I can hardly speak for amusement.”

“Come on, Hermione,” Angelina said. “Don't be a spoilsport.”

“And this is why I married her,” George said, grinning at his wife, who smiled in return with an amused shake of her head.

Hermione quickly went to step away from Harry, but she found that she, well, couldn't. An invisible barrier prevented her from moving more than a foot away from Harry.

“And did I mention you have to snog before you can move away from the mistletoe?” George added.

“No, didn't mention that,” Harry said, a tightness in his voice.

“Surely there's something else that can let you walk away,” Ron said, and Hermione noticed that there was a forced casualness to his voice. “I mean, if they don't want to do it they shouldn't have to.”

Hermione glanced towards Harry and could sense that he was thinking the same thing she was…that it was quite ironic that Ron thought they didn't want to kiss when the entire reason they sought to escape the situation was because they did want to. Entirely too much, in fact.

George waved his hand nonchalantly. “Of course there is, but that doesn't mean I'm talking.”

“Just get it over with,” Percy suggested.

“Yeah,” Charlie said, grinning. “Pucker up and go for it.”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden as all eyes turned to them. She noticed that Ron and even Ginny looked uncomfortable, and that Luna had that same strange and knowing look about her. Everyone else, including her own mother, simply looked amused, so she turned towards Harry with a sigh of resignation.

“Don't act so enthused now, Hermione,” George said.

“Yes, `Arry is a good-looking boy,” Fleur said. “Not ze most unfortunate circumstances.”

“Yes,” Bill said. “And Harry, stay away from my wife.”

“I'll do my best,” Harry said, glancing down to meet Hermione's eyes.

Hermione swallowed nervously. “Did you know that mistletoe is a parasite?” she whispered so only Harry could hear.

“The nargles are rather inconvenient as well,” Harry said quietly in return.

Before Hermione could respond, however, Harry had bent down and pressed his lips to hers chastely. When everyone groaned at the innocence of the display, Hermione couldn't help but silently add her disapproval.

Harry waved them off as he walked back to his seat. “Settle down,” he said dryly. “What were you expecting, a make-out session?”

“I think Harry was quite wise to not linger under the mistletoe,” Luna said. “Nargles are rather widespread at this time of year…”

This statement, of course, was met with polite mutters from most of the group before they quickly reverted their attention to the Christmas tree, or more importantly, the gifts beneath it. The children immediately dove into the pile of presents, dividing them appropriately among themselves as Bill tossed the adults their respective gifts. Although Hermione couldn't see the majority of the children's presents, she did hear the delighted squeals of Victoire and little Molly as they each opened a present to find a Pygmy Puff.

“It's so cute!” Victoire said, tickling her purple fluff-ball as Molly did the same to her pink one. “Thank you, Uncle George!”

“No problem,” George said with a smile. “You just need to make sure you take care of them.”

“We will!” the two girls said in unison.

Ginny looked at the girls' pets wistfully. “Seeing those guys sure makes me miss Arnold,” she said sadly.

“I'd almost forgotten about him,” George said. “What ever happened to old Arnold?”

“Oh, I set him free at the beginning of seventh year. I didn't think he'd be safe in the castle with all the madness going on.”

“Right,” George said with a nod. “The Forbidden Forest is much safer. I bet he's shacked up with a giant spider to this very day.”

“Yeah, didn't think that one through…” Ginny said regretfully.

It was only after this exchange that Hermione turned away from her own gifts (books, a turtleneck knitted by Mrs. Weasley, Hagrid's obligatory tin of fudge, and a rather intriguing-looking puzzle game from George and Angelina, among other things) and glanced towards Harry. She had expected to see him smiling just as widely as any of the other Weasleys, so she was surprised to see him staring down at a parcel in his lap, his eyes dark and his face pale. The gift was wrapped plainly in flat red paper that obscured the contents.

Then Harry seemed to shake himself from his stupor and quickly replaced the paper over the gift, looking around furtively. He blinked at Hermione as he realized that she was the only one who had noticed his peculiar behavior.

Hermione cocked her head slightly, furrowing her brow inquisitively. But he simply shook his head, turning his eyes away from her. Then he abruptly stood and left the room. She heard a thud as the door to the porch was opened and closed. No one paid much attention to his departure, engrossed as they were in their own gifts, so after a few moments Hermione stood up as well and sidled quietly from the room.

When she stepped out onto the porch, she saw that Harry had his hands pressed into the railing. If it hadn't been for the Christmas lights lining the wooden beams, she doubted she would have seen him.

She moved closer to him and eventually placed her hands on the railing next to his, staring out into the darkness just as he was. They stood in mutual silence for a few moments before Hermione gestured to the package that Harry had placed between his hands.

“So what's wrong?” she asked.

Harry scowled deeply as he pushed the gift towards her, never taking his eyes away from the barely visible yard.

Curious, Hermione lifted the bundle into her hands. It was rather shapeless and light. She sought out the edge of the paper and pulled it away, wondering what could have caused Harry to be so angry.

When she saw the contents, it took her multiple moments for her to understand what it implied. Nestled in the red paper was none other than Harry's own Invisibility Cloak.

“Harry,” Hermione said, astonished. “Didn't you -”

“Lose it at the mansion in Scotland? Yeah, I did,” Harry growled. “Thus my current agitation.”

Just as Harry had done before, Hermione quickly covered the Cloak and placed it on the railing. “But why?” she said.

“I have no idea,” Harry said, shaking his head. “There was no note, no nothing. Oh, here. They returned this as well.”

He extended his hand, and Hermione saw that her wand was resting on his palm.

Gratefully, she took the wand and placed it in her pocket next to the replacement she had acquired after she had lost the original.

“It just makes no sense,” Harry continued.

Hermione bowed her head thoughtfully. She and Harry had never discussed what had happened that day due to the chaotic nature of their own relationship, but now it was being shoved to the forefront of their minds.

“Dolohov wants the Elder Wand,” she said. “That's why he attacked you.”

“Yes,” Harry said. “But there has to be more to it than that.”

“Why does there have to be more to it? Isn't it enough to only want to possess the most powerful magical object in existence? Isn't that reason enough?”

“Sure,” Harry said. “But regardless, I still feel like there's more to it than that. A bigger picture to it all.”

“Maybe he wants all the Hallows,” Hermione suggested, already seeing the fault in logic.

“I don't know,” Harry said uncertainly. “Why would he give my Cloak back if he knew it was a Hallow?”

“Why would he give it back period?” Hermione countered. “It's an extremely useful object even without being a Hallow.”

“I don't know!” Harry said, pounding his fist against the railing. “Nothing about this makes sense. There's just something very odd about this entire thing. I mean, obviously the reason they didn't kill me is because I know where the Elder Wand is. But the woman in the group - Krista - she made a comment that seemed very strange.”

“What was it?” Hermione asked.

“Something about…I think she said something like `I could get used to having you around.' What could she possibly mean by that?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said miserably.

Harry laughed at that. “You don't have to sound so apologetic,” he said with a smile. “You're not obligated to know everything.”

“I know,” Hermione sighed. “It's just that this is getting more involved than I could have imagined…I guess I'm just scared for you,” she admitted.

“Well don't be,” Harry said, and he moved his hands from the railing to wrap them around her waist. Hermione gladly buried her face into his sweater, breathing him in, and closed her eyes. They held each other like that for a while, until Hermione could hear his heartbeat slow down and their breathing aligned.

“You know,” Harry said softly, “I have a theory about something.”

“Oh?” Hermione said, keeping her cheek pressed into his chest.

“Not about Dolohov or anything,” he clarified. “About…well, about the mark on my chest.”

Hermione nodded, which Harry obviously felt as he continued to speak.

“I think I know why it disappears the way it does.”

“How?” Hermione asked.

“You,” Harry said simply.

Hermione finally moved her head from his chest to look at him quizzically. “Me?” she said incredulously.

“Well, mainly you,” he said. “I think - and I know this sounds incredibly corny - but I think love makes it fade.”

“What makes you say that?” Hermione asked.

“After…that night,” Harry said, the brush of his hand against Hermione's growing abdomen clarifying exactly which night he was referring to, “I didn't notice it for days because I was so mixed up, but I realized that the mark had almost completely disappeared. Not a small change, but really noticeable. And it's never done that before.”

“A wound left from the Killing Curse cured by love,” Hermione mused. “Very ironic.”

She smiled. “And yes, rather corny.”

“I thought we agreed that you liked corny,” Harry said.

“We did,” Hermione said, with a small smile. She hesitated before continuing to speak. “And I think I want to share something with you as well.”

“What?” Harry said.

Hermione felt that Harry's confession should be met with an equally enlightening revelation, so she pointed her wand into the darkness, and took a breath.

“Expecto Patronum,” she said clearly, and for the second time she saw the large silvery wolf form before her. The Patronus seemed to know there was no real danger about, so it simply stood and stared at them, blinding against the pure white snow, before fading into darkness once more.

When Hermione turned her eyes back to Harry, she saw that an astonished air had crossed his features. And she wasn't all that surprised to see it there. He knew, just as much as she did, that only something very powerful could change the form of one's Patronus. Just as Harry had revealed how much her love was affecting him, she was able to admit how his love had affected her… to admit that he had altered not only their relationship, but her very being, the essence of who she was.

“Hermione...” he said. “I…”

However, instead of continuing, he closed his mouth and reached across the small gap between them and grazed her neck. Very delicately, he pulled the chain he had just given her away from her skin, and lifted the pendant from where it was hidden beneath the neck of her white sweater. Wordlessly, he pulled his wand from his pocket and gently tapped it against the silver rings. Then he laid the pendant against the front of her sweater.

“Touch it,” he said as soon as he'd removed his fingers from the pendant.

Confused, Hermione pressed the pad of her index finger against the necklace and then, at Harry's gesture, lifted it to her eyes. In the multi-colored spots of light that scattered across the metal surface, she could see that words had seemingly etched themselves into the ring. She brought it close to her face to make out the words:

Amare sine timore

She repeated the words quietly to herself, liking the way they flowed from her tongue. “What does it mean?” she asked.

Harry met her gaze steadfastly. “`To love without fear,'” he said. “The words will only appear when you hold the pendant. They'll disappear as soon as you let go.”

Hermione felt an indescribable rush of emotions as words flood to her lips, but they all seemed to catch in her throat, all far too inadequate to describe how she was feeling at this moment.

But she was saved the trouble of speaking by Harry suddenly moving closer towards her.

“Could you take a step back?” he said suddenly.

“Um…okay,” Hermione said, bewildered. She took a large step away from him, and he quickly closed the gap again.

“And one more.”

Hermione obliged once more, furrowing her brow. “Why are you -”

Then, with that crooked grin that made her melt, he lifted his eyes upward, and Hermione followed his gaze to see another small sprig of mistletoe hanging innocently above them. This time, however, Hermione welcomed the sight.

“Had to get you under the mistletoe somehow,” he said. “After all, the last one was a bit of a cop-out.”

“Yes,” Hermione said breathlessly. “I agree.”

Then Harry bent down and captured her lips with his. If either of them had been truly logical, they would've at least made sure no one was in the doorway, or watching from the window, but as caught up as they were in the moment, neither were overly concerned about being found out. Later, she would wonder if perhaps, subconsciously, deep down, they truly wanted to get caught. To find a poetic justice to all of this recklessness and be together - it would certainly be simpler that way.

This was the first time they had kissed since that night so long ago, and everything that those kisses had contained in passion, this kiss made up for with intimacy. There was a new level of familiarity and understanding between them that made Hermione's rapidly beating heart rejoice and ache simultaneously. Through her closed lids, she was vaguely aware of the bright red and green and blue and white of the Christmas lights, which flared more and more brilliantly as the kiss continued.

But they broke apart from each other quite suddenly when several of the lights went out with a sharp pop, and Hermione's hands leapt to her belly.

“Harry,” she said, laughing. “The baby just kicked!”

“Really?” he said, his eyes flying to her stomach.

“Yes!” Hermione squealed excitedly. “The first time!” Then she snatched Harry's hand up and placed it against her stomach, folding her hands over his.

Harry's face instantly lit up when Hermione felt a small pressure and knew the baby had kicked. Their baby had kicked. Their child, their son or daughter, who would grow up and move on and leave their own impression on the world, despite what might happen in the coming months and years. This gift, more than any other, made Hermione smile, and seeing the smile on Harry's face only increased the warmth in her heart.

Maybe it was senseless to want to be near a person so badly, to be with a person so badly, when the very act of being with them would cause more heartache than anything else. But all Hermione had to do was picture the absolutely fervent look of pure elation on Harry's face and then nothing in the world seemed more sensible to her.

And then, finally, they were jerked back to reality as they heard a shriek at the same time as they heard a loud thud, which was quickly followed by resounding laughter. Hermione and Harry exchanged a glance, and then went inside and entered the living room, only to be met with the sight of a scowling Ginny buried to her neck in a pile of snow.

George appeared excessively smug. “I told you guys I'd get her later,” he said with a smirk.

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40. Waiting

A/N: Hey guys! Here's another chapter for you! Been super busy, and I literally just pulled into a McDonald's parking lot to use their WiFi to post this chapter. So thanks to all of you who reviewed! You guys are awesome! Keep `em coming!

Oh, and remember that this is the last chapter in my saved supplies, so the next chapter will be longer in coming. Sorry about that in advance!

Chapter 40: Waiting

“Come on, Jamie,” Ginny cooed, holding aloft a spoon laden with peas. “Come on, you really should eat your veggies. Don't you want to grow up to be big and strong like Daddy?”

James turned his head away sharply as the spoon neared his mouth, clamping his little lips all the more tightly.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Ginny said, continuing to hold the spoon determinedly in front of her son's face. “You have a birthday party in a few hours…it would be extremely preferable for everyone involved if you weren't a cranky mess when we get there.”

James twisted even farther in his high chair, equally determined to keep the peas as far away as humanly possible.

“James Sirius Potter,” Ginny said. “This is your last chance. Eat.”

“No,” James said.

“Fine,” she said, letting the spoon drop to the plate. “Don't grow - see if I care. You'll be sorry later.”

“Right,” Harry said, pushing away his own plate. “I'm sure while he's stuffing his face with cake he's going to be regretful for not finishing those peas.”

“I'm sure,” Ginny replied. “And I notice you didn't finish yours either, by the way.”

“Well that's because they're gross.”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she cleared off the table. “You're such a good role model.”

“I try,” Harry said. “So when's this party again?”

“I've told you a dozen times already!” Ginny said, her voice growing muted as she entered the kitchen. “It's at two o'clock! But I told Hermione that we'd be there by twelve thirty to finish setting everything up.”

“And how many people are coming?”

“A fair number.”

“I still don't know how you managed that,” Harry said. “I mean, it's Valentine's Day. Not to mention a Tuesday.”

“So?” Ginny said, returning to the room with crossed arms. “The party will be over by five o'clock at the latest, so it shouldn't interfere with anyone's plans. As for it being Tuesday, I just asked if a few people could leave work a little early to come. Do you have a problem with that?”

“I'm just saying it would've been a little more convenient to do it Saturday.”

“It's his first birthday, Harry. I really don't see the problem with wanting his first party to be on his actual day of birth. Plus, it's not as though you were exactly around for the occasion last year…”

Harry winced slightly, as it had indeed been one year to the day since his first encounter with Dolohov.

“It's not as though I wanted to be in the situation I was in, Ginny,” he said, his voice a bit cold. “And how do you know that's not a perfectly legitimate reason to not have the party today?”

Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Do you honestly expect Dolohov to attack a one-year-old's birthday party?”

“Not necessarily,” Harry said. “But it's still a possibility.”

“Come off it, Harry. Just because it's been exactly a year doesn't mean Dolohov would be so stupidly predictable. And besides, I know for a fact that Ron and Hermione's new place has every possible safety ward. Stop being paranoid.”

“Fine,” Harry said, standing up and scooping James from his high chair. “Are you ready to go yet?”

*******

“Um, move it a little to the right. To the right. Oh come on, Ron, even you should know which direction right is!”

“If you'd shut up for one bloody second I'd move it to the right!”

“Funny, it looked like you were moving it left to me…”

“That looks straight now,” Hermione said.

With a final poke of wand to stick it into place, Ron hopped down from the chair and stood back to admire his handiwork.

The banner proclaiming HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMES in big, bold letters had been the metaphorical icing on the cake to finish the party decorations, and Ron let out a sigh of relief.

“It's about time,” he said. “I feel like I've put up all of these decorations myself.”

“I would've helped, but you know, pregnant and all that,” Ginny said, pointing emphatically at her stomach.

“Ditto,” Hermione said, already helping herself to some of the chips and dip that had been laid out.

“And I'm shorter than you,” Harry pointed out.

“You were the natural choice,” Ginny said with a shrug.

“Don't I feel special…” Ron said.

Ginny turned to Hermione as Ron continued to grumble. “I know I've said this already, but thank you so much for letting us throw the party here. Grimmauld Place just isn't all that much of a party location, especially without much of a yard…”

“It's our pleasure,” Hermione said. “It's more convenient for everyone to get here anyway. Molly and Arthur don't have a very long walk, and it's even shorter for Luna.”

“Fair point,” Ginny said. “Though I still can't quite belief that you only live a few minutes from Luna. Fate has certainly been rather unkind to you, Hermione.”

I'm not going to argue with that, Hermione thought, making an effort to keep her eyes solely on Ginny and not Harry. “Oh, you know I love Luna.”

“Of course,” Ginny said. “But it does help that she's lost a few of her…eccentricities. I still adored her when she was younger, but you can take larger doses of her now.”

Hermione couldn't very well dispute that point. And besides, she was much more willing, even happy, to have Luna as a neighbor rather than her father. As Xenophilius Lovegood had almost permanently resorted to wandering the country in search of news worthy of the Quibbler's prestigious name, Luna had more-or-less permanently inherited the house, writing and publishing the information her father sent to her as she saw fit. Consequently, and perhaps a little surprisingly, this resulted in tamer, shrewder editions of the magazine, every now and again stumbling on information that was unexpectedly accurate, if still a little eccentric. Hermione had even been caught from time to time perusing the pages of the colorful publication.

“Speaking of Luna,” Harry said, balancing his son on the knee of his good leg, “when will she get here? And everybody else for that matter.”

Hermione couldn't help notice that he seemed a little tense, although the way he was kneading his upper thigh gave her a fair hunch.

Ginny seemed to reign in a glare before she answered him. “Two. O. Clock,” she answered through slightly gritted teeth. “And if you ask me that one more time-”

Harry was saved the trouble of finding out what would occur to him by Luna entering the room, showing her usual knack for showing up precisely when she is being discussed, as though summoned from thin air. Which for Luna didn't seem that much of a stretch.

“Sorry, Gin, won't happen again,” he said, standing up with James to give Luna a proper greeting. “I personally blame the nargles.”

“Oh, you have them too?” Luna said, taking James from Harry. “Infestations seem rampant this year.”

Ginny opened her mouth as if to retort but shut it again, seeming to think better of commenting on nargles with Luna present.

“Happy birthday, James!” Luna said, smiling. “Auntie Luna brought you the best present!”

Hermione found it somewhat amusing that Luna seemed at her most normal when interacting with children. It would certainly explain why she and Ron got on at all.

“I'm glad you could make it, Luna!” Ginny said. “I'm sorry if this interrupted any of your plans for tonight...”

“It's okay,” Luna replied. “I don't have anything to do until later anyway.”

Ginny seemed slightly startled at this reply, clearly expecting that Luna hadn't had any plans to interrupt.

“Really? With who?” she asked, her tone trying and failing to hide some of her curiosity.

“His name is Rolf. He's very nice,” Luna said idly.

“That's…wonderful,” Ginny said, her inquisitiveness obviously not quite abated. “Do we know this Rolf?”

“I don't think so…I mean, you may know of his grandparents. Perhaps his grandfather.”

“Who's his grandfather?” Ginny asked, brow furrowed questioningly.

“Newt Scamander,” Luna replied, and Hermione practically dropped her plate of chips.

“Newt Scamander?” she said. “Are you serious?”

“What's the big deal?” Ron said, and Hermione saw that neither he, Harry, nor Ginny had any look of recognition on their faces. Sometimes it was difficult to be the only bookworm of the group.

“Really? Nothing?” Hermione said.

“Nope,” Harry said.

“Nada,” Ginny added.

“Nothing,” Ron finished.

“He's a really famous author!” Hermione exclaimed.

“I think we gathered that much from your enthusiasm,” Harry said with a smile.

“I would think one of you would remember, though! He wrote one of our schoolbooks!”

“Which probably explains why I don't remember it,” Ron said. “Which one was it?”

“Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them!” Hermione said.

Recognition still failed to find its way into her friends' faces, and Hermione sat down on the sofa with a sigh.

“Never mind,” she said, crossing her arms. “I swear, sometimes I think Muggles probably know more about these things than you people…”

Everyone mostly ignored this final statement, and Ginny turned again with some interest back to Luna.

“So how long have you been seeing this Rolf?”

“Um, that's difficult to say…I think about three months ago. I thought he was very nice-looking.”

“No,” Ginny amended, “how long have you been dating him?”

“Oh. In that case…” She glanced at her watch as best she could while holding James. “In about five hours, then.”

“This is your first date? On Valentine's Day. That's so sweet!” She turned to frown at Harry. “Why wasn't our first date on Valentine's Day?”

“You do realize that you kissed me -”

“Wait a minute, I think that whole `who-kissed-who' deal is debatable -”

“As I was saying, you kissed me after the last Quidditch match of the season. In May. And considering I was a little busy the following Valentine's Day, we wouldn't have had a date until…” Harry counted momentarily on his fingers. “Almost a year and nine months after you kissed me! I'd say your timing was a little off if you expected a Valentine's Day date.” A somewhat mischievous grin suddenly crossed his features. “Though I can't be all that surprised that you would have wanted to start off our relationship officially on Valentine's Day…after all, it would have almost been an anniversary of our first romantic encounter.”

Ginny seemed uncomprehending at first, although Hermione, and by the look of it withheld hysterics on his face, Ron, knew very well what Harry was referring to. Hermione bit her lower lip as a giggle threatened to escape her.

Ginny clearly saw the looks of glee on their faces and frowned. “I don't see what's so -”

And then she stopped abruptly, blushing furiously, just as George and Angelina burst through the door, Roxanne and little Freddie is tow.

“Happy Valentine's Day, all!” George said.

“Oh please, Harry, we managed to get through almost fifteen years of not bringing this up, let's not start now -”

“Now how did that poem go again?” Harry wondered aloud, and Hermione could practically see George's remaining ear perk up as his smiled devilishly.

“Harry, how could you forget such heartfelt, beautiful poetry!” George said, and cleared his throat. “I'll refresh your memory.”

Ginny didn't seem to find this at all funny. “Oh for the love of -”

“His eyes are as green as - now wait, what was that…”

“I believe what you're looking for is `a fresh pickled toad,'” Harry said.

“That's right! His eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad…”

“His hair is as dark as a blackboard…” Ron said solemnly.

“I wish he were mine -” Hermione said, blushing.

“He's really divine -” Angelina sang.

“The hero who conquered the Dark Lord!”

Everyone chanted this last bit, even Luna, and James let out a peal of laughter.

Ginny's ears were tomato-red at this point. “Well that's just great. Even my own son laughs at me. You all do realize that that poem is the single most humiliating incident that's ever occurred to me in my entire life?”

“Hey, you wrote it,” George said.

“And now that you've all had your fun,” Ginny sniffed, “I've got some things to finish up before the civilized guests show up.” She turned towards the kitchen and strode towards it without looking back, only calling back to them when she was out of sight. “And Harry, take out that pile of trash in there!”

George looked to Ron seriously. “I guess you're free to go.”

“How does it always get turned back to me?” Ron said.

***********

The guests started arriving fairly quickly after this, and soon Hermione and Ron's modest three-bedroom home was filled to the brim with people, some of whom Harry barely recognized. Of course, many of them he did recognize. In addition to Luna and George's family, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were in attendance, as well as Bill, Fleur, Percy's wife Audrey, Neville, Hannah, Seamus, Dean, Hagrid, Mitch, and even Professor McGonagall. Of course, the kids were all there as well, with the exception of little Molly, who was sick at home in the care of Percy. Charlie and Andromeda couldn't make it either due to their hectic work schedules, so Bill had brought over Teddy. Beyond this, however, Harry found that many names eluded him, a fact that was only exacerbated by his nervousness. And given that every additional guest that arrived intensified this nervousness, he found himself in a bit of a catch-22.

He tried to relax, of course. Numerous times. But even his half-hearted attempts at mingling quickly morphed into perimeter scans, which Mitch noticed and jokingly volunteered to assist in. In the first hour of the party alone he estimated that he had lapped every available space at least eight times.

“So Harry, I couldn't help but notice over the nine times you've passed me that you seem a little distracted.”

Okay, so nine times.

“You've noticed, have you?”

Hermione lifted her hand, holding her thumb and index finger slightly apart.

“Just a bit.”

Harry moved to stand beside her, clutching the same glass of punch he'd gotten at the beginning of the party.

“So is it just me, or do you not recognize half the people here?”

“Besides the Weasleys and the Hogwarts lot? Sure, loads.”

“Name one other person!”

She scrutinized the crowd for a moment before pointing at a man on the opposite side of the room.

“I know that guy.”

“Sure you do,” Harry said. “What's his name?”

“Jonathon. Wait. No, Jackson. Jerome. Yes, I believe it's Jerome,” she said, nodding. “Or maybe Phillip.”

Harry took a sip of his drink. “I can tell the both of you are very close.”

“Incredibly,” Hermione said. “Me and Phil go way back.”

“Should I be worried?”

“Well, he did confess his undying love for me and beg me to run away with him, but I'm still mulling things over. But don't hold your breath if I don't show up to work tomorrow.”

The man across the room - Jerome or Phillip or whoever - seemed to sense the pair of them looking in his direction and turned towards them. Hermione waved at him, and he gave a small, confused wave in return.

“See?” Hermione said, lowering her hand. “Undying love.”

“I completely understand now,” Harry said. “You could cut that romantic tension with a knife.”

They both laughed as the man turned away from them, looking rather self-conscious at their amusement.

“Poor guy,” Hermione said. “I'd go and apologize if I had the slightest clue of who he was. But seriously, Harry, why are you so wound up? I've been trying to get your attention the entire party.”

“I know,” he said. “It seems like every time I get near enough to start a conversation that Ginny pops up out of nowhere and asks me to set out more drinks or speak to someone or something like that.”

“But I've got your attention now. What's bothering you?”

“It's nothing, really. Just some…irrational paranoia.”

“About Dolohov?”

Harry nodded mutely.

“It's understandable that you're nervous, but I really do think you can relax,” Hermione said. “Do you honestly expect Dolohov to attack a one-year-old's birthday party? I'm not exactly an authority on Dark wizards, but I suspect they'd prefer to have a bit more style than that.”

“I told you it was irrational,” Harry said. “I'm just ready for this to be over with…”

“What? The party? Dolohov?”

“All of the above,” Harry said tiredly.

They fell silent momentarily, alternating between glancing around the crowd and staring into the red punch within their glasses.

Harry cleared his throat.

“So…do you and Ron have any plans for Valentine's Day?”

He hoped he sounded casual to Hermione, because to his own ears the words came across as forced and perhaps even slightly bitter.

“Just dinner,” she replied quietly.

Silence.

“What about you and -”

“Harry, there you are! I've been looking all over for you! Could you please come and say hello to Gwyneth? She hasn't seen you in ages!”

Ginny flashed Hermione a smile as she ushered Harry away.

“Sorry to steal him away! We should finished over here soon.”

Hermione was already being swallowed up by the crowd as Ginny continued to push him through the room, and he could barely hear her muttered reply.

**********

“Sure,” Hermione said softly, faintly annoyed as Ginny and Harry disappeared into the mass of people. “I'm used to it by now.”

She stood alone in the corner of the room before she was joined by Victoire, dressed in a pretty little pink dress. The purple Pygmy Puff perched on her shoulder, complete with a tiny lavender bow, made a very pleasant accessory as well.

“Hey, Aunt Hermione,” Victoire said.

“Hello, Victoire,” Hermione said. “You look very nice. I like your dress.”

“Thank you,” the girl said politely, though a certain glumness pervaded her tone.

“Coco looks very nice as well,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Victoire said noncommittally, glancing sideways to look at her pet. “Mama thought it'd be nice if she was dressed up for Valentine's Day.”

“That was a nice idea.”

Victoire nodded, surveying the crowd sadly just as Hermione had been a moment ago, though her significantly shorter height didn't give her much of a view.

“Is something wrong, Victoire? You seem a little down.”

Hermione saw Victoire's eyes glisten with unshed tears and she lowered her head to stare at her shoes. She was about to prompt her niece to talk again when she spoke of her own accord.

“Aunt Hermione, do you ever feel sad on Valentine's Day?” she said, turning her tearful blue eyes upward.

For the first time, Hermione noted that Teddy was nowhere to be seen, and she could instantly guess what this was about.

“Oh,” she said. She knelt down as well as her swollen belly would allow. “Of course, honey. I've felt sad on Valentine's Day before.” Like right now.

Victoire sniffled slightly. “How do you get not sad?”

Hermione couldn't help but smile ruefully. At only five, Victoire had unwittingly stumbled on one of the many questions that women everywhere asked themselves on February 14.

“Is this about Teddy?” Hermione asked, sidestepping the question. She didn't feel right giving an answer when she was really no closer to knowing than Victoire.

Victoire's lower lip trembled before a soft cry escaped her mouth.

“He said he didn't want a Valentine!” she wailed.

“So you asked him and he said no?”

Victoire hiccupped and shook her head. “No…he just said it. So that means I can't ask him because he doesn't want one.”

Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “That is a problem,” she said seriously. “But Teddy is only seven…maybe he's just not ready for a Valentine yet.”

“But I am ready,” Victoire insisted, sounding angry. “Why should I have to wait for him?”

Hermione frowned. Another excellent question. Though she knew the answer to this question, she knew it wasn't the type of answer a little girl was looking for.

“Well, boys don't grow up as quickly as girls,” she said instead. “So sometimes you have to be patient with them. Maybe he'll be ready next year.”

Victoire looked rather disgruntled at this news, but nodded in acceptance.

“Boys are stupid,” she grumbled.

“I agree,” Hermione said. “Very stupid.”

Victoire darted off at this point, and Hermione suspected she was off to find anyone to play with but Teddy. She stood up with difficulty and watched her go, wishing things could be as simple as they were when you were a child.

“Well zat looked like an intense conversation.”

Hermione turned to face Fleur.

“Just a little boy trouble.”

Fleur nodded sagely. “Typical. I was hoping zis wouldn't come up for a few years.”

“Sometimes it can't be helped,” Hermione said with a shrug.

“I zink the cake will be cut soon, so `opefully zat will be a good distraction. So `ow is work going, by ze way?”

“Oh, fine,” Hermione said dismissively, noting that a large cake shaped like a Snitch was indeed being brought into the room by Harry and Ginny, a single candle protruding from the icing. “I'm working for a couple more months and then I'll transfer departments after I come back from maternity leave.”

“Zat is a good way of doing it.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, watching as the piece of cake with the candle was cut and placed before an excited James. She waited until “Happy Birthday” had been sung before continuing, though she still kept a distasteful eye on Harry and Ginny. “I figured it would be best. I could have transferred earlier, but I'd hate to have to take such a long break after just starting.”

“Very logical,” Fleur continued, and later Hermione was embarrassed to say that she completely tuned out whatever was said afterward.

She didn't know if it had something to do with her talk with Victoire, or pregnancy hormones, or the fact that it was Valentine's Day, or temporary insanity, but she just couldn't stand the sight of Ginny and Harry. Ginny, who didn't look as if she had gained an ounce of fat anywhere in her body except her large stomach, impeccably dressed even with said stomach, groomed to perfection, and standing next to Harry as they watched their adorable son dig ravenously into his cake. Harry muttered something to Ginny, who laughed as if they were in on some inside joke.

Her clenched hand shook on her punch glass, and she wouldn't have been very surprised if Fleur had uneasily inquired about a twitch in her eye.

She really should calm down. It wasn't healthy to allow her anger to swell up like this, and for that matter she really didn't have the right to be so angry, even if Harry and Ginny were looking a little too intimate for her tastes. After all, they were married and - and - she should get her damn hands off of him!

Light bulbs shattered throughout the room, glasses exploded in guests' hands, and the curtain closest to where Ginny had just pulled in Harry for a kiss burst into flame before Hermione could reign in her rampant emotions.

“What was zat?” Fleur said, astonished as she watched guests frantically attempt to put out the fire.

“No idea,” Hermione breathed, barely conscious of the handle she held, the only thing remaining of her glass, or the red punch now splattered over her sweater. “Completely mad. Very strange. Better check that out.”

Then she stalked away in the opposite direction of the chaos, slamming the door to her new bloody house as she exited. She continued to walk even when she was outside, aware of how raving mad she must look as she threw the handle harshly into the street, where it shattered just as the rest of the glass had.

“Oy, Hermione! Wait up!”

She stopped instantly in the middle of the road, though she didn't bother turning around even when the footsteps neared her, the sound of the soles of his shoes slapping hard on the pavement coming to an abrupt halt directly behind her.

“What the bloody hell was that about?” he said, though Hermione was irritated at the fact that he sounded more amused than angry.

“I have no idea what you're referring to,” she said petulantly.

“I know it was you, Hermione.”

“Not really,” she said, finally turning around and pointing to her stomach. “To be more accurate, it was her.”

“She may have been responsible for the magic, but you're the one who pulled the trigger,” Harry said.

“You wound me,” Hermione said acerbically. “What makes you say that?”

“Come on, what's wrong?” Harry insisted, taking her hand.

Hermione jerked her hand away from him, briefly contemplating if she should entertain his question with a response. However, her hormones rebelled at the concept of remaining silent.

“Do you really have to ask that?” she said nastily. “How do you think it feels to be six months pregnant with your child and then have to watch Ginny get to kiss you and share these moments with you when every passing day it seems more and more likely that I'll never get to share that with you?”

She turned away sharply and started storming down the street once more.

“Things would just be so much easier if I wasn't pregnant!”

Hermione heard the sound of his footsteps once more as he ran to catch up to her.

“What are you gonna do, walk it off?” he said furiously.

He grabbed her arm to stop her and turned her towards him.

“Let go of me! You don't know how I feel! You don't understand!”

“You think I don't understand?” Harry said incredulously. “You don't think this hurts me, too? To have to watch you and Ron together? To know that I may have to watch my own child be raised by him and not me?”

He stared at her intensely, and Hermione felt her lip tremble as she tried to hold back her tears.

Damn it, he does understand.

He pulled her closer to him and hugged her as he saw her tough demeanor fade.

They stayed like that for a few moments before Hermione laughed.

“Of course it had to be my house,” she said, sighing at her own outburst. “Did you at least manage to salvage the curtains?”

***********

The actual Valentine's aspect of Hermione's day went just as she expected it would. She sat in a nice, quaint little restaurant at a small round table that was physically incapable of seating more than two people. The room was dim, there was a lit candle between every well-dressed couple, and the pristine white tablecloth made the blood-red rose petals scattered delicately across it seem all the darker.

Typical, really.

Everything was just as she knew it should be, perhaps how it had been since the very dawn of this wretched holiday.

She wondered throughout the meal what the other couples in the restaurant were thinking. How many of these couples were legitimately happy, really? Probably depressingly few. Smiling, laughing, exchanging gifts and compliments only because an arbitrary date on a calendar dictated it. What was romantic about that?

Very little, Hermione decided.

But she played along, just as the world expected her to. She smiled with the best of them, she laughed as though her heart was really in it. She acted appropriately delighted when she opened the small box of gold earrings, although she primarily felt only guilt at the fact that the first thought that popped into her mind was that they didn't remotely match her necklace, which was tucked safely in her purse until the night was over.

She ate her meal with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, and wished she could have a glass or two (or three or four) of wine in an attempt to enjoy herself more. Then, of course, she only felt guiltier for thinking any of these thoughts when Ron was being so nice (as expected of him) and this only increased her longing - the numbness would be welcome.

But Ron seemed to drink enough for the both of them, and by the time they reached their house he barely had time to remove his jacket and loosen his tie before collapsing on their bed, and the snoring that followed was almost instantaneous.

She didn't bother following him into the room despite how tired she was. She kicked off her shoes and padded barefoot through the house, glad that Ginny had taken care of all the cleaning up after the party.

She made herself a cup of tea and took a sip as she continued to wander, still familiarizing herself with her new home, not that there was too much to familiarize herself with. Kitchen, living room, laundry room, two bathrooms, her bedroom, her study, and the untouched room that had been set aside for the baby. She tended to avoid this last room, so instead she decided to go to her study.

She flipped on the switch, but instead of the lamps turning on, something entirely different happened.

Instead, dozens of candles lit up throughout the room, casting a pale glow on the row after row of books on her shelves. Rose petals began to fall like snow as soon as the candles were lit, and in the very center of the room a note floated innocently in midair.

Despite the predictability of such a scene on Valentine's Day, Hermione appreciated the gesture nonetheless, even if he couldn't be here himself.

Sighing, she walked to the middle of the room, attempting vainly to brush away the rose petals as they fell into her hair. She plucked the note from the air and opened it:

I'm sorry I couldn't be here.

She sighed once more as she folded the paper, feeling tears prick at her eyes again. Her mind couldn't help but drift to Victoire's angry outburst from earlier that day:

But I am ready! Why should I have to wait for him?

Why indeed?

Hermione took one last look at the beautiful room, imprinting the scene into her memory, and vanished the candles and rose petals with a reluctant wave of her wand. Still clutching her untouched tea, she exited the room, shutting the door softly behind her.

She would wait because it was Harry, because she loved him, and that was all there really was to the matter.

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41. What's In A Name?

A/N: So hi, everyone! I hope you all haven't started hating me for how long it's taken to update…I'm really really sorry! SO here's the next chapter (finally), and as per usual I appreciate any reviews you have to give me. I believe I have 9 more chapters planned for this story, and this will be hopping around for a few chapters. I have a long gap of time to cross, so we'll just be getting snapshots for a bit. Also, the chapter title is in reference to Shakespeare's line in Romeo and Juliet if you didn't realize.

Chapter 41: What's In A Name?

April 28, 2006 - 10:52 pm

Felicity Marisol positively despised working the graveyard shift at St. Mungo's. Generally she quite liked her position as a receptionist for the hospital's maternity ward, but not under the present circumstances when she was covering the shift for a friend. At eleven o'clock. On a Friday night.

Felicity buried her face into her hands as she simmered on the cruel fate her friend had bestowed upon her. But a deal was a deal…Celeste had taken her shift, after all. But those tickets to the Weird Sisters concert were beginning to feel like inadequate compensation for this agony of boredom.

However, before she could contemplate more on the subject, a door slammed open nearby, and a moment later an attractive and heavily pregnant red-haired woman rounded the corner, followed closely by an equally attractive tall, dark-haired man with glasses. The woman was breathing heavily and seemed quite agitated, while the man appeared more nervous than anything.

As the couple neared her and their features became more distinguishable, Felicity was surprised to note that she recognized the man. Not that there was anything surprising about recognizing a man accompanying a woman in a maternity ward, of course. No, Felicity was surprised because every time she had previously seen this man, he had been accompanied by a different woman. A curly-haired brunette woman, if she remembered correctly. And she figured she did remember correctly since that brunette woman and the raven-haired man had been through the ward over half a dozen times in the past few months. What was the woman's name...Weesler? Wheston?

The red-haired woman was quietly bickering with the man, whose name Felicity realized she had never caught, and he placed a conciliatory hand on the woman's arm as they reached the desk.

“My wife's in labor,” the man said.

Weasley, that was it. She didn't even try to recall the brunette's first name…she knew it was something rather unusual.

“Alright,” Felicity said. “Name?”

“Potter,” the red-haired woman said through her labored breathing. “Ginny Potter.”

Felicity reined in the startled expression that attempted to appear on her face to an innocently perplexed raise of her eyebrows. Two different names, two different women, and both escorted by who she now realized was Harry Potter. Very curious, she thought as she quickly filled out some paperwork.

The red-haired woman, Ginny, was now continuing the conversation that her husband had interrupted.

“I really - hee hoo - don't understand - hee hoo - why - hee hoo - you're so opposed to it,” she puffed in an undertone.

“Really, you want to continue with this now of all times?” Harry Potter responded just as quietly.

“Birthday?” Felicity asked.

“August 11, 1981,” Ginny wheezed. “What - hee hoo -better time?”

“When you're not in labor, maybe?”

“No! We have James - hee hoo - and we're about to have - hee hoo - another child. How can you - hee hoo - not think this would be better?”

“And you've had a baby here before?” Felicity continued, starting to feel embarrassed.

“Yes,” Harry answered. “And because never once in my life have I wanted to just sit behind a desk for the rest of my career! Yes, I understand that it's not the safest job in the world, but someone has to do it!”

“But it doesn't have - hee hoo -to be you!”

“When did the contractions start?” Felicity said as casually as she could.

“Around nine,” Ginny replied through gritted teeth as she clutched her stomach.

“I'm good at my job, Ginny, and I enjoy doing it. I can't believe you'd ask me to do this.”

“I think - hee hoo - that I'm perfectly in the right - hee hoo - to expect my husband - hee hoo - to be around to see his children grow up!”

“Room 2 is available,” Felicity said meekly.

“Excellent,” Harry and Ginny said together, and they made their way to the room without waiting for Felicity's assistance.

Felicity sat back heavily in her chair and ran a hand through her short sandy hair. Maybe the night shift wasn't a complete bore after all.

**********

“Albus Severus? You really just named your child Albus Severus?” Hermione said incredulously.

Harry had arrived at her house a few minutes previously, looking haggard from a sleepless night, and he and Hermione were now settled comfortably on the sofa, cups of tea clutched in their hands.

“Why not?” Harry said with a small smile. “My dad, Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape…they were all people who affected my life so much, who died for me…the least I can do is help their names live on a bit longer. Granted, Snape was still an ass, but maybe Al can give it a more positive spin than Snape managed.”

Hermione nodded as she moved to take a sip of her tea. She completely understood where Harry was coming from. For someone like him, who had never gotten to truly know these people, naming his children after them was both a tribute to their lives and a way to keep a bit of their legacy alive.

“At least he's already shown a more pleasant disposition…how long did the labor last again?” she asked, setting down her cup.

“We got to the hospital a bit before eleven and he was out and cleaned up before midnight.”

“Figures,” Hermione huffed, placing a hand on her swollen stomach. “Do you think this one will be as easy?”

“Let's see…given our own dispositions, I'd say it's a safe bet to say that the baby could set up camp in there for weeks if it wanted to.”

“Are you calling me stubborn?” Hermione asked, putting on an aghast air.

“I'm calling us both stubborn,” Harry corrected, lacing his hand with hers. “If the baby doesn't think it's ready, then the baby will stay in there until he or she is.”

It didn't escape Hermione the peculiarity of so casually discussing the birth of Harry's child with another woman when she was on the verge of giving birth herself. The casualness in itself caused a sense of worry to gnaw at the pit of stomach. It had been weeks since they had had a conversation even remotely skirting around the issue of how they would break the news to Ron and Ginny, and Harry seemed rather content to continue the streak. Not that Hermione was attempting to bring it up either…for the moment they were alone in an isolated bubble of secrecy, both together and sheltered from the imminent pain that would be caused by telling their spouses.

“For my sake I hope the baby's ready,” Hermione said after a moment, smiling weakly.

“Everything will be fine, I promise,” Harry said. “Are you worried?”

Hermione thought that maybe in a different situation, if perhaps this was Ron's baby, she might have been. But right now, she didn't think she had any worry to waste on the act of giving birth. She needed courage to deal with what would come afterward, which is what she was truly concerned about.

“Not really,” she said truthfully. “You're going to be there, right? No dangerous missions in the near future?”

“Of course I'm going to be there,” Harry said. “I had Wahler reschedule the dangerous stuff in a few weeks. Told him to save it just for me, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “Can't let someone else have all the fun.”
“Exactly,” he said as he rested his head against the back of the sofa. His eyes closed, but he continued to hold Hermione's hand.

“Maybe you should go home and get some sleep,” Hermione said, squeezing his hand.

“I won't be able to sleep at home,” Harry intoned, his eyes still closed.

“Has Albus been fussy? Or James?”

“Not exactly,” Harry said. “And I'm just resting my eyes…”

“Which is why you're a few seconds away from snoring,” she said. She was curious about the slight bitterness in his tone but let it slide.

“I don't snore,” he protested lightly.

“Sure you don't,” she said, patting his arm.

“Not nearly as badly as Ron, at any rate,” he said, opening his eyes and sitting up. “But you're probably right, I should go.”

“Okay. I'm sure Ron and I will be over later to see Albus,” she said, disappointed that he was leaving even though she suggested it.

“Sounds good,” he said. He was still holding her hand, and leaned in to kiss her lightly, but just as his lips neared hers, the doorknob rattled. Hermione's heart leapt to her throat, but Harry simply extricated his hand from hers with a gentle tug, and she felt the pull of air on her lips as he Apparated from the living room with a quiet pop.

The sudden shift of weight on the couch caused the cup of tea Harry had balanced precariously on the armrest to fall to the ground and shatter. Hermione's heart beat rapidly against her chest as the Ron entered the room, adrenaline pumping in her veins; bitterness coursed through her as well as guilt.

“Woah, careful,” Ron said as Hermione leapt to her feet to clean up the mess. He leaned in to kiss her just as Harry had less than a minute before, and before she could rein in the unfounded resentment flooding her mind, a sharp crack split the air as his lips met hers.

Ron leapt back with a howl, clutching his mouth.

“What was that?” he groaned, his eyes watering.

“What was what?” Hermione asked tentatively, feeling the leftover tea from Harry's shattered cup beginning to seep into her socks.

“You shocked me!” he whined, still clutching his mouth.

“Must've been static electricity from the couch,” Hermione answered nervously.

Ron didn't even bother to ask what static electricity was as he moved away towards the kitchen, still moaning.

As soon as he had left, she cast a quick Reparo on the broken teacup and cleaned up the tea with another wave of her wand, feeling both a sense of shame at her emotions and pride at the amazing child she was about to meet.

******************

May 1, 2006 - 11:13 am

“Do we really have to go see this guy again?” Harry said, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat back in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs at St. Mungo's.

“Not really,” Hermione replied, placing her hands calmly over her enormous stomach. “But I have a few questions I want to ask him before the baby comes. Is there a problem with that?”

“No, of course not. I just don't like the guy.”

Hermione laughed, plucking a worn magazine from the table next to her and propping it open on her stomach, a habit she had picked up over the last couple months. “Of course you don't. You glare at him every time we come here.”

“That's because he gives me funny looks every time we come here! And that receptionist over there has been looking at me like I've grown another head.”

“And that's because you insist on coming to every one of these appointments. I think that's reason enough to give any person suspicions.”

“What, a male friend can't accompany his pregnant female friend to the Healer without raising suspicions?”

“Of course he can,” Hermione said, thumbing through a few pages. “Once, maybe twice, but to every single appointment without once being accompanied by the husband of said pregnant female friend? No, I'm fairly certain that's impossible.”

“I personally find that offensive,” Harry said before rubbing at the back of his neck in embarrassment. “Even if he is rightfully suspicious.”

“Well take it up with Derrick,” Hermione said.

“And that's another thing,” Harry continued. “Since when did you start calling him by his first name? I say we just stick with some professionalism and call him by his last name.”

“Fine, take it up with Clayworth then.”

“You're only suggesting that because I can't.”

Hermione smiled as she reached over and patted one of Harry's hands. “You might be on to something there. Besides, this should be our last visit, and then after the baby comes you won't have to deal with him anymore. Though I still think he's a perfectly sweet man.”

“`Perfectly sweet'?” Harry repeated distastefully. “I take it you'll be wanting to name the baby after him next.”

“Why not?” Hermione said, less because she liked the name than that she found Harry's reaction amusing. “Derrick's a nice name. Besides, it's not as though you or I have come up with anything better.”

Which was entirely true. Rarely did she or Harry suggest names to each other, and when they did the choices were usually quickly dismissed. Additionally, given the fact that the only two names suggested by Ron had been Ronald Jr. and Dragomir (chosen from one of the Chudley Cannons' Chasers and suggested with such seriousness that it disturbed Hermione), the pickings were rather scarce.

“I'll definitely come up with something to stop that from happening,” Harry said.

“Don't get too caught up with it though,” Hermione said. “If the baby turns out to be a girl you'll have worked yourself up for nothing.”

Before Harry could respond, the short-haired blonde receptionist at the nearby desk called over to them, her eyebrows raised.

“Hermione Weasley, Healer Clayworth will see you now.”

Hermione set the magazine she was still holding aside, and Harry helped her to her feet. Both went immediately to the correct room without being directed, having been there so many times, and settled into their usual chairs. Clayworth entered the room a moment later.

“Hermione,” he said warmly, walking forward to shake her hand.

“Healer Clayworth,” Hermione said in return, smiling. “I hope you've been well.”

“Excellent,” Clayworth replied, and then turned to Harry.

“Me again,” Harry said, grasping the Healer's hand. “Sorry, her -“

“—husband couldn't make it, yes,” Clayworth said with a smile.

“Right,” Harry muttered, removing his hand from the Healer's grip.

“So,” the Healer said, getting straight to business as he turned towards Hermione. “How are things progressing?”

“Everything's been fine,” Hermione answered as the Healer performed a few basic spells to test her blood pressure and health. “I've haven't been feeling sick or anything like that.”

“Excellent,” Clayworth said. “And your vitals are within range, which is also excellent. And by the positioning of the baby, I'd say it'll only be a few more days to go. Have there been any more, er, incidents?”

“They're less often now, but more powerful. Shattered china, set some curtains on fire, nearly electrocuted my husband, the usual.”

Clayworth nodded with a smile, considering the information. “It's possible that the farther along you've gotten the better the baby has been able to differentiate between the neurotransmitters released by your emotions and its own brain activity.”

“But I'm less concerned about these last few days than what will happen after the birth. Will these magical outbursts last while she's an infant?”

“That's hard to say,” Clayworth said. “As I told you, this situation, while not unprecedented, is incredibly rare and unpredictable. It's possible. However, given the tests we've performed and the way things have progressed, I'd say that there's a very good chance that you won't have to worry much about that. The child's magic was able to tap into your own when you, and thus the baby, became agitated. The mixture of magical signals, especially with one as unstable and volatile as an infant, allowed for the random bursts of uncontrolled magic. Theoretically speaking, the baby directed and caused the magic, but it was still channeled through you. So, away from an adept magical core, I'd say that magical outbursts should be relatively limited. Perhaps more often than the average young witch or wizard, and perhaps at a younger age, and perhaps more powerful, but it might not be exceptionally different from many other children.”

Hermione nodded, drinking in the information just as she knew Harry was, relieved that it was unlikely for their child to experience any adverse effects from the premature magic.

“Is that all you were concerned about?” Clayworth asked, correctly evaluating their comforted expressions.

“Yes, that was pretty much it,” Hermione replied, squeezing Harry's hand.

“In that case, I'm glad I could be of assistance,” Clayworth said. He placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder and smiled. “I look forward to seeing you in a few days.”

Hermione beamed happily at the man and then at Harry, who was also grinning broadly. If his smile and her own ecstatic expression were any indication, they were looking forward to being there in a few days as well.

******************

May 4, 2006 - 6:26 pm

It was rather saddening to Hermione that her entire career's work could be packaged neatly into a pair of small cardboard boxes. Granted, her entire career had thus far amounted to less than ten years, but it was nonetheless disheartening as she arranged her meager belongings into the boxes: a small assortment of files, a handful of worn quills, a half used bottle of ink, a paperweight given to her by Victoire, a framed Muggle photograph of herself, Ron, and Harry, a daily planner, a tiny (and rather wilted) potted plant that she had received from her mother when she had started at the Ministry, a decorative snow globe from some Christmas long past, a light sweater tucked away and forgotten in the back of her bottom desk drawer since early winter, and a package of what she suspected were incredibly stale cookies located directly under the sweater.

In fact, all of these items fit rather nicely into just one of the cardboard boxes she had brought, and the other was filled with a variety of cakes and going-away gifts from other people in her department, or rather what used to be her department. Although she had not been officially rescinded of her position, Hermione hadn't actually put in a day's work for about a month now, and had put off clearing out her office until the new head of the Beings Division had been chosen. If she was being honest with herself, she knew she was feeling rather resentful of this new division leader, this untried successor who would be sitting in her desk within the walls of her office. Although she would only be two floors away from the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures when she returned to the Ministry, it was still a bittersweet feeling to leave the only job she'd ever had and to start a new chapter in her life.

Or rather two new chapters, she thought in amusement as she felt a sharp kick within her swollen belly.

After checking each desk drawer once more and casting one last glance over her barren office, Hermione balanced one box on top of the other and clutched them as close to herself as she was able. Once she felt she had a relatively good grip on them, she backed out of the room, pushing the door open with her heel. She spun around just in time to avoid backing into Cecilia Vintreem, although she almost dropped her boxes in her haste to come to a halt.

“Hermione, I'm so glad I caught you before you left! And really, dear, you shouldn't be hauling around heavy boxes when you're so close to giving birth…Would you like me to shrink them for you?”

“Oh, right, shrinking,” Hermione said. “Slipped my mind for some reason. Would you mind?”

“Not at all,” Cecilia said, and shrank the top box, and then the lower one, in quick succession. Once they were tucked away safely in Hermione's bag, Cecilia resumed speaking.

“I'm very sorry to bother you so late in the day, but would you mind terribly if I asked you to give our new head an overview of some of the more prominent projects on our agenda before you go?”

“Of course I wouldn't mind, but is it really all that practical given the fact that I haven't been involved for so long?”

“Well, dear, given the fact the you, in fact, set into motion most of the existing projects, it's only logical that you give your side of things as well. It won't be only you, of course, other people from the division are here as well. You really might not have to say much at all if the other officials explain things well enough. I just want the transition to go as smoothly as possibly, especially given the problems other divisions have been having. It took so long to find a suitable replacement for Sanders after he quit so suddenly from the Spirit division. Placed everyone in a bit of a pickle, and of course as you know when one division is in chaos, we all tend to feel it in some manner.”

“I understand,” Hermione said, withholding a tired sigh. “In your office?”

“Yes, and it should only take a moment,” Cecilia said, and quickly ushered Hermione towards their destination.

Besides the man who would be replacing Hermione, three other officials from her division were in Cecilia's office, as well as Dirk Cresswell, head of the Goblin Liaison Office, and Gregory Hathord, head of the Centaur Liaison Office. Hermione sat heavily among them.

Once introductions had been made, Hathord launched in an explanation of the steps that had been taken thus far to finally place centaurs in the Beings division, and Hermione listened politely, despite having achieved the most crucial aspects of the proposal.

“It's really quite exciting,” Hathord was saying. “We're extremely close to selecting an ambassador among the centaurs, the first that this division has ever had, and we are strongly hoping…”

What they were strongly hoping, Hermione didn't quite catch, because all of a sudden a sharp pain erupted through her, a pain that spread from her stomach to her lower back and took her breath away with its intensity. She clasped her eye shut against the pain, but after a moment the pain receded slightly, leaving a dull ache. When she opened her eyes, everyone in the room was staring at her.

“I'm sorry,” Hermione said a bit breathlessly. “Please continue.”

“Are you sure?” Cecilia said, looking worried. “You can leave if you aren't feeling well.”

“No, I think I'm fine for now. I'll let you know if I need to leave.”

Once Cecilia had nodded, Hathord continued for a few more minutes, leaving Hermione to wonder if that first pain had been a fluke.

“…Of course, we have to wait for a final ruling from the Wizengamot, but we're feeling very confident that things will go well,” he concluded.

“Yes,” Cresswell interrupted, “and we're also in the midst of negotiations with the goblins in regards to some of the propositions we have for employees of Gringotts. Although it isn't strictly your division, you'll work closely with us to…”

The second pain that shot through her was if anything more painful than the last, and when Hermione, gasping, finally un-gritted her teeth and opened her watery eyes, she looked to Cecilia apologetically.

“Sorry, I think I need to leave now.”

******************

May 4, 2006 - 7:18 pm

It was only when Harry had reached the maternity ward of St. Mungo's that he realized Hermione's note was still crumpled tightly in his clenched fist. The message written hastily on the slip of parchment was short and to the point:

Baby coming. Already sent Ron note. See you soon.

Love, Hermione

After he was quickly referred to the correct room by the familiar blonde receptionist, he all but ran down the corridor and burst through the door.

Hermione was lying in the bed, already dressed in a hospital gown with a thin sheet covering her from the waist down, and a single thin wire clamped to the end of her finger led to a small machine next to the bed. She looked up in a slightly bemused fashion as Harry closed the door behind him.

“Wow, that was fast,” Hermione said. “I sent that owl from the Ministry less than twenty-five minutes ago.”

“I would have been faster, but I sent a quick owl to Ginny. Besides, I was already at the Ministry,” Harry replied, moving forward and placing a kiss on Hermione's temple before sitting in one of the chairs by her bed. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm fine right now. Temporarily between contractions, and Healer Clayworth said he could give me a numbing potion soon. And what were you doing at the Ministry on your afternoon off?”

“It's not important,” Harry said hastily. “Just some things I had to discuss with Wahler.”

Hermione peered curiously into his face, and Harry glanced away, feigning interest in the bland nature prints on the hospital wall. The small amount of motion in them made the pictures appear Muggle at first glance.

“It's more than that. Does this have something to do with why you and Ginny are -” She paused and screwed her face up in pain, gripping Harry's hand in a viselike grip when he wrapped his fingers around hers, causing him to wince as well. After a moment her grip loosened and she let out a pent-up breath. “—fighting?”

“Hermione, this really isn't important right now. Just focus on having this baby, alright?”

Hermione raised her eyebrow. “I'm focusing just fine on this, thank you. I really want to know.”

Harry sighed. “It's nothing, really. I was just putting in my request to stop field work, it's not a big deal.”

Hermione dropped his hand abruptly, and Harry noted the frown that appeared on her face. “Ginny asked you to stop, didn't she?”

Harry rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, wishing he wasn't having this conversation. “She might have suggested it, yeah. She just thinks it's the safer move right now.”

“Of course it's the safer move. Hiding away in Grimmauld Place is a safe move as well, but that doesn't mean you're going to do it,” Hermione replied, agitation evident in her voice, as well as a certain hint of distress that Harry couldn't quite understand.

“It's really not a big deal, Hermione. It'll be higher pay, and -”

“—and you'll be bored out of your mind.”

Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly. “Sure, it'll take some getting used to, but it's -”

“—`not a big deal,'” Hermione recited, and again Harry heard the distress in her voice.

“What do you want from me?” Harry said. “It's just a small career change - you just made one, too. Why are you upset?”

Hermione bit her lip and fixed him with a calculated stare. This time Harry didn't look away, intent on acquiring some clue about what was going on in her head, and after a moment it was Hermione who averted her eyes, swallowing loudly.

“I'm upset because -“ she began, but before she could say anything more, the hospital door opened once more.

“Hermione!” Ron said, hurrying forward and giving her a quick kiss. “I came as soon as I got your owl.”

He appeared fidgety and nervous, but a huge grin spread across his face - the perfect image of a first-time father - and Harry felt a hard ball of guilt and jealousy form in the pit of his stomach. He stood up, and Ron immediately took his vacated seat.

“Thanks for filling in, mate,” he said, taking Hermione's hand. “I can take it from here.”

Harry nodded mutely at his words, trying to meet Hermione's eyes. However, she wasn't paying much attention to him, merely continuing to bite her lip with a furrowed expression, obviously deep in thought. Her expression soon contorted into one of pain, and she clenched Ron's hand as well as a fistful of the blanket covering her, hissing through her teeth. Ron blanched at the ferocity of Hermione's grip, a barely audible yelp escaping him before he reined it in.

Clayworth walked in just as this particular contraction wore off, and walked forward to shake Ron's hand as soon as he was able to pry it from Hermione's.

“Mr. Weasley, I presume?” he said.

“You would presume correctly,” Ron replied, gingerly clasping Clayworth's hand.

“Pleasure to finally meet you,” the Healer responded, his eyes glancing towards Harry and back to Ron. “And how are you feeling?” he asked Hermione.

“Okay,” she said, wiping the back of her hand across her brow.

“Pain potion still holding?”

“As well as can be expected,” she said.

“Excellent,” Clayworth said. He passed his wand over the machine next to Hermione's bed, surveyed the results the slid out on a small slip of parchment, then passed his wand over Hermione in a series of diagnostic spells. Once this was done, he looked apologetically to Harry.

“I'm afraid I need to ask you to leave now, Mr. Potter. There are a few more things that need to be done, and only one visitor is allowed at the moment. Things could progress very quickly.”

Harry would have liked nothing more than to refuse, to blatantly tell the Healer that he had more right than Ron to be in the room, that he was the father, that this was his baby being born, but what could he do? Hermione sat silently in the bed, staring at her hands clasped over her stomach, and he jerked his head in acknowledgment. He glanced back in time to see Hermione staring after him, her brow again burrowed.

“Good luck,” he said.

She gazed at him a moment, her eyes sad, and then nodded.

“Yes,” she murmured. “See you after.”

“Yeah, see you,” Harry replied, the emotions in the pit of his stomach making their way up to his throat. He had barely shut the door behind him when Ginny rushed up.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, adjusting the strap of her purse more securely. “Mum just got to the house to watch the babies.”

“Everything's fine so far. I don't think we can go back in there until after,” he said, pointing his thumb behind him.

“Oh, okay,” Ginny said, disappointment lacing her tone. “Hopefully this goes by quickly, then.”

Harry nodded in agreement, although a part of him felt he needed all the time he could possibly get before the moment of truth came.

“Guess all we can do is wait.”

******************

May 5, 2006 - 4:33 am

The more time that passed, the more Harry hated that he couldn't be in there, hated that Ron was in there instead, hated this corridor, hated its pallid blue walls, hated the stubbornly still door of her room, hated the ticking of the clock that broke the silence.

He had long ago lost track of how many times he had paced the hall, passing again and again and again by the chair where Ginny had dozed off hours ago. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, knowing that they must be bloodshot. Blinking frequently to ward off his exhaustion, he continued to walk, much more slowly then when he had begun.

The first streaks of dawn were just beginning to lighten the sky when, finally, a rattle came from the doorknob. Ginny jerked awake at the sound and Harry bolted to the door just as Clayworth stepped out.

“Everything went fairly smoothly,” he said.

“On what planet is a nine-hour labor smooth?” Ginny asked, yawning as she stood from her chair.

Clayworth smiled. “Sometimes it just takes a while. But I'll just leave you two to visit,” he said, and strode away down the corridor.

Just as he was out of sight, the door opened again and Ron poked his head out. There were bags under his eyes, and his hair looked something akin to Harry's, but the grin on his face was the widest that Harry had ever seen.

“It's a girl!” he pronounced happily, opening the door wider.

Harry felt light-headed at his words. A girl, he thought. His first baby girl, his first daughter. He was simultaneously giddy and terrified at the thought. But those feelings were nothing compared to what erupted in his chest as Ron ushered them into the room.

It amazed him that, even though he'd done this twice already, he could still experience such an intense thrill at seeing his newborn child for the first time. The perfect little face, the knowledge that he had somehow leant to this image of perfection. His heart seemed to swell in his chest as he took in the sight.

And what was more, Hermione was holding her; Hermione Jean Granger, his best friend, his soul mate, her face shining with perspiration, her hair in disarray, but never looking more beautiful in Harry's eyes. He watched as she, with a small smile, angled their daughter towards Ginny, who fawned over the baby's tiny features as Ron stood nearby, his arms crossed proudly.

Harry didn't know how long he stood there, soaking in these feelings until they filled him to the brim, and only when he was broken from his reflections by Hermione's voice did he realize she had said virtually nothing since they had entered the room.

“Ron, could you go get me some ice, please?”

Ron seemed a bit surprised by this request, as though this mundane task had no place in the realm of such an extraordinary day, but he smiled and nodded nonetheless.

“Sure, of course.” He bent down and kissed the crown of her hair, and then exited the room, assuring them he would return quickly.

The door had barely closed behind him when Hermione looked at Ginny apologetically.

“I actually meant to ask Ron to get me some pumpkin juice as well. Would you mind…” she trailed off somewhat bashfully.

“Oh.” Ginny glanced between him and Hermione so quickly that at first Harry thought he'd imagined it. “Of course,” she finally said after a moment, though there was a tone of reluctance in her voice that confused him. She looked as though she were going to say something more, but instead she flashed Hermione a overly bright smile before turning on the spot, her ginger ponytail swishing out of sight as the door clicked shut.

And just like that they were alone.

Harry shuffled his feet for a moment, unsure of what to say or do, uncertain if he should speak first or allow her to. She seemed nervous, shy almost, eyes darting this way and that before finally focusing on him.

“Are you going to come and hold her or not?”

She hadn't even completed her sentence before he was across the room, standing with eager anticipation by her bed. As he bent over to scoop the baby from her arms and into his own, he knew he must've been grinning like a madman.

His daughter had a thick head of fair hair, and she peered solemnly at him with almond shaped eyes, the irises the inscrutable blue typical of many newborns, just as they were with Albus. He wondered what color they would be in a few months.

So you're the person that was causing all the trouble, he thought to himself, still smiling.

The baby blinked innocently, and Harry ran a hand gently over her hair.

“She's perfect, isn't she?”

Harry nodded at Hermione's words, and glanced towards her.

“She is,” he agreed. “Just like her mum.”

Inexplicably, she frowned and her eyes darkened.

“I'm not perfect,” she said. “I'm—I'm far from perfect.”

Harry furrowed his brow at her denial and her clear agitation to his statement. He sat down next to her on the hospital bed, their arms pressed together as he continued to hold their daughter.

“Well, let me rephrase since you seem so opposed to that…” he said, turning his head slightly to meet Hermione's eyes. She too had her head angled towards him, and swallowed as she returned his gaze.

“You're perfect to me, at least, so as far as I'm concerned your opinion, for once, is completely wrong.”

He leaned over slightly, just enough to close what little gap remained between them, and kissed her softly. He felt her respond hesitantly and then place a hand on the side of his face, cupping his jaw.

It was a small moment, a small piece of calmness and normalcy that he was grateful he was able to share with her.

Perhaps this is why he was so surprised to see her face shining with tears as he pulled away from her.

“What's wrong?” he said, startled.

Hermione shook her head, her damp curls bouncing listlessly. She still cradled his face with one hand, and the other she feverishly dragged across her eyes.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?” she said, and the tears she had just wiped away were immediately replaced with fresh ones. “I can't - I just can't do this.”

Harry's heart immediately took residence somewhere in the pit of his stomach. He blinked as Hermione attempted to stem her flow of tears, and his daughter suddenly felt heavy in his arms, just as Hermione's hand on his cheek suddenly felt less than soft - at least in his mind it did, though at the moment he was sincerely doubting it was capable of any sort of coherent thought.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally cleared his (very dry) throat and asked the question that he already knew the answer to.

“Can't do what?” he managed to say, although it came out much more quietly than intended.

“Do I really have to say it?” she said, letting her hand fall from his face as he turned away from her.

Harry figured his lack of reply was response enough. He heard rather than saw her take a deep breath.

“I can't break things off with Ron…” she said quietly. “I can't…I can't tell him or Ginny or anyone else about her.” She placed a hand softly on the blankets enveloping their baby. “I can't…”

“You can't be with me,” Harry concluded for her. There was no bitterness in his voice, no anger. There was really no emotion in his voice at all as he said it, but there was an ache in his chest that he doubted was fleeting.

Hermione remained silent next to him, which was all the answer he needed.

They sat in silence for several moments as Harry watched his daughter fall asleep.

“Why?” he asked. He knew there were reasons, plenty of them, but he was curious which of them had driven her to this decision. “Is this about what people would say to us?”

“No,” she said quickly, “that's not it at all. It would have been so hard to tell Ron and Ginny, to hurt them like that, but…I could...I know I could deal with that. With the stares and the whispers and the gossip…I could even stand being hated if that's the way things turned out…”

“Then why?”

“Because we've been selfish for the past nine months. We were thinking about ourselves and our feelings and never more than a day ahead of us -”

“And why shouldn't we be able to do that?”

“I sort of thought that as well.”

“When did that change?”

He finally glanced over at her again, and saw that she already had her head turned towards him, ready to meet his gaze steadfastly.

“About half an hour ago,” she said, and both their eyes fell upon the bundle in Harry's arms.

He nodded, accepting.

“I just…after seeing her, I can't imagine doing something that would hurt her in any way possible…and if I asked you to do that to James and Al…I would never be able to forgive myself.”

She laid a hand tentatively over his, and he made no move to remove it.

“And I don't think you would be able to forgive yourself, either. The fact that you were willing to give up a job you love for Ginny, today of all days…I think, on some level, you knew you needed to make things work with her for James and Al's sake.”

“Hermione, I would walk out of here right now and tell them everything if that's what you wanted.”

Hermione smiled sadly at his words. “I know you would, but that's just it - it's not about what I or you want anymore. It's about the obligations we've made…it's about James and Al and her. Besides…it's not as though we're unhappy with Ron and Ginny, right?”

He didn't know if she was trying to convince him or herself. Maybe both.

“Are we really willing to sacrifice the happiness of everyone around us just so we can be just a little happier?”

Harry felt inclined to petulantly respond in the affirmative, but he knew she was right. She was always right. Though he had never realized that is was possible to be so right and so wrong at the same time.

“So she'll never know?” Harry said, looking down once more at their daughter, who had fallen asleep. “She'll never know I'm her dad?”

Hermione started to silently cry again, and she gave a jerky nod.

“Not until she can handle it, at least…” she said, and he knew it was more for his benefit than the truth. By the time she could handle it, it would turn her entire world upside down, and both of them knew it.

Hermione placed a hand gently on the baby's soft hair.

“I want you to name her,” she said.

Harry murmured in assent although he figured it would be incredibly difficult to focus on something like naming a child who would never truly be his.

But it somehow wasn't difficult. Almost as soon as he looked down at the baby with the purpose of deciphering a proper name, it came to his mind so effortlessly the name might as well have been imprinted across her forehead.

“Rose,” he said quietly.

“Rose,” Hermione repeated, as though tasting the word on her tongue.

Harry finally stood from the hospital bed, feeling significantly older than he had when he had sat down.

“You can pick whatever middle name you like. Maybe after your mum.”

He knew it was slightly underhanded to continue a family tradition by naming his daughter (Hermione's daughter) after a flower, and he felt as though he were secretly staking a claim over her, a tiny reminder for himself every time she was praised or chastised. Not that he needed a reminder.

And so much sooner than Harry was ready for, Ron entered the room. In the small infinity that transpired as Ron crossed the room, Harry took the opportunity to look, really look, at his daughter for that last moment that she would truly be his daughter. What had been his daughter for nine months and the half hour since her birth was now Ron's daughter. Harry hungrily took in the sight of her, like a starving man, drinking in every feature he could possibly notice of the sleeping infant in his arms. He learned the curve of her tiny seashell ears, imprinted in his mind the shape of her constantly moving mouth, memorized the color and texture of the pale brown down on her head. He torturously found himself searching her features for some sign that could be interpreted as Ron, and in her sleep Rose clutched at his index finger while he conducted his broken, envious examination. As he had done with James and Al, he marveled that this tiny person, so new and indistinct, could so utterly secure the love and sanity of a fully-grown man. He could practically feel a bit of his soul crumble as he handed Ron the baby.

As he relinquished his hold on Rose, and stood back to fully take in the scene before him, Harry was suddenly forcibly reminded of something Dumbledore had mentioned long ago…a room locked at all times, containing a force at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than forces of nature.

Never before had Harry so accurately felt this force in all its variable forms, roiling throughout his body in unforgiving waves of torture as he met Hermione's sad gaze and watched his daughter being placed in her arms by someone that wasn't him.

Because despite out beautiful it can be, you can never quite escape the thorns.

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42. Remembrance

A/N: New chapter! Hope you guys enjoy it! And thanks so much for all the reviews for the last one --- believe there were just under 30 of them, which is AWESOME. So continue to be awesome and drop me a review for this one.

Chapter 42: Remembrance

Damn it, I am going to be SO late.

Hermione dashed from room to room, her hair still damp from an extremely hasty shower, a fistful of wrinkled papers in one hand, and a wailing infant in the other.

“It's okay, baby,” she cooed, soothing the best she could with one arm. “Mummy just really needs to get these cases sent back to work, so please stop crying.”

She found herself doing this quite often when she was stressed - trying to logic with her months-old child. She was disappointed to discover that it rarely worked.

This must have been the third time she circled the house. Where in Merlin's beard were those data reports? When had she had them last? When had she become so disorganized? When - ouch, please don't tug on Mummy's hair - had she ever been known to lose anything, let alone important work documents? When - wait, she remembered looking over them while she was feeding the baby…nope, not on the table. Maybe by the sink…negative. Oh bloody -

“Mummy?”

Hermione paused her frantic search and looked down at her daughter, who stood peering at her with large eyes, dressed in a pristine powder blue dress. The final few pages of her case were clutched in her tiny hands.

“Rose!” Hermione said in astonishment as she took the slips of parchment. “Where did you find those?”

She smiled and pointed over by the couch, where the diaper bag had been overturned.

Hermione sighed at her own stupidity.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she said. “Just in time too.”

She was just on the verge of attempting to bind the pages with a bit of string when Ron - finally - came through the door.

“Daddy!” Rose squealed, scampering towards him.

“Rosie!” he replied, grinning widely as he knelt down to hug her.

It still amazed Hermione that the simultaneous pleasure of seeing Ron with Rose could coincide so neatly with the agony of knowing what she did.

But no time to reflect on that now. Merlin knows she'd done it enough already.

“Here,” she said, business-like as she handed Hugo to his father. “Could you please feed him? I have to send these files back to work and I still haven't done a thing to get ready. The bottle's already made and everything.”

“Sure,” Ron said. “Bottle's in the kitchen?”

“Yes,” Hermione answered, already bundling up all her paperwork into her arms and moving towards the sofa to arrange them more neatly. Once this was accomplished, she rolled them into a scroll, sealed them, and cast a few privacy charms to ensure only the proper people would be able to receive them. The moment this was completed she stood up and moved to the backyard, where she hoped Marcellus would still be. At this point she wouldn't be surprised if he were off hiding somewhere with all the work she had given him lately.

Fortunately for her, the owl flew down from his perch on a branch high in trees, and alighted upon her raised arm. He ruffled his feathers in resignation at the scroll in her hand.

“I'm terribly sorry, Marcellus,” she said, tying the parchment to his leg. “These need to get to the Ministry as soon as possible. But this will be the last time this week, I swear.”

Marcellus blinked at her disbelievingly before nipping her finger affectionately and taking off, his snowy wings clipping her hair.

She sighed as she watched the owl disappear among the clouds. This really was beginning to be a bit much. It was her own fault, of course. She was the one who had insisted upon maintaining her still relatively new work responsibilities. But that was the price she had to pay to spend time with her children. After all, Hugo was still so young…she still needed some time before going back to work completely. She was frankly a bit surprised they hadn't replaced her yet…she had barely set up her office in Magical Law when she found out she was pregnant again. She considered it a blessing, in a way. Leaving Rose alone with Mrs. Weasley for the first time had been heart-breaking, and having an excuse to be back at home with her, even for a brief period, was wonderful. Besides, her primary job at the moment was analyzing case files and research where needed…more or less the equivalent of a Muggle paralegal. While it was more difficult to do at home, it was at least manageable.

As she continued to stare at the spot in the clouds where Marcellus had disappeared, she finally jerked herself back to reality. She still hadn't done a thing to get ready.

She spun around and stepped into the kitchen, and the moment she did she wished she hadn't. She groaned as she saw Hugo soaked thoroughly in formula and Ron holding the mostly empty bottle aloft helplessly.

“The, er, top of it kind of fell off,” he said unnecessarily.

Sighing, she moved forward and scooped Hugo from his arms.

“Can you just get ready to go, please?” she said, already moving towards the nearest bathroom. “At least one of us should be on time.”

She didn't hear his reply as she used her wand to instantly fill the bathtub with about three inches of warm water and quickly stripped the formula-soaked clothes off Hugo. However, the moment he came into contact with the water he began to wail, writhing as well as his two-month-old body would permit.

“Oh, Hugo, please, not today!” she said, cradling him in one hand as she used her other to rinse his tuft of red hair.

He continued to bawl, and suddenly the lights began to flicker on and off, plunging her in darkness continuously. She turned her head sharply, anxious to see if something was wrong with Rose. However, Ron appeared each time the lights came back on, grinning as he flipped the switch by the door incessantly.

“Will you stop that!” she hissed. “It's not helping!”

“Sorry,” Ron said, “thought it added some drama.”

“Why aren't you getting ready?” Hermione replied, ignoring his statement as she lifted the still crying Hugo from the tub.

“Oh, right,” Ron said. “Harry's here. Just let him in a second ago.”

Hermione wrapped Hugo in a fluffy blue towel and nodded. “Alright. I take it he has Rose, then?”

“Of course. Since Daddy becomes old news when `Uncle Hawwy' is around,” Ron said, imitating Rose's pronunciation as he rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

She smiled tightly at his statement. “Well, tell him I'll be out in a minute. And you'd better get ready in the meantime.”

“Fine, fine, I'm off,” he said, and disappeared into the next room.

Hermione sat down on the edge of the tub, slowly and methodically drying Hugo until he quieted down, which only took a few moments. He was generally a very good baby…both he and Rose were. The primary difference had been the length of their fits. Hugo tended to get upset more frequently, but he was just as quick to settle down. Rose, on the other hand, had rarely cried, but the times that she did could go on for hours. Not unlike their fathers in that respect.

She stood up after a few minutes and exited the bathroom, keeping Hugo wrapped in the towel until she could dress him. As she entered the living room, she instantly spotted Harry standing by the couch, Rose squealing happily as he tossed her into the air. As he caught her again, Hermione couldn't help but admire his attire.

He was dressed in official Auror uniform, the type only worn to the most special of occasions. Although the uniform was still technically a set of robes just as any other Ministry-sanctioned attire, it was only obvious from the waist down, where the back billowed out like a cloak. The top half of the robes could have been mistaken for military dress, double-breasted and featuring a raised collar. It fit more closely to Harry's torso, and was as black as his hair, allowing the silver trim and buttons to stand out brilliantly. To complete the look, three different badges were pinned to his chest: a small blue emblem featuring interlocking M's for the Ministry of Magic, a golden medal that Hermione recognized as the Order of Merlin, First Class, and a small silver triangular badge, proudly declaring Harry as the Head of the Auror Department (the youngest ever appointed at the age of twenty-seven).

Needless to say, he cut a very impressive figure.

“I must say,” she began, causing Harry to whirl around with Rose, “you clean up quite well, Mr. Potter.”

He grinned at her statement, if possible making him look even more dashing.

“Oh, this old thing?” he said, wiping at the crisp shoulder of his robes with his free hand as though wiping away imaginary dust. Rose promptly swept at his other shoulder with her tiny palm, eliciting an even larger smile from Harry.

Hermione always loved seeing them like this. Harry was always in his element around his children, and seeing him share that bond with Rose was a source of immense gratification to Hermione. She would be lying if she said the past two years had been painless. Especially in the first month after Rose had been born…in that first month it was like she had ceased to exist in Harry's eyes. After he had stepped out of the hospital room, she hadn't seen or heard from him for weeks. She had been left agonizing over her decision, clinging desperately to the hope that this would not be permanent, that Harry wouldn't become a virtual stranger to her, only to be seen on the occasional family holiday. But then one day in the beginning of June, he had shown up alone at her house and wordlessly taken Rose from her arms, cradling the infant against himself fervently, looking as though he would never set her down again. After that day, it was a rare occurrence for more than two days to go by without Harry appearing on the doorstep. Sometimes he had the kids, sometimes Ginny accompanied him, and sometimes it was just him alone. It seemed she and Harry had made a silent decision to never let whatever feelings, good or bad, that lay between them to interfere with their relationship or the relationship, however limited, that Harry could have with Rose.

And things had become easier then. Not easy by any means, but easier. She still fretted almost daily about her choices, but Rose served as a life-raft that kept her from drowning in her emotions. In Rose, something of her former life remained, her last link to the person she had been for such a brief period of time two years ago. In her daughter - in the shapes of her eyes and her nose, the set of her jaw when she was upset - she could see Harry. In fact, against reason, she had almost been upset when it became obvious that Rose's hair and eyes would both be brown, not black and green. She knew that what she was doing was dishonorable. Dishonorable, deceitful, and shameful on so many levels it sickened her. And of course spectacularly unfair to both Ron and Harry. But already Hermione saw the sacrifices a mother had to make, and if virtue was one of them, then so be it.

Hermione was dragged from her thoughts as Harry moved to set Rose down.

“Off you go, Rosie,” he said as she tottered off to her pile of toys in the center of the living room. Harry gave Hermione a quick up-down as she shifted Hugo into a more comfortable position in her arms. “I dunno, Hermione, I don't think my robes stand up to your outfit.”

She rolled her eyes, as she was clad in khakis and a formula-stained shirt. “Right, I'll be the belle of the ball,” she said sarcastically. “I haven't had time to get dressed yet.”

“Cutting it a little close, don't you think?”

“Well, it'll only take a moment if -”

She stopped as she heard the bedroom door open and close.

“Ready,” Ron said, entering clothed in dark blue dress robes. He also had a Ministry pin attached to his chest, as well as a silver Order of the Merlin, Second Class. Hermione herself had one of these stashed somewhere around the house. He looked quite dashing as well, although not quite to Harry's degree.

“Excellent,” Hermione said crisply, and deposited the towel-wrapped Hugo into his arms. “Get him dressed while I get ready. His clothes are already laid out in his room.”

“Er, yeah, sure,” Ron said. He and Hugo looked quite the pair with their matching sets of red hair. Ron walked off in the direction of Hugo's room - the room that had so recently been her study - and Hermione turned back towards Harry.

“Would you mind keeping an eye on Rose for a moment?” she asked, for propriety's sake more so than actually seeking an answer.

“Of course,” Harry replied. His eyes searched the room and he let out a bark of laughter as his eyes turned towards the kitchen.

Hermione turned her eyes toward the kitchen as well. At first she didn't see anything, but then her eyes lowered to the ground. Their daughter sat on the floor with a cookie pot wedged between her knees, munching contentedly on a fistful of ginger snaps.

“Oh, Rose,” she groaned. “I thought you hadn't seen me put that on the upper shelf.”

******************

As soon as Ron had emerged from Hugo's room, Harry had reluctantly left the house, knowing he was purposefully procrastinating showing up. He knew Ginny would be there with James and Al already, and he had simply felt the need to see Hermione and Rose beforehand.

But now he couldn't put it off any longer, and it was with a heavy heart and an exhausted sigh that he entered the Great Hall.

The sound that bombarded him the moment he pushed open the doors was almost enough to make him turn and high-tail it all the way to Hogsmeade. The Great Hall was more packed than he'd ever seen it, including during the Yule Ball. The only tables present were pressed against the wall and held a small array of hors d'oeurvres and punch bowls. Immediately Harry moved towards the nearest of these tables, hoping his entrance hadn't been noticed and intent on soothing his suddenly parched throat. He noted that one of the punches was spiked with firewhiskey, and promptly filled a glass with the red liquid. The first sip burned his throat satisfactorily, and he downed the rest of it in two quick gulps.

“Seems a little early to be hitting the booze, don't you think?”

Harry quickly turned, empty glass clutched in his hand, to find Mitch standing behind him with a grin. His blonde hair was slicked back over his head in a good imitation of Draco Malfoy, and he wore deep red dress robes.

“Yeah, a bit early,” Harry conceded, relieved that it was only his partner.

“Nervous, I take it?”

Harry shrugged noncommittally. “Among other things.”

Mitch clapped him on the shoulder as he moved to get himself some punch as well.

“It's just a speech, mate. It'll be over before you know it.”

Harry nodded tersely, scanning the people around him.

Mitch followed his example and inspected the crowd, and frowned after a moment.

“You're not still worried about Dolohov, are you?”

Harry glanced sideways to meet Mitch's gaze. He would be lying if the thought wasn't still nagging him. He had been over the security for this event time and time again, and Mitch knew more than anyone how anxious he had been about it.

When Harry didn't reply, Mitch pressed the fresh cup of punch into his hand. “Just relax, will you? There's no way Dolohov or any of his goons are getting anywhere near here. Trust me, forget about him for once.”

The certainty in his voice surprisingly eased his mind somewhat. He took a drink of the punch to ease it a bit more.

Mitch suddenly waved at someone behind him. “Family unit approaching from twelve o'clock,” he said with a grin.

Harry took another long gulp and shoved the almost empty glass back into Mitch's hands before turning towards Ginny.

“Merlin, I was beginning to wonder if you'd ever show up!” she exclaimed. She straddled Al awkwardly on her hip and she had a tight grip on James' hand as he walked beside her, seemingly flabbergasted by the sheer number of people around him. The flowing nature of her dark green dress managed to somewhat disguise her swollen stomach. James quickly slid his hand from Ginny's when he spotted his father and darted towards him eagerly.

Harry scooped his eldest son easily into his arms and Ginny seemed relieved as she used her now-free hand to hold onto Albus as well.

“Hey, little man!” Harry said.

“Hey, Daddy!” James replied. “Are all the people here to see you?”

He seemed astounded at the idea, and Harry couldn't help but smile. At least his own son didn't know how famous he was.

“No, all the people aren't here to see me. I'm just going to talk to them for a little bit later on. Other people are going to talk too.”

“Oh,” James said. He paused thoughtfully for a moment. “Do you get to talk first?”

“I don't think so,” Harry said seriously. “I think the Minister gets to talk first.”

“Oh,” James said again, and nodded at his father. “I bet you'll talk better.”

“Let's hope so, pal,” Harry said.

“Speaking of the Minister, I'm pretty sure he's about to suffer from heart failure if you don't let him know you're finally here,” Mitch said, jerking his thumb towards the front of the hall.

“That's probably a good idea,” Harry conceded.

“Do you want me to watch James?” Ginny asked.

“No, I'll bring him with me. It'll only take a second.”

The trek took longer than expected given the sheer amount of people he had to fight his way through. Luckily Kingsley's height made him tower over almost everyone else in the room, and Harry had no trouble finding him. The look of relief that crossed Kingsley's expression as Harry approached was almost enough to make him chuckle - rarely did the Minister ever exude any emotion short of calm and collected.

“Harry,” he said, excusing himself from his conversation with a peaky-looking wizard with fluffy white hair. “Punctual as always, I see.”

“Of course,” Harry replied congenially, inwardly smirking at Kingsley's jibe.

“And I see the young James Potter is in company as well,” Kingsley said with a smile. He extended his enormous hand to the three-year-old, and James only hesitated in the slightest before gamely pressing his tiny palm into the minister's and giving it a firm shake.

“Good man,” Kingsley said. “I'll be expecting to see you in the department sometime in the next fifteen years.”

James nodded importantly.

“I'm hoping he'll consider a less brutal job before following in his dad's footsteps,” Harry countered.

Kingsley let out a booming laugh and clapped Harry on the shoulder. “We can always hope. At any rate, now that you're finally here, we'll start the proceedings shortly.”

“Alright,” Harry said. “In the meantime I should be getting back to my wife.”

“Probably a good idea,” Kingsley said.

If it was possible, the trip back to Ginny took even longer. Not only was she considerably shorter than most and consistently became lost in the crowd, but Harry was stopped frequently along the way. Hagrid had intercepted him and clapped him heartily on the back, nearly causing him to drop James, but had quickly stepped aside when he actually did knock over two innocent bystanders. Harry had barely gone another yard before Oliver Wood appeared before him, looking as though his nose had been broken a number of times over the past few years and expressing his new manager position on Puddlemere United's Quidditch team now that he was officially retired. When he was finally dragged away by Alicia Spinnet, the recently-engaged Luna Lovegood approached him with her fiancé Rolf in tow. At some point along the way he had set James down due to his aching arms and now simply clasped his hand. He was much more enthused by the next person who stopped him.

Hermione looked quite splendid in a simple pale blue dress, although she looked practically out of breath as she reached him. The delicate silver pendant he had bought her lay against her chest, and Harry was strangely pleased to see it displayed instead of hidden beneath a blouse, as it usually was. She held Rose, who was still clothed in the dress he had seen her in earlier, causing her to nearly match her mother.

“Uncle Hawwy!” she said, waving enthusiastically to Harry as though she hadn't seen him less than an hour ago.

“Hey, Rosebud,” he said, grinning. “Long time no see.”

“Thank Merlin we made it in time,” Hermione said, pushing a few strands of hair from her face.

“Close to a photo-finish,” Harry said. “Kingsley's about to start everything. You look very nice, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said, only the slightest tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. “As I've already said, you look quite dashing as well.”

“I've always liked you in blue,” Harry said. “If it wasn't for the kids, we could be at the Yule Ball right now.”

Hermione's blush deepened a bit at Harry's remembrance of what she had worn in fourth year, but she smiled nonetheless. She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off as someone around them spoke.

“I agree, you have always vorn blue quite vell.”

Harry and Hermione both turned their heads sharply towards the instantly recognizable voice, Hermione's jaw practically dropping open in the process.

“Viktor!” she said in delight.

“Hermy-own-ninny,” Viktor Krum replied, smiling. “It is nice to see you again. Same vith you, Harry.”

“Yeah, it's great to see you too,” Harry replied, a bit thrown off by the Bulgarian's sudden appearance.

“I didn't expect to see you here,” Hermione said.

“It vos a bit of a last minute decision,” Viktor said. He paused as he surveyed James and Rose. “These are your children?”

Harry and Hermione nodded.

“Vell, they are beautiful children.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said just as Harry uttered his thanks as well.

“How long have you been together?”

Both Harry and Hermione stared blankly at him a moment before understanding dawned on them.

“Oh!” Hermione said.

“No, we're not together,” Harry said hastily.

“He's just Harry's,” Hermione added, gesturing to James. “He's not mine.”

Harry found himself grateful when she didn't describe his affiliation to Rose - or lack thereof.

“Oh, I apologize,” Viktor said. He seemed mildly embarrassed. “I just assumed ven I saw you vith the children. I vondered if you and Ron had not vorked out. And you always did talk very fondly of Harry during the Tournament…”

“Right…” Hermione said, clearing her throat. “No, Ron and I are still married.”

“Speaking of, I think I see him and my wife over there,” Harry interrupted. “If you'll excuse us…”

“Of course,” Viktor replied, looking relieved. “It vos vonderful to see you, Hermy-own-ninny. And you, Harry.”

“It was wonderful to see you as well, Viktor,” Hermione said for both of them, smiling.

He immediately slumped away, disappearing easily into the crowd.

“It still bugs me that he figured it out before I did,” Harry muttered as soon as he was gone.
“And Rita Skeeter,” Hermione pointed out. “And Cho Chang. And Ron.”

“Don't remind me,” Harry grumbled.

“Did you really see Ron and Ginny?” Hermione said, unable to scan the crowd with her height.

“I didn't a minute ago,” Harry said, his eyes focused behind her. “But they're coming over now.”

Ginny appeared a moment later with Albus, and Ron appeared holding Hugo.

“Everyone's heading outside,” Ginny said without preamble. “We should go and get our seats.”

Harry quickly agreed and followed her out of the hall as Hermione fell into step beside him. The cold feeling of anxiety he had momentarily forgotten settled once more in the pit of his stomach, his insides squirming unpleasantly.

******************

The chairs by the lake were set up very similarly to the way they had been set up for Dumbledore's funeral, though there were considerably more of them. Hermione was almost disappointed when Kingsley ushered her and Ron to the front - she really had no more right than anyone to deserve a place of honor. Yes, she had helped Harry, but he had done the main bit. He was the reason they were here. And as she glanced over at him, sitting straight as a rod in his seat next to her, she could tell that such a concept (however true) was mostly just sickening to him. He still looked incredibly dapper in his uniform, but his face was considerably paler than it had been just moments ago in the Great Hall.

James sat on Harry's other side, sandwiched between his father and mother, and Ginny had Albus settled in her lap much as she had Rose settled in her lap and Ron with Hugo. Hermione couldn't help but think that the four of them (five if you considered Ginny's pregnant belly) made quite an attractive display. The father, impressive in his uniform, the mother, radiant and glowing, and the two sons, practically Harry in miniature with their identical mops of jet-black hair (which happened to set off Ginny's vibrant red hair brilliantly), and Albus even more so with his bright green eyes.

Yes, quite the statement indeed.

Hermione glanced over again and saw that Harry's right hand, the one nearest her, was fidgeting, fingers tapping relentlessly against his leg. She leaned over and nudged him slightly with her shoulder. The tapping stopped instantly, although the way he fisted his fingers told her that he was having trouble keeping it that way.

“Nervous?” she whispered to him. The soft rumble of the crowd behind her, as well as Ginny and Ron's respective conversations with McGonagall and Neville, ensured they wouldn't be heard.

“Not especially,” Harry said. “Do you think they'd notice if I transformed into a wolf and ran madly into the Forbidden Forest?”

“It's a possibility,” Hermione admitted solemnly. “Especially because I'd have to take off after you as a fox, and that would lead to even more of a fuss.”

“Not to mention that Rose would probably rat us out if we somehow managed to get away undetected,” Harry added.

“I think we're safe there,” Hermione said, smiling down at her daughter dozing in her lap.

Before either could say anything else, a hush spread through the crowd immediately followed by a rustle of people twisting in their seats. Hermione followed suit, and saw Kingsley approaching the podium that was set in front of the seats. Sunlight sparkled like diamonds on the surface of the lake and provided a perfect backdrop for the ceremony. Hermione could also see Dumbledore's tomb, crisp against the sky, on the opposite side of the lake. She was more morose in thinking that this was appropriate as well.

When the minister reached the front of the group, he turned and surveyed them for a moment. Even the lake seemed as unmoving and silent as the vast group of people sitting beside it.

“Good evening,” Kingsley finally said, his magically magnified voice reverberating over the crowd. “Today is a momentous occasion. Today we come together, after ten years, to this revered place. Today we both celebrate and mourn as we remember.”

Hermione allowed the minister's deep tone to wash over her. The unseen people behind her were entirely still, the silence only broken by the occasional sniffle. She noted in the periphery of her vision that Harry had bowed his head and closed his eyes.

“Today we remember our sons, our daughters, our relatives, our friends….ordinary people with extraordinary courage,” Kingsley continued. “We do this because today is May 2, 2008, the tenth commemoration of our final battle against the tyranny of Lord Voldemort.”

Hermione was pleased when she heard no sharp intake of breath from the people behind her.

She watched as Kingsley waved his wand, and suddenly there was a monument that became visible in the grassy area next to the podium. It was a monolith made of the same white marble that Dumbledore's tomb was made of, and carved with names of those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts.

“With this memorial, we commemorate those who died. We honor each of the fifty-four men and women who were killed that day, and we stand with the families who love them still.”

Hermione felt a burning in her throat, a prickling feeling in her eyes as she heard a sob or two finally break the stillness. She knew one had emitted from Molly Weasley. She knew better than to think she'd hear a sound from George, sitting a row behind her with the rest of the Weasleys and staring blankly. No matter how much time passed, she knew that his pain was of the sort that simply transcended something as uncomplicated as tears.

She also thought of Teddy, surprisingly solemn, hair mousy-brown as Tonks' had been when she was feeling down. He was sitting next to his grandmother and mourning the parents he had never gotten to know, the parents who would not be able to see him off to Hogwarts next year, would not be able to see him grow into a young man. There was something so inherently Harry-like about his demeanor that it made her heart ache. Victoire sat next to him as well, holding his hand, doing her best to comfort him. Hermione suddenly remembered that it was the girl's eighth birthday, and felt sorry that it fell on such a sad day.

She thought of Katie Bell, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Parvati and Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Hannah Abbott, Lavender Brown, Cho Chang, and her numerous other classmates who were here to honor everyone who wasn't.

She even thought of Draco Malfoy. She had seen him, knew he was here. She had a strong suspicion that he sat in the very back of the crowd, next to his wife, Astoria, holding his son, Scorpius, who Hermione knew was around Rose and Albus's age. Hermione knew that it must have taken an incredible amount of courage and humility to show up to this ceremony, and for that alone could forgive him for the horrible things he had done as a child.

So engrossed was she in her thoughts that Hermione didn't realize she had stopped listening to the minister until she registered a change in the pitch of his voice. She guiltily returned her attention to Kingsley's speech, but then realized that there really was no need to feel guilty. They were here to remember, just as Kingsley has said. And that's what she was doing - remembering.

“…and so,” Kingsley was saying, “it is with great pleasure and admiration that I invite the Ministry's Head Auror, the Boy-Who-Lived and the Vanquisher-of-the-Dark-Lord, Harry James Potter, to come up and say a few words.”

Hermione instantly winced at Kingsley's use of Harry's many monikers, but Harry seemed to take it in stride as he stood from his seat and straightened his robes. He was still terribly pale, but by the determined set of his jaw Hermione knew he would be all right.

When Harry reached the podium, he and Kingsley shook hands professionally as though they were not close friends, and then he and Kingsley exchanged places, Harry facing the crowd as the minister sat between Hermione and James. The minister gave Hermione a small smile and a nod as he sat, and then gave James a quick wink. The small boy blinked as he craned his head to take in the enormous wizard, and then jutted out his hand as his father had. Kingsley chuckled as he gave the hand a tiny shake. Then James turned his head to look towards his father, as if concluding his business with the minister.

Hermione smiled at the exchange, then turned to look at Harry as well. When he met her eyes, she smiled more brightly and nodded in encouragement. He had managed to avoid much of this sort of thing in the days after the battle, and she knew he was anxious. But she knew he would do fine…they had practiced the speech so many times he should know it by heart.

He took in a large breath and expelled it before beginning to speak.

“Thank you, Minister Shacklebolt, for your words,” he began courteously, nodding towards Kingsley, who nodded back.

Harry opened his mouth to continue, paused for a moment, and then chuckled nervously.

“As you'll probably find out in a moment, I'm absolute rubbish at giving speeches,” he said, eliciting light laughter from the crowd. “In fact, if it wasn't for my friend Hermione I probably wouldn't have had anything prepared at all - still finishing my homework for me, thank Merlin.”

The crowd laughed again, especially since the majority of them had been witness to Hermione's role in Harry and Ron's schoolwork. Hermione blushed slightly and smiled. A line into his speech and he had already charmed them.

As the laughter faded off, Harry turned solemn once more, though he seemed calmer than he had a moment ago.

“Despite what some of the press may have you believe, this day isn't about me. This day isn't really even about Voldemort. This day is to remember the sacrifices of everyone who faced him and his followers. That includes almost everyone sitting in this crowd, as well as those we wish were here sitting with us. It's here we feel the depth of your and their sacrifice.”

He paused as he scanned the crowd, his green eyes taking in everyone before him.

“This is also a day to look forward,” he continued. “The sacrifices that were made ten years ago would mean nothing if we forgot the work that was done to win, and the lessons we learned. It falls to us, and every generation afterward, to carry on that work. To keep moving forward and overcome a sometimes painful past as we continue to strive for our ideals.

“Everyone who was a part of the war - because it was a war - did so by choice. We volunteered. And we fought with as much bravery and honor as any before us. And after the battle was fought and won, we did something more - maybe more important than the war itself. We looked after one another. We cared for one another. Many of us were hurt after the war, and not all of us physically. And we understood that and helped each other.”

He paused and looked downward to the people in front of him. He met her eyes again and gave a small smile, which she knew was meant not only for her, but for Ron and Ginny and the rest of the Weasleys.

“And now, ten years later,” he said, looking back up, “we remember that this will forever bind us, whether you fought in the battle or were too young to be shaped by it. It is important that our children understand the sacrifices that were made here a decade ago…that for them, this battle will be more than just a name in history books.

“I know the wounds of war are slow to heal. We know better than most. But today we take another step. The task of telling our story continues. Decades from now, I hope other young Hogwarts students will see this monument and reach out and touch a name - someone she never met, who fought a war she never knew - and in that moment of understanding and gratitude, your legacy will endure. For you, and every name on that monument, are all true heroes that deserve to be remembered.”

And as Harry concluded his speech, his voice catching a bit at the end, Hermione could attest to how accurate his words were. She could practically see them around her, not just those who died in the battle, but everyone who had died in defiance of Voldemort. At the very least she could certainly feel them, conspicuous in their absence…Fred sitting next to George, cutting up and whispering conspiratorially about some prank or joke product for their shop; Colin Creevey, snapping away frantically on his Muggle camera; Dobby, in his brightly colored socks and hats, chattering away to Harry; Snape, still intimidating the students who had graduated ten years ago even though they knew better now; Remus, sitting by Teddy and tousling his hair affectionately; Tonks on Teddy's other side and changing her appearance to amuse him; Sirius, making a few light-hearted jabs at Remus, his dark hair falling in his face as he grinned wolfishly; James and Lily, sitting in the front row with Hermione, proudly watching their son; Dumbledore, standing beside Harry and clapping his shoulder, his eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses.

She swallowed the lump in her throat at these thoughts, and barely registered Kingsley standing up and Harry sitting back down.

He let out an exhausted sigh and glanced over at her.

“Did I do okay?” he muttered.

She nodded, blinking away tears.

“Yes,” she said. “You did great.”

******************

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Slight side note: I'm aware that Lavender Brown was attacked by Fenrir Greyback in the 7^th book, and according to Harry Potter Wiki she was one of the deceased during the Battle of Hogwarts, but given that it was not explicitly stated in the book (or by JKR herself as far as I know) that she died, I'm going to assume she survived. If someone is aware of an interview or something where JKR affirmed Lavender's death, please let me know. But otherwise I'm going to be an optimist and say she's alive and well.

Aaaannnd cue reviews.

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43. Chapter 43: Suspicions

A/N: As always, I must apologize for the delay with posting. I was working on a short story for a class last year for literally like seven weeks of the semester and then holidays came up, etc. Not to mention I just started a Jane Austen course, the reading for which is taking up quite a bit of my free time. Regardless, I do hope to have this story completed within the year. Not too lofty of a goal or anything but still.

So to start, thank you to everyone who reviewed last time. Despite my less than consistent updating schedule, I am still always blown away by your words, so thank you so much! I hope you all enjoy this one, and continue to leave feedback! Just as a warning, there will a big time jump after this chapter.

Chapter 43: Suspicions

Hermione batted almost subconsciously at one of the flying memos that threatened to embed itself in her mane of hair. When the second one did the same, she wrapped her fingers loosely over her vinewood wand and murmured Finite, causing the tiny paper memos to collapse limply upon her desk.

She swiped the memos to the side until she could finish the report she was reading.

It was early Saturday at the Ministry of Magic, and as such there were few people milling about. By all rights she shouldn't have been there either, but there had been a few very important cases she had wanted to complete before she could fully enjoy her weekend. The files themselves contained little of value - they were mostly blank, at least to her eyes - but certain elements of the files were required to achieve approval from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The reports, being from the Department of Mysteries, were of utmost secrecy and only revealed things on a need-to-know basis. In fact, she found that more often than not she could remember very little of what she had just read when the file was out of her sight. The procedure was more for show than anything, and once they got the faux-approval from the DMLE, the Unspeakables would send the final project summary to the Minister himself.

However, Hermione knew that the Unspeakables could be an impatient lot when it came to beginning a new project, and she wanted to complete the reports as soon as possible.

Hermione yawned as she flipped the file shut and tucked it into the box on her desk.

Her career track had been a little hectic since she had switched departments, and the changes occurred so rapidly she was usually just becoming accustomed to one role when it would be exchanged for another. Or worse yet, another role would simply be added to her other responsibilities. Less than three years ago she had barely been more than a glorified intern in the Department, and now she was a high-ranking official for the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol. She liked to think her quick climb through the ranks had nothing to do with her friendship with Harry, but she suspected it was a contributing factor. But she knew her skills and dedication were also being noted. As Harry had informed her, there was even a rumbling of her being offered a position with the Wizengamot, a rare enough offer to a witch of -

“Is there any particular reason you're here on a Saturday? And on your birthday no less?”

Hermione looked up from one of the memos she had pulled before her and raised an eyebrow at Harry, framed within the doorjamb of her office.

This was one of the perks of having switched departments. Hermione was both unspeakably pleased and mildly flustered at having Harry a few doors down from her. By working on the second level, it was fairly common for her to see not only Harry, but also Ron, Arthur, and Mitch at regularly intervals throughout her workday. Hermione had to admit that it was a very pleasant work environment, even if it was a little distracting.

“A few reasons, actually,” Hermione said, returning her attention to one of the memos detailing a dispute between two goblin clans over ownership of a particular vault in Gringotts. “Namely the whole employment thing.”

“Ah, that,” Harry said, stepping into her office. “A bit of a drag if you ask me.”

“It pays the bills,” Hermione said. “And you're one to talk. When was the last Saturday that you didn't come into work?”

“Well that's what happens when you're a Division Head,” Harry said. “As you should also know. I won't be here much longer, though. Birthday party to attend.”

“Is that your way of implying I should speed things up so the guest of honor will actually be there?”

“Something like that,” Harry said. “So how does it feel to be thirty?”

“Great,” Hermione said, sliding the second memo towards her. “I've never felt better.”

“So it's sort of a delusional thing?” Harry said, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Yes, luckily,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes slightly as she felt her lips curve upward as well. She looked down at the memo, squinting a bit to see the tiny print, and heard Harry snort with amusement a moment later.

“What's so funny?” Hermione said, her eyes still on the parchment.

“Nothing really…it just seems like all those years of reading are finally catching up with you. Should I read that memo for you or would you like to borrow my glasses?”

Hermione glanced up as she realized she was holding the memo about a foot from her face. Harry slid his glasses off his face in a swift motion and, before she could object, hooked the glasses over her ears and took a step back.

She blinked rapidly as her vision turned sharply blurry, causing Harry's features to fade into hazy ambiguity.

“Harry, my vision may be fading a bit, but it's nowhere near this caliber. Merlin your sight is awful!”

“I guess it doesn't help matters that I'm near-sighted,” Harry replied.

“Can you even see me right now?” Hermione asked as she slid the glasses down her nose to peer over the rim. Harry's features again came into focus, and Hermione thought it was odd how strange he looked without his glasses.

“Not especially,” he said, squinting his eyes slightly.

“How close do you have to be to something to see it clearly?”

“Pretty close,” he said. “I can see you clearly about…”

He stepped around her desk and bent down until his face was as close as the memo had been a moment before.

“…here,” he concluded.

Hermione felt her pulse quicken and leaned back in her chair to decrease their proximity slightly.

Harry reached forward and lifted his glasses from her face, seemingly oblivious to her discomfort, and replaced them on his own nose. He straightened and stepped away again, and Hermione let out a pent-up breath.

“So are you ready to go or do I have to drag you out of here?” Harry asked.

“I just - I just need to take these down a few floors,” Hermione said, tapping the side of the sizable box of files. “I'll be ready after that.”

“I have to grab something from my office anyway,” Harry said. “I guess we'll meet up in the Atrium?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “Sounds good.”

Hermione began binding up the box as soon as Harry left the room, and once that was completed she hefted the box into her arms. It was a little heavy, but not so much to warrant a levitation spell.

She met no one on the way to the lift, and the lift itself was empty of inhabitants as well. Hermione fluidly rode the lift down seven floors, never once being jolted to a halt by the interruption of a new passenger.

“Department of Mysteries,” the cool voice announced as she reached her destination. The golden grilles of the lift slid apart and Hermione stepped onto the black floor, gripping the box a little more tightly. Even though it had been over thirteen years since she, Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and Ginny had come here in that reckless attempt to rescue Sirius, she still felt extremely uncomfortable when she had to come down here.

Her shoes clacked echoingly through the corridor as she hurried toward the far door, the noise amplified by the lack of all other sound. Already she could feel a smattering of gooseflesh coat her arms and an irrepressible shiver ran down her spine, as if a cold breeze had just swept by her. A sudden urge came over her to glance over her shoulder, overwhelming her better judgment until she finally gave in.

As she knew would be the case, there was no one behind her - only blackness.

Gratified and mentally berating herself, she turned her head forward. Intent as she had been on what lay behind her, she didn't realize someone was in front of her until she collided with him.

She let out a yelp of mingled surprise and fright as the box began to fall from her arms, but the man in front of her balanced it between them.

Hermione felt slightly embarrassed at being so easily startled, but her heartbeat continued to race.

“Oh, I'm so sorry!” she said, trying to regain her grip on the cardboard. “I almost bowled you over!”

“No apology necessary,” the man said, still holding a corner of the boxes as well. “I should have been watching where I was going.”

Hermione peeked over the top of the box to see who she had run into. The man was very good-looking, with high cheekbones that tapered down to a thin but angled jawline. His dark brown hair was perfectly coiffed, and the lack of alarm in his gaze seemed to suggest he didn't appear remotely flustered at almost being knocked flat.

“Hermione Weasley, right?”

“Yes, that's right,” Hermione said, jostled from her intense scrutiny. There was something about him that seemed familiar to her, but she couldn't place what it was or why it seemed familiar. She was fairly positive she had never seen him before.

She wished he would let go of the box.

“Excellent,” the man said, his lips parting to reveal straight, pearly white teeth that would have made her parents swoon. “I was just being sent up to see about your progress on these files.”

She felt a tug as he began to pull the box away from her, but she tightened her grip.

“I haven't seen you around before,” she said.

“I'm fairly new,” the man replied. “That's why they're sending me on these little errands.”

He smiled again, a small smile, polite. It disarmed her as much as it gave her chills.

“Thank you for saving me the trouble, Mrs. Weasley. I'll make sure they get to the proper officials,” the man said. He pulled the box again, his blue eyes fixed unblinkingly on hers, and this time Hermione allowed it to slide from her fingers.

Without another word, the man turned and strode toward the black door at the end of the hall, his robes swishing behind him. His footsteps made no sound as he walked, and he soon disappeared into the next room, leaving Hermione standing alone in the corridor.

She stood, shivering, and stared at the door for a moment, trying to assess why such an innocent encounter had left her feeling so ruffled. Swallowing, she turned and practically ran back to the lift, allowing it to take her up to the Atrium.

Harry greeted her as she stepped onto the polished wooden floors. He immediately picked up on her uneasiness.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Oh, it's nothing,” Hermione said, as much to convince herself as him. “Just feel a little light-headed. I probably just need to eat something.”

“Well, you're in luck because I'm sure Molly made plenty,” Harry said. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

Hermione smiled, dismissing her thoughts as she looped her arm through his.

******************

Mrs. Weasley had taken the reins wholeheartedly when Harry (to Hermione's annoyance) had surreptitiously mentioned Hermione's upcoming birthday. While Hermione had made a few feeble attempts at dissuading the plans, it had soon spiraled out of her control. In the end, Hermione had simply insisted that it be held earlier in the day - with half a dozen children under the age of five present, she felt an evening party was asking for trouble, and Harry quite agreed.

He was even more inclined to agree when he and Hermione Apparated just outside of the Burrow's gates. The noise bombarded them instantly, and Harry had absolutely no trouble believing that all twelve of the Weasley grandchildren were present in full force.

The children were all darting madly about the yard, and Harry grinned as he saw Albus and Rose chasing each other in an ungainly imitation of their older cousins. A fair portion of the adults were milling about as well, seated at numerous picnic tables and talking loudly in an attempt to be heard over the kids. Harry spotted Neville, Hannah, Charlie, Arthur, Bill, Percy, Audrey, Angelina, and a few Ministry acquaintances of Hermione's and waved his greeting when the group noticed their arrival. Hermione likewise greeted them, warmly thanking them for coming. As soon as these pleasantries were exchanged, Harry and Hermione both went inside to find their spouses.

Hermione was instantly delighted when they entered the house due to the sight of her mother conversing with Ron and Ginny. She dashed forward and embraced her earnestly, leaving Harry to approach at a more subdued pace.

Over Hermione's shoulder, Harry could see that Katharine was holding Hugo, and Ginny was holding Lily. Just as Hugo's flaming red hair made him a miniature of his father, Lily's identical mop of hair made her a miniature of her mother. In fact, this similarity in looks caused Harry's daughter to be referred to more often as MinGin than her actual name. The nickname, for the time being, had stuck, a habit that Harry was somewhat grateful for. Even now, a year after she had been born, he was still marginally aggravated that Ginny had been so adamant on naming their daughter after his mother. James had been enough, in his opinion, but he couldn't very well have expressed the aversion to Ginny at the time. The most he could do was hastily tack on “Luna” in an attempt to polarize the choice, and though Ginny had been a bit taken aback by the suggestion, both she and Harry were pleased at the idea once it had been brought forward. Luna, of course, had been even more pleased.

“Happy birthday, sweetie!” Katharine said as Hermione broke away.

“Thanks, Mum,” Hermione said. “I'm so glad you came!”

“I couldn't have missed your thirtieth birthday!” Katharine said. “And I haven't seen my grandbabies in ages! Hugo wanted to spend the day with his grandmummy! Isn't that right?”

She directed her last question to Hugo, who grinned at the attention and blurted out a brief and incoherent garble.

“See? He's positively delighted!” Katharine said.

“Clearly,” Harry said. “He obviously has great taste.” He threw in a wink for good measure.

“I'm standing right here, you know,” Ginny said, putting on an air of shocked affront as Katharine, Hermione, and Ron laughed.

“Oops, sorry Gin, I didn't see you there behind our daughter,” Harry said.

“Hey, she's my mum! If anyone should have reserves about this it's me,” Hermione said, trying to remain serious through her laughter.

“Oh, don't listen to them, Harry,” Katharine said. “I, for one, am downright flattered.”

“See? Katharine doesn't mind,” Harry said. He winked again at her, and Katharine winked back.

“Hey, now,” Ron said. “How about we leave the flattery to the son-in-law, eh?”

There was a beat of silence before Katharine let out a laugh, which seemed a bit forced to Harry's ears. He also noticed a flash of discomfort in Hermione's eyes as her eyes shot to him and back to Ron.

Just as Katharine's laugh faded, Hugo began to cry, and both Granger women seemed relieved.

“He probably needs his nappy changed,” Katharine said quickly.

“I'll take him,” Hermione said, reaching for her son.

“No, I'll do it,” Katharine said, retaining her hold on Hugo. “Where should I go to change him?”

“This way,” Hermione said, turning and already walking from the room. “Molly always keeps a few nappies upstairs.”

Katharine fell in quickly behind her daughter, and they disappeared from the room. Harry knew they had most likely begun speaking the moment they were out of sight, and was extremely curious as to what they were discussing.

Fleur swept in at that moment with a tray of various sweet tarts.

“'Arry!” she said, flouncing forward and kissing Harry's cheek. “I `ad no idea you were `ere! Would you like a tart? Zere are treacle, Molly and I made zem just for you!”

Harry immediately plucked one of the warm sweets from the tray, thanking Fleur profusely. Ginny also picked one, a cherry-flavored, and then wafted it beneath Ron's nose.

“How about you, Ron? Would you like one?”

Ron glared at his sister and shook his head tersely.

“No? Are you sure?” Ginny said.

“Zey are quite delicious, Ronald,” Fleur added, holding out the tray.

He shook his head again, though his gaze was locked on a particularly bulky apple tart. Fleur shrugged and swept back into the kitchen.

“What was that about?” Harry asked Ginny, furrowing his brow.

“Oh, Ron didn't tell you?” Ginny said. “Ickle Ronniekins is on a diet.”

“It's not funny,” Ron grumbled, shoving a hand into his pocket.

“It's a little funny,” Ginny said. She took a large bit into her tart, and made an exaggerated eye-roll as she chewed. “Mmmmmm. It's hard to pick the best cherry tart I've ever had, but this one is definitely in my top five.”

“Ha ha ha, you're a real comic,” Ron said.

“It's so delicious though…I just wanted you to know what you were missing,” Ginny said. She waved the tart in front of him again, and he batted it away.

“If this torture isn't against the law, it should be,” Ron said.

“Hey, this was your decision…you can't have your cake and eat it too,” Ginny said, her lips twitching.

“Lay off, Gin,” Ron said, although he seemed mildly amused.

“Okay, okay, I'll shut my pie-hole,” Ginny said.

“You know, instead of teasing a little motivation would be nice,” Ron said.

“Fine,” she said, adjusting Lily so she could pull her wand out of her pocket. She brandished it at him threateningly. “How about if you eat anything I'll hex you to within an inch of your life. Would that be motivating?”

“I don't know,” Ron said, finally giving in to a small grin. “Would I get a last meal?”

Ginny laughed. “Touché, Ronald. Now, if you'll excuse me, Lily and I are going to round up some more snacks.”

“I guess I'll just stay here, shall I?” Ron said.

“That would be for the best,” Ginny said, and left for the kitchen.

Harry said nothing during this exchange as he was curiously observing Ron. While he could see that Ginny's statements hadn't hurt his feelings, there was a level of discomfiture in his countenance that Harry didn't quite understand. Even with Ginny gone, he looked marginally distracted and pensive, swirling his bottle of butterbeer by its neck as he looked towards the door Hermione had just exited through. Furthermore, Harry couldn't exactly see why Ron would be on a diet. While his lanky frame had certainly filled out over the past few years, and even more so since his children had been born, it wasn't necessarily excessive.

“So,” Harry said after a moment of silent contemplation on both their parts. “How long have you been on this, er, diet?”

Ron blinked as he broke away from his thoughts, seeming to have forgotten Harry was there.

“Oh. Just a few weeks,” he said. He took his hand out of his pocket, exchanged his butterbeer to his other hand, and then pressed his other hand into his other pocket.

Harry felt extremely uncomfortable as he shoved his own hands into his pockets as well. He felt obligated to ask why Ron felt the need to lose weight, but considering the likelihood of the response he would get, he wasn't exactly keen on it.

Luckily (or perhaps rather unluckily), he was saved the trouble of asking by an abrupt outburst from Ron, although it gave Harry his answer nonetheless.

“Has Hermione seemed a bit off to you?” Ron said.

Taken aback, Harry took a moment to answer.

“No…” he said. “Not especially. What do you mean, exactly?”

The tips of Ron's ears turned a bit red, and he took a swig of his butterbeer.

“I...well, I guess I just thought she might have mentioned something to you.”

“Like what?” Harry said.

“Just…something. Something that was bothering her, I guess,” he said, his ears turning an even deeper shade of red. “We just...we haven't exactly been, er…talking much.”

Harry remained silent as he considered Ron's words. He could appreciate how difficult it was for Ron to admit to him that he and Hermione were having marital issues. He could especially appreciate the admission given Ron's history of jealousy and insecurity involving Hermione's relationship with him. But this did nothing to prevent Harry's own feelings of awkwardness and guilt on the matter. Harry truly had no idea what to say, especially because he had no idea what the actual problems were. Had they simply been arguing a lot and were avoiding each other? Had their respective work schedules prevented them from seeing each other? Or were they just drifting apart?

Harry had no idea, and, if he was being honest with himself, he was too close to the situation to have the right to offer advice.

The seconds of tense silence seemed to drag on.

And then the lights began to flicker, and there was a sound of a glass vase shattering as tiny Rose burst into the room, a particularly loud bawl escaping her lips. Angelina followed closely behind her.

“Uncle Harry!” she cried, running up to him.

Harry winced that her outburst was directed at him instead of Ron. He crouched down and allowed her to run into his arms. Her thick curly brown hair brushed his nose and he couldn't help but want to smile despite her distress.

“What is it, Rosebud?” he said as she continued to cry and the lights continued to flicker.

“She lost something,” Angelina explained, clearly hoping Harry could soothe her as quickly as possible and prevent any more minor destruction. “She said you would know where it was.”

“Ella!” Rose bawled, and several books on a near shelf shot outward and tumbled to the floor.

“Oh no,” Harry said. “You lost Ella?”

Rose nodded fervently, still crying. “Where is she?”

“I don't know, sweetie. Did you bring her here?”

“Yeah, she did,” Ron said. “It has to be somewhere around here.”

“Sorry to interrupt, but who's Ella?” Angelina said.

“Her elephant,” Harry said.

“Wow, then I'm surprised we haven't found her yet. She shouldn't be hard to miss,” Angelina said.

“Her stuffed toy elephant,” Harry said. “I bought it for her when we went to the zoo.”

“Oh, that makes much more sense,” Angelina said, smiling.

Harry returned his attention to Rose. “So she's not outside?”

“No,” Rose said, shaking her head.

“Did you give her to someone?”

Rose seemed to ponder this for a moment as she sniffled quietly.

“Rox,” she finally said.

“Roxy and Lucy were playing inside earlier,” Angelina offered. “They probably went upstairs at some point.”

“Excellent,” Harry said. “It sounds like we have a search on our hands, Rosebud.”

This concept seemed to intrigue Rose, and her crying quickly ceased. The lights also stopped flickering.

“A search? What are you looking for?”

Harry looked up to see a very pregnant Luna, dressed in a brightly striped dress. Her stomach looked quite like a beach ball.

“Hey, Luna,” Harry said. “And Rose lost her stuffed animal.”

“Oooh, can I help?” Luna said. “I'm very good at finding things, you know.”

Harry grinned at her cheerfulness and nodded. “Sure, the more the merrier,” he said. “We're looking for a stuffed elephant named Ella.”

“Ella the Elephant,” Luna said serenely. “That's a wonderful name.”

Rose beamed at the compliment.

Harry stood up from his crouched position, stretching his cramped muscles, and hugged Luna.

“Where's Rolf, by the way?” Ron asked.

“He's at some function or another,” Luna said vaguely.

Luna had been married to Rolf since June, and had announced that she was pregnant soon afterward. Suspiciously soon, really. So far, Harry hadn't taken much of a liking to Rolf, who, while very intelligent and attentive to Luna's eccentricities, was quite pretentious at times and had a surprisingly lackluster personality. But he was nice enough, and as long as Luna remained happy with him, Harry would keep up an effort. Ron especially seemed to dislike the magizooologist, who he claimed could recognize a joke about as well as Percy.

“That's too bad,” Angelina said.

“Yes,” Luna said. “He really wished he could make it.” She turned her eyes to Harry. “Where should we start looking?”

“Well,” Harry said, “Ella could be anywhere around here, really. How about I look in the house and you look outside?”

“Okay,” Luna said. “I can check the Wrackspurts colonies while I'm at it. Mrs. Weasley really should get rid of those hawthorn bushes…”

“Right,” Harry said. “Rose, do you want to come with me or Luna?”

“Wacksurts?” she said, looking up at Luna.
“Wrackspurts,” Luna corrected. “I can tell you about them if you'd like.”

Rose nodded and reached up to grab Luna's hand.

“I guess I have my answer then,” Harry said, amusing himself with thoughts of how exactly that conversation would likely go.

Luna led Rose from the room, and Harry decided he would begin his search upstairs as Angelina had suggested and strode in that direction.

“Hey, Harry?” Ron said.

“Yeah?” Harry said, looking back.

“Can you…could you talk to her?”

He spoke tentatively, almost timidly, and if there was one thing he would never describe Ron Weasley as, it was timid.

“Sure, mate,” Harry said. What else could he say, really?

******************

Harry managed to find Ella in a very short time. He started with the first bedroom on the first floor, which had belonged to Ginny, and found the stuffed elephant submerged in a pile of other toys that looked like a failed construction site.

Pleased, he quickly left the room and walked downstairs, avoiding the living room and exiting the house through the kitchen.

Harry noted that Mitch had joined the party, talking animatedly to George. Harry was disappointed to see that Mitch's wife Becca was nowhere to be seen. He felt like he hadn't seen her in ages. Andromeda had also arrived, and Harry thought that she seemed a little misplaced. It had only been two weeks since Teddy had left for his first week of Hogwarts, and she was having difficulty adjusting. Harry couldn't blame her - this was the first time she had been truly alone since her husband and daughter had died. Anyone would have trouble adjusting to that. He also noted that Mrs. Granger was speaking to her, and by the watery smiles on both their faces had little trouble realizing what they were discussing.

He noticed Hermione in the crowd as well, sitting next to a subdued Victoire, who was also having trouble adjusting to Teddy's absence. The young girl was quite upset that she couldn't accompany Teddy for another two years. Percy's daughter Molly was also nearby, and Victoire's purple Pygmy Puff, Coco, was playing with Molly's pink one.

Rose and Luna were only a short distance away from Hermione, examining the hawthorn bushes with interest. Harry immediately weaved his way to them, suddenly feeling a bit silly holding a stuffed elephant under his arm.

Rose spotted him as he drew nearer and dashed towards him, squealing in delight. When she was a few yards away, the elephant seemed to leap of its own volition from Harry's arms and zoomed towards Rose, who caught it happily.

“Ella!” she said, squeezing the elephant tightly to her chest as she ran the last few feet to Harry. “You found her! You found her!”

She then tried her best to wrap her arms around Harry's legs while still clutching the stuff animal, hugging them both.

Harry grinned and ran his hand over the crown of his daughter's hair affectionately. When she stepped back, Harry knelt and kissed the tip of her nose. She flashed him one last overjoyed smile, and then took off to rejoin her cousins.

Luna had reached Harry by that point.

“She seemed pleased,” Luna said.

“Every now and then I feel that my existence is justified,” Harry said, still grinning like an idiot as he watched his daughter.

“Yes, destroying Voldemort wasn't a very existence-justifying act, after all,” Luna said. She then patted him on the back. “You're a good dad, Harry.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, feeling a little confused as he glanced at Luna.

Luna, however, was just gazing dreamily towards the house. “I suppose I'll go speak with Neville…” she said. “It looks like Hermione wants to talk to you about something.”

She then patted him on the back again and wandered back towards the picnic tables.

Hermione arrived by his side a moment later.

“Why do you kiss Rose's nose?” she asked quite abruptly. “You don't do it with Al or James or Lily, but you do it all the time to Rose.”

“I dunno…I guess it reminds me of you,” Harry replied truthfully.

“Why?” Hermione asked. “She doesn't have my nose. She has your nose.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “She's practically a carbon copy of you in every other way. I guess I just like seeing that little bit of me in her.”

“Ah,” Hermione said.

A beat of silence.

“Do you think you'll have any more kids?”

Harry couldn't help but feel mildly refreshed by the frankness of her questions. Perhaps being another year older made her wish to be more forthright. Merlin knew they had already spent enough time beating around the bush.

“I don't think so,” Harry said. “I think Ginny still wants more, but…I feel like I already have enough kids to give my attention to.”

There were more reasons, like the fact that the more kids he had the more people he could potentially hurt if things didn't work out with Ginny in the end, but he felt like enough of an ass for thinking those thoughts, let alone speaking them out loud.

“What about you?” he added, as Hermione had not contributed her own opinion.

“No, I'm done,” Hermione said. Again, a strong level of bluntness, perhaps even to a degree of harshness. Maybe Harry just thought it seemed harsh after his conversation with Ron.

“And Ron?” Harry prompted.

“He hasn't mentioned anything,” Hermione said.

Harry looked towards the picnic tables and saw Ron near its edges, looking towards him and Hermione with something akin to hopefulness in his gaze. Harry tugged at his collar uncomfortably.

“Did you…er…did you know Ron's on a diet?”

This seemed to arouse Hermione's interest, and she looked at Harry with transparent curiosity.

“Really? When did he tell you that?”

“Earlier,” Harry said. “He told me he'd been on it for a few weeks.”

Hermione seemed genuinely surprised, and then her cheeks colored at her ignorance of her own husband's habits, especially one as close to Ron's heart as food.

“Why would he do that?” Hermione asked. “Did he say anything to you?”

“Nothing…specific,” Harry said slowly, beginning to quite dislike the job of mediating Hermione and Ron's love life. He felt like he was back in Hogwarts, except the situation was grimmer and the stakes higher. The awkwardness, however, was still there in full force.

“Well, what did he say?” Hermione said, clearly becoming impatient.

“All he said was that you both haven't really been talking to each other,” Harry said, and then he grimaced slightly. “Although I assume it's more than just not talking that has Ron thinking he should lose weight.”

Hermione blush deepened considerably.

“I don't exactly think that's any of your business,” she said.

“That's perfectly fine with me. Trust me, I really don't want to hear about it,” Harry said. “Although by your defensive tone I can gather that it's been a while.”

Hermione looked uncomfortably towards her feet and Harry knew he had guessed correctly.

Harry let her stew in her own embarrassment for a moment before continuing.

“So why haven't you been talking?” he asked.

Hermione looked up again, and though her cheeks were still slightly pink she had mostly regained her composure.

“We just haven't,” she said simply. “We go to work, we come home, one of us makes dinner while the other watches Hugo and Rose, we eat together, we put the kids to bed, and then we occupy ourselves with our respective hobbies before we go to sleep.”

“And only to sleep,” Harry said, and Hermione punched him in the arm.

“Quit that!” she said. “This is a serious conversation!”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “But I guess it's good you haven't been arguing or anything.”

“That's just it,” Hermione said, crossing her arms across her chest. “We hardly ever argue now, but it's all still there, you know? I get so frustrated with him when he lets Rose stay up too late or gives her too many sweets or wakes up Hugo from a nap when I just got him to sleep. Obviously he means well, he just wants to have fun with the kids and what not, so what can I say? It's like we've become overly polite roommates…like we don't want to upset each other so we don't confront anything that would make us upset.” She let out a bitter laugh. “Our marriage has turned into a game of how not to make each other unhappy.”

Harry sighed. “I take it neither of you are exactly winning the game.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes glassy.

“Who would've thought that all that bickering in Hogwarts was your method of communicating with each other,” Harry said, giving her a small smile.

Hermione laughed, wiping at her eyes and sniffling.

Harry didn't say anything else on the matter. He knew there was nothing else he could say to help the situation, and false words of comfort would get Hermione nowhere. No, Harry knew this was something that Hermione had to work out for herself, and the less involved he was in her decisions the better.

By unspoken agreement, they turned to rejoin the party. As they were walking, Harry noticed Luna watching them. She smiled at him serenely when she caught his eye.

Harry nudged Hermione's shoulder as they neared the group.

“Do you ever get the feeling that Luna knows about us? Or Rose?”

Hermione seemed surprisingly unruffled as she answered him.

“Sometimes,” she said. “Or at least that she suspects. And of course with Luna, a suspicion is as good as a fact in her mind.”

“Does it bother you?” Harry asked.

“Not really,” Hermione said. “Does it bother you?”

“No,” Harry said honestly. “I mean, it's Luna.”

Before Hermione could reply, James ran up to them, dragging an old Cleansweep of George's behind him.

“Daddy!” he said. “Can you take me up? Charlie's gonna take Freddie up and I wanna play too!”

James was practically jumping up and down in excitement as he waited anxiously for his dad's reply.

“Sure,” Harry said, and took the broom from his son. “As long as it's okay with Aunt Hermione. It is her birthday, after all.”

James immediately turned his brown eyes entreatingly to Hermione. “Pleeeaase, Aunt Hermione? Can I?”

Hermione put a hand to her chin and made an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I could spare the both of you for a little while,” she said. “But make sure you come down before we cut the cake.”

James' face lit up at the mention of cake, and he bobbed his head up and down enthusiastically. “We will!”

“Alright then, be careful,” Hermione said.

“We will!” James said again.

With that, Harry threw his leg over the broom and pulled James up as well, seating him in front and wrapping his arms securely around his torso before gripping the wooden handle. Then Harry kicked off, soaring swiftly into the air and leaving Hermione waving after them.

******************

The stillness of the Black Lake was shattered as a stone was thrown into its inky depths.

Caius watched the ripples the stone created move gently to the shore, flowing over the rocks at his feet.

One action creates an outcome that influences another outcome…he thought, until it is allowed to drift away into nothingness.

He tossed another pebble into the dark water and watched as more ripples were created, counteracting some of the waves and making others twice as large.

Another action, enacted at just the right time and place, can create an even bigger outcome. But to miss that time and place could mean the collapse of all.

Caius waited patiently for the water to return to its previous tranquility.

He knew Potter was still alert, still aware of a threat, but he also knew that the longer they waited, the more complacent he would grow.

Caius turned his back to the lake and returned his attention to the object of his previous scrutiny.

The white marble tomb stood out vividly from the night, the sharp edges slicing through the darkness with ease. Caius approached the grave and ran his hands over the smooth surface, as he had done numerous times before.

He knew the Elder Wand was still here, still well protected. He had tested for the wards himself.

Harry had not come for it as Dolohov had suspected. Caius had known he wouldn't, not even when he returned his Invisibility Cloak. Dolohov had been biding his time, waiting for a sign to make his move, and Caius allowed him to sulk in his impatience. Caius, for one, had plenty to do in the meantime.

And if the Wand hadn't been collected by the time his task was completed…well, something could always be done about that when the moment came.

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44. A Beginning and An Ending

A/N: Hey guys! As I mentioned in the last chapter, a very considerable time jump has taken place in this one. The jump is more for the sake of getting to the canon epilogue so I can finally throw all caution to the wind and move the back-plot along. Oh, and for those of you who have not read my one-shot “The Letter,” I suggest you do it now before beginning this chapter, as it will be brought up briefly towards the end. Or after would probably be fine too. The full contents of the letter are in that one-shot, so I won't bother including it here as well. Also, just a note, I think including Hermione as a member of the Wizengamot is the only liberty I've taken with her career path as described by JKR. She is supposed to have a “high-ranking” position in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and this fits that description, so I went with it.

So I hope you enjoy it! Thanks to everyone who reviewed last time! Please continue to do so and Happy Easter!

Chapter 44: A Beginning and An Ending

August 31, 2016

Harry almost fell from his broom as a particularly hard throw of a Quaffle knocked him off balance.

“Come on, Dad! I thought you were supposed to be good at Quidditch!” James shouted, his shaggy black hair whipping about in the brisk wind.

“Just trying to even the playing field,” Harry yelled back to his eldest son, angling his broom toward the assigned goal of the Burrow's makeshift Quidditch pitch. “If I let all my prowess come out at once the other team wouldn't stand a chance.”

“That's the point, though - to make sure the other team doesn't stand a chance.”

“But where's the fun in that?” Harry quipped, speeding his broom towards the end of the pitch.

“Winning!” James said with a grin, evading Teddy and Hugo with relative ease.

Harry threw the Quaffle towards James and he snatched it from the air, hugging it to his side as he raced towards his brother, who was the acting Keeper for the opposite team.

Albus seemed to grimace at his brother's quickly approaching form. Harry watched as James zoomed in closer to the hoops, Teddy and Hugo in hot pursuit. Before either could catch him, James hurled the Quaffle forcefully towards the left hoop. Albus managed to zip over and catch the ball just before it entered the hoop, but the force of it almost sent his small frame through the hoop instead.

“Good one, Al!” Rose shouted from the other end of the field, where she was also Keeping.

“You looked nervous for a second there,” James said. “And you're not supposed to compliment the opposing team!” he added in a shout to Rose.

“That wouldn't be very sportsmanlike,” Rose called back. “You're just sore that he blocked another one!”

“Hey, I've gotten as many as he's blocked,” James grumbled.

“How about we just say you're both excellent players and call it a day?” Harry said.

Despite his somewhat scolding tone, Harry was truly quite proud at how adept they were at Quidditch. James was shaping up to be an impressive Chaser, while Albus had shown a good instinct for Keeping. And while Hugo hadn't quite developed enough grace to determine if he'd be a help or hindrance to a Quidditch team, Rose's innately observant nature gave her a natural ability for Seeking (a fact that never ceased to please Harry).

“Ruddy brilliant if you ask me,” Teddy said. “Toss it here, Al.”

Albus threw the Quaffle to Teddy, who caught it and began bouncing it between his palms. Teddy was a decent Chaser as well, although he had decided against playing for the Ravenclaw House team during his seven years at Hogwarts.

“So are you going to try out when you get to school?” Teddy said.

James paled slightly at Teddy's question, and gave a small shake of his head. “I don't think so,” he said. “Not this year, at least. I don't think I'm good enough for the House team yet.”

“If you're fishing for compliments it's not going to work,” Albus said.

“I'm not!” James said defensively. “I know I'm pretty good, but I don't think I'll be able to compete with a bunch of sixth or seventh years!”

“It's still worth a shot,” Harry said. “You should try out anyway. Even if you don't make the team, you'll still be in the players' radar for next year.”

“That's easy for you to say, Dad. Not everyone can make Seeker in their first-year without even trying out,” James said.

“He's got a point,” Teddy said, sweeping his teal bangs away from his eyes.

“Are we going to keep playing or not?” Hugo asked, clearly tired of such talk.

“Sure, Hugh,” Teddy said, and threw the Quaffle towards him. The young redhead made an ungainly catch. “Go see if you can make a goal on Rosie.”

Hugo nodded eagerly and immediately sped off towards his sister.

Unlike Albus moments before, Rose seemed unperturbed at the sight of Hugo hurtling towards her. But, unlike Albus, Rose clearly didn't care whether her brother made a goal or not. Although she was fiercely competitive in most situations (unsurprising given her parentage), Rose knew she was an unexceptional Keeper. As a result, she was often more pleased at Hugo scoring on her than managing to block a Quaffle through what would most likely be luck.

When Hugo was close enough, he feinted toward the right. Rose darted in the same direction, and Hugo threw the ball threw the left hoop.

Hugo gave a whoop of pleasure as James shook his head.

“Al gets to Keep on my team next time,” he said.

Rose shrugged. “No skin off my back. I hate being Keeper.”

She started to drift down to the ground to collect the ball, and Harry saw that Lily stood on the rain-drenched ground holding it in her arms. To Ginny's dismay, Lily had little inclination towards Quidditch, and had spent the last hour or so entertaining herself with a few of the presents she had received days earlier for her eighth birthday.

“Mum said dinner's almost done!” she yelled.

Hugo gave another whoop at his cousin's announcement and flew to the ground immediately, closely followed by Harry and the other players. They quickly tossed their brooms aside and cleaned their muddy feet before entering the kitchen, where Ginny was busily stirring a pot of stew and looking very much the younger counterpart of her mother, who was just as busily chopping vegetables between intermittent checks of the bread in the oven. Both their faces were flushed from the heat of the stove and the unseasonably warm weather.

“Good, you're done with the game,” Ginny said. “Al, could you and Rose get some plates and go set the table? And Hugo, grab the silverware and napkins. You can take out the pitchers, James.”

The kids promptly set about their instructions and had soon exited the kitchen.
“What about me?” Lily said, bouncing on the balls of her feet and causing her vibrant red hair to swish about.

“You can start taking out some glasses, sweetie,” Ginny said.

“Okay,” Lily said, immediately grabbing two glasses from the counter. She frowned as she noted the ten other glasses that still remained, but the frown was quickly exchanged for a smile as she looked entreatingly at Teddy.

“Could you help me with these?” she said sweetly.

“Why of course, Lilypad.”

Teddy pulled his wand from his pocket and gave it a small wave. The glasses lifted upwards, hovering obediently over the counter.

With his free hand, he gestured courteously to Lily. “After you, miss.”

Lily immediately marched through the door, holding her two glasses aloft as Teddy followed, the line of glasses floating in single file behind him.

“And what would you have me do, m'lady?” Harry said as soon as the duo was out of sight.

“I don't know,” Ginny said, wiping at her brow with the back of her hand. “You could help Mum with those vegetables or something. We've got everything mostly under control now.”

“Here, Harry dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, handing him the knife she had been using to slice tomatoes and cucumbers. “I really need to get the bread out of the oven…”

“So what happened to Hermione and Ron?” Harry said as Mrs. Weasley bustled past him. “I thought they were helping out.”

“Oh, they were,” Ginny said irritably. “Helping me get a bloody headache.”

“They were having a few disagreements,” Mrs. Weasley said mildly, stooped down in front of the oven.

“About what?” Harry asked, chopping the vegetables up into chunks that little resembled the neat slices Mrs. Weasley had prepared.

“I have no idea,” Ginny said. “Just a lot of snide comments exchanged on both sides as far as I could tell. They weren't exactly in high spirits when they came in the first place. They're off somewhere finishing their row.”

Harry frowned as he finished his task and scooped the vegetables into a bowl of lettuce Mrs. Weasley had already placed before him.

He was painfully aware that the last few years had been taxing to Hermione and Ron's relationship, privy as he was to both of their feelings. As the mutual best friend, Harry was informed regularly of the small attempts on either side to bridge the gradually widening chasm between them, just as he was frequently called upon for advice or encouragement when the attempts fell short of their goal. Unfortunately, his counsel could extend only so far, and he often left such conversations with a cord of misery twisting about in his stomach at the thought that he could very well be witnessing the disintegration of not only his best friends' marriage, but of their friendship as well.

He was pulled from his reveries as James, Hugo, and Lily came bursting back into the kitchen in the usual manner of children—that is, by creating far more noise than the act required.

“Is dinner ready yet?” James said immediately. “Because I'm famished.”

“Me too,” Hugo said, picking up an empty bowl from the counter and holding it to his ear. “Wow, I think I can hear my stomach roaring!”

Ginny rolled her eyes as she gave a snort of amusement. “You are so like your father.”

“And dinner will be ready in a moment, dears,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“How long is a moment, exactly? I need details—a minute, five minutes, ten minutes?” James asked.

“James, it'll be ready when it's ready!” Ginny said. “Just go outside and be patient.”

James leaned against the counter in a show of fatigue. Hugo and Lily followed his example, slumping their shoulders in exhaustion. “I don't know if we'll be able to make the walk,” he said.

“Oh, you three get out of here,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You can take a roll to hold you over.”

The three children instantly perked up and dashed forward to snatch the rolls from the proffered basket.

“Thanks, Gramma!” they said in unison.

“You're welcome, dears. And take a roll out to the other two as well. Oh, and a third for Teddy.”

James immediately seized the extra rolls and led the way from the kitchen, already stuffing his own into his mouth.

“Those rolls better make it out to Al and Rose!” Harry shouted after him, although he was fairly certain the slamming door had drowned out his warning.

“I swear, that boy acts more like Ron than you half the time,” Ginny said to Harry, shaking her head but smiling in amusement nonetheless. “You'd have thought he'd get more of your temperament.”

“A decade sleeping in a cupboard might have something to do with it,” Harry said. “Do you think an hour or two in one would mellow him out a bit?”

A sharp punch to the arm announced Hermione's arrival.

“That's not even remotely funny,” she said, frowning.

Harry held up his hands in defense. “Sorry, just a joke.”

“About something we'd all rather not be reminded of,” Ginny said firmly before turning towards Hermione. “So did you and Ronald finish off your little spat?”

“I don't know,” Hermione said calmly, taking it upon herself to doll the stew into a serving dish. “Why don't you ask him? He's probably pacing about in the front yard.”

“I'll take that as a no, then,” Ginny said, taking Hermione's cue and gathering up the salad.

“I suppose I'll let him and Arthur know dinner's ready,” Mrs. Weasley said with a sigh. “Harry, would you take out that bread, please?”

“Sure,” Harry said, promptly picking up the basket.

“Thank you, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said, removing her apron as she bustled from the kitchen.

“Now, be prepared for the likelihood that our children will be passed out from hunger,” Ginny said to Hermione as they also turned to leave the kitchen.

“Or at least for the likelihood that Al and Rose are, if James had anything to do with it,” Harry said.

Luckily, all five children were quite conscious when they arrived and fell upon the food like rabid wolves as soon as Ron and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had joined them. Before long, the first helping had been devoured and a slightly more sedate second helping was distributed. James, either through hunger or the knowledge that this would be his last home-cooked meal for months, served himself a third helping.

Once everyone had eaten their fill, they each sat back in their chairs, contentedly observing the quickly descending dusk. In spite (or perhaps because) of the fact that Hermione and Ron had scarcely spoken a word to each other during the meal, it had been an enjoyable evening, made all the better as Mrs. Weasley presented a large chocolate cake to the group with a flourish.

The children, receiving a burst of vigor by the appearance of dessert, were temporarily distracted from any semblance of discussion as they delved into the cake. The adults, however, were marginally less entranced, and the conversation continued, albeit at a reduced pace. Harry had made his way through a third of his piece with no interruption when Arthur turned to him with a look of recollection.

“Harry, I've been meaning to ask you—have you heard any of the rumors about yourself that have been swirling about the office?”

Harry shrugged as he scooped another bit of cake onto his fork. “I've heard plenty of rumors, but I doubt any of them are what you're referring to.”

“I haven't heard anything, either,” Hermione said. “Aside from something silly about Harry quitting his job and purchasing the Chudley Cannons.”

“That intern really needs to stop listening in on our conversations,” Ron said. “And it was just a suggestion—team's looking really good this year.”

“And obviously I need to work on my sarcasm,” Harry said. “Apparently when I said it sounded like a great idea, it sounded as though I actually meant it.”

“No, nothing like that,” Arthur said. “You've heard, I assume, that Kingsley intends on retiring soon?”

“Of course,” Harry said.

“Well, there have been rumblings—more than rumblings, really—that you're going to be approached about putting in a bid for Minister of Magic.”

There was a beat of silence, in which even the children turned their eyes towards Harry. He glanced among them, amused by the array of sentiments displayed—shock, delight, intrigue—before a snort of laughter burst from him.

“What's so funny?” Teddy asked, bemused by Harry's reaction to such momentous news.

“You don't want to be Minister, Daddy?” Lily asked, cocking her head curiously.

“Yes, Harry, you don't want to be Minister?” Hermione asked, her lips quirking.

Harry continued to chortle as he popped the last morsel of cake into his mouth. “There aren't enough Galleons in Gringotts to make me consider that position,” he said.

“Not even to consider it?” Ron said with a grin. “I could even be your campaign manager!”

“Great idea,” Ginny said. “You could even revamp the lyrics to `Weasley Is Our King' to play at all the events.”

“Exactly,” Ron said. “There's no way we could lose.”

“And you should probably make some sort of reference to defeating Voldemort,” Ginny said. “People tend to forget these things, and it might make you appear more qualified.”

“Because of course I'd need to pull the wool over their eyes about how completely unqualified I am,” Harry said.

“So you're not going to be Minister?” Albus asked, clearly seeking a solid confirmation after the abundance of mockery.

“No, Al. At least not in the foreseeable future.”

“Then can we go play Quidditch now?”

James and Rose nodded rapidly in concurrence.

“Sure, go on then,” Harry said. Pulling out his wand, he scattered a dozen white orbs of light among the field to brighten the area, although the moonlight was fairly sufficient.

“Thanks, Dad!” Albus said, and he immediately leapt up.

“What are we playing to?” James asked.

“The usual…first team to score ten points…or until Hugo gets hurt,” Albus said with a grin and promptly sprinted away, his feet squelching in the mud. He was followed closely by James and Rose; Lily and Hugo scampered after them a moment later, the latter shouting after his cousins to stop taking the mickey.

“Is it just me, or did they seem a bit anxious to get rid of us?” Ron said.

Everyone agreed that it seemed to be the case, and then went about cleaning up the dishes so they could retreat inside.

Arthur withdrew into the living room to read the paper, and Teddy left for home soon after. The rest sat around the kitchen table as they allowed the dishes to go about the task of washing and putting themselves away in the cupboard. Mrs. Weasley alone remained bustling about the kitchen.

“I think I'll send some of this to Luna for the boys,” she mused as placed what remained of the cake into a box.

“How are they, by the way?” Ginny asked.

“As well as can be expected,” Mrs. Weasley said.

“Luna brought the boys over just the other day for a play-date with Hugo,” Hermione said. She frowned after a moment and bowed her head, examining her folded hands with a furrowed brow. “It's sad to see her like this,” she said after a moment. “She's—she's probably better than most would be after a divorce, but it's Luna.”

Harry nodded in understanding, a frown also settling upon his lips.

Luna had very recently separated from Rolf Scamander, leaving her to care for their six-year-old twins sons, Lorcan and Lysander, on her own. While she had not shown an overt amount of melancholy over the incident, there had certainly been a subdued nature to her naturally lively countenance. For lack of a better term, she had at least temporarily lost much of her eccentricity, and everyone present was quite anxious to see her back in better spirits.

“I never did like that guy,” Ron said, crossing his arms.

“We've heard, Ronald,” Ginny said, flicking her wand towards the sink to shut off the water.

Ron grumbled an incoherent reply before standing up abruptly. “I'll take that over there, if you'd like,” he said, gesturing to the cake.

“There's really no need, dear,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I can always send Pigwidgeon.”

“It's not like it's much of a walk,” Ron said, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “It'd save Pig a trip, and I'm sure Luna would appreciate it.”

“That's true…” Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron stepped forward and took the box from the counter.

“I'll be back in a bit,” he said, and exited the house without another word.

No sooner had the slam from the front door faded into silence than the back door burst open, heralding Lily's rapid and mud-spattered arrival.

She skidded to a halt before the adults, who peered at her curiously as she hunched over, placing her hands on her knees and gasping for air.

“Hu...Hugo,” she panted, pointing behind her. “He…he's in…got stuck…”

Harry, Hermione, and the rest of the adults waited patiently for the tiny redhead to catch her breath. She was clearly not too distressed by whatever she'd dashed inside to tell them, so they were at least moderately calm as they watched her regain her composure.

“What is it, honey?” Ginny asked.

“Hugo,” she finally said, still breathing slightly heavily. “He flew…his broom into the tree…got stuck.”

“Merlin,” Hermione said, rubbing her face as she stood.

“Lily, run out there and make sure James or Albus or Rose don't try to get him out,” Harry said, also standing. “They're probably more likely to make him fall, and those brooms aren't meant for two anyway.”

They heard a yell a moment later and a muffled thump. Fortunately, the thump was followed not by a cry of pain, but by angry shouts that appeared to be coming from Rose.

“Too late,” Lily said.

Rose's shouting seemed to ease Hermione's quickly rising panic, but she dashed out hurriedly into the darkness nonetheless. She reappeared a few moments later, frog-marching a muddy, disheveled, but unharmed Hugo before her. Unlike Lily's slightly mud-splattered shoes and pants, Hugo was covered from head-to-toe in grime, although he seemed unbothered by the fact. Rose, on the other hand, who stomped in behind her mother, did seem quite bothered by the equally copious amounts of mud coating her clothes and hair.

The dishes on the drying rack quivered as Rose stormed past, clanking as the plates and glasses tapped against each other.

Hermione shot a look over her shoulder and raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

“Calm,” she said.

Rose crossed her arms, splattering mud as she did so, and took a deep breath. As she exhaled, the dishes immediately stilled.

“Good,” Hermione said.

Rose had grown much more effective at controlling her outbursts, and Harry knew that she must be pretty mad to have caused any reaction at all.

“Hugo, I think you've had enough fun for tonight,” Hermione said sternly. “You're lucky you're sister caught you when you fell.”

“Bloody lucky,” Rose muttered, plopping herself, mud and all, next to Harry.

“Language,” Harry and Hermione said together.

They paused awkwardly before Hermione turned back to Hugo.

“I was just trying to catch the Quaffle,” Hugo said defensively.

“You could have seriously hurt yourself,” Hermione scolded.

“Sorry, Mum,” Hugo said, looking down at his soaked shoes.

“And your sister,” Hermione said.

“Sorry, Rose,” Hugo said, looking apologetically at his sister as he brushed his sodden bangs from his eyes.

Rose waved her hand in a gesture of submissive absolution.

“And now you're going to go upstairs and take a bath,” Hermione said.

“I don't think there are any towels in the guest bathroom,” Mrs. Weasley said. “I'll fetch some.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said, and once more frog-marched him from the room, leaving a trail of mud in their wake.

“And I'll go fetch Al and James,” Ginny said, seemingly more amused by the proceedings than anything. “Are they still in the back?”

“Should be,” Rose said. “They were chucking the Quaffle at each other the last time I checked.”

“Why would they do that?” Ginny asked.

“I find that it's better to only ask boys what they're doing—never why.”

“Wow, those are quite wise words for one so young,” Ginny said, smiling.

“She has lived with Hermione for a decade,” Harry pointed out.

“True,” Ginny said.

Harry and Rose sat in silence for a moment after Ginny had left. Rose propped her chin in one hand while she used the other to drum the tabletop, staring diligently at Harry all the while.

“Would you like me to clean those for you?” Harry finally asked, twirling his wand between his fingertips.

“Thank Merlin,” Rose said, knocking her chair back with a clatter as she stood up. “I was wondering when someone would offer.”

Harry flicked his wand wordlessly towards Rose's sodden clothes. In an instant all traces of mud had vanished.

“Much better,” Rose said, examining her dry clothes in satisfaction. “Thanks, Uncle Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry said, inwardly cringing.

Both he and Rose glanced towards the door as they heard the creak of the staircase, and a moment later Hermione came into view.

“Hey, Mum,” Rose said.

“Hey, Rose,” Hermione replied. She paused in entryway and glanced around the kitchen, as if to see if the room held any other occupants.

“Your Dad just got back,” she said after a moment. “As soon as Hugo comes downstairs we're leaving.”

“Okay,” Rose said. “I'll just go say bye to Al and James, then.”

As Rose spoke, Harry was struck—as usual—by the resemblance that she bore to her mother. From the long, wild brunette hair to the warm brown eyes, she could have easily passed for the eleven-year-old girl Harry had met on the Hogwarts Express so long ago. The observation also allowed Harry to see how distracted and exhausted Hermione appeared. Her skin held an almost sickly pallor, accentuating the darkness under her eyes and the slight hollowness of her cheeks.

Rose gave Harry a quick hug before darting away to find the boys, and only then did he allow his expression to settle into concern.

“Hermione, are you okay?” Harry asked.

“Of course,” Hermione said. “I'm perfectly fine.”

“I don't believe you,” Harry said, but her unenthusiastic tone had suggested she hadn't been attempting to deceive him in the first place.

“I know,” Hermione said.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.” She crossed her arms across her stomach, holding herself. Her eyes were incredibly sad as she looked past him. After a moment, she focused her gaze on his. “I…I've just had a lot on my mind. There's really nothing to discuss.”

“Does it have anything to do with your fight with Ron?” Harry asked.

Hermione frowned. “Not exactly. And I really don't want to talk about it, Harry, so can you please drop it?”

“Er, sure,” he said. She already seemed to be receding back into taciturn contemplation. “I'll be around if you do though…you know, want to talk about it.”

She allowed him a brief, weak smile as she turned away.

“I know,” she said, and was gone without another word.

******************

The next morning arrived bright and crisp as Hermione strode through King's Cross Station, her sleepy-eyed family following in her wake. She heard Ron yawn behind her, and fought to suppress one herself as she rubbed blearily at her eyes. She knew she must look absolutely dreadful, but could not bring herself to care.

“Which one is it again, Mum?” Rose said as they continued to pass the platforms. Although she had already been to the station before to see a few of her cousins off to Hogwarts, her imminent attendance in the next year made her more alert than she had been in the past.

“Just up ahead,” Hermione said.

“Nine and three-quarters,” Rose said.

“Exactly,” Hermione said, smiling through her weariness. She wondered how this felt to her daughter and son, and considered how different their feelings must be to what hers had been upon stepping through the barrier to see the Hogwarts Express for the first time. She wondered if they felt anything akin to the magic that had caught in her veins, the sheer awe that she had tried so hard to disguise at the sight. She certainly hoped they did, but then she couldn't quite expect it of them—after all, she had been a Muggleborn.

“Here,” Hermione said as they reached the barrier.

She grasped Rose's hand as Ron did the same with Hugo, and they all walked briskly toward the wall. Hermione heard Rose gasp involuntarily as they passed through the barrier.

“I hate that,” she said.

“Yes, it is rather difficult to get used to,” Hermione commiserated. She immediately removed the long coat she had been using to disguise her plum-colored Wizengamot robes, knowing she would Apparate to the Ministry as soon as they saw James off.

“Do you think they're here yet?” Ron said as he and Hugo appeared through the barrier a moment later, the latter shaking his head in disorientation.

“I don't know,” Hermione said, scanning straggling families in the steam-filled station.

“It's almost a quarter till,” Ron said, checking his watch. “Seem to be cutting it a little close.”

Hermione couldn't help but snort an amusement at that statement. “Yes, because you were always quite early to board the train.”

“Of course, I've always been one for punctuality,” Ron said.

“Speaking of, do you think George and the others have already been through?”

“Seems like it,” Ron said. “Do you think they have enough Weasleys there yet?”

“Roxy's in second year, Lucy and Louis are in third,” Rose said, ticking off her cousins on her fingers. “Molly, Dominique, and Freddie are all in fifth...”

“And Victoire's in sixth,” Hermione said. “Yes, it does seem as if Hogwarts has quite the multitude of Weasleys.”

“I suspect they've quite reached their limits,” said a voice as a figure approached them through the steam.

Victoire Weasley smiled brightly as she neared them, already clad in her Hogwarts uniform. A bright blue prefect's gleamed on her chest, and her long blonde hair was tied back into a neat ponytail.

“Victoire!” Rose said in delight, breaking away from her mother to envelop her eldest cousin in a hug.

“Hello,” Victoire said. “What are you all doing here?”

“We came to say goodbye to James,” Rose said.

“Oh, that's right, it's his first year, isn't it?”

“Yes, although if he doesn't hurry he might have to start next year,” Hermione said. “Shouldn't you already be on the train?”

“I…I was just doing my last round out here,” Victoire said, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in her pristine robes. “But I suppose I'll wait here with you all until Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny get here.”

They did not have to wait long, as a moment later the entire Potter clan came rushing through the barrier.

“—told you to keep Aspen in his cage,” Harry was saying, his eyes on his watch as he guided James' trolley.

“Look, a greeting party,” Ginny said, catching Harry by the sleeve to stop him from barreling into Ron. “And Victoire as well!”

“It's good to see you, Aunt Ginny,” Victoire said, embracing her. “And you too, Uncle Harry.”

“Same to you,” Harry said. “Sorry we're late. We had some owl-catching to do this morning.”

“Sorry,” James added meekly, clutching the cage of a small tawny owl. The owl hooted at the group surrounding him, clearly unconcerned with the ruckus he had caused.

“Teddy was right behind us,” Ginny added. “Parking that awful motorcycle Harry was so kind to give him…”

“Godfather to godson trade-off,” Harry said with a shrug, using his wand to load James' luggage onto the train. “If you'd prefer, I could give it to James instead.”

“That won't be necessary,” Ginny said hastily.

When Teddy appeared, his hair altered to a dark brown to avoid attention, Hermione failed to miss the brief flash of elation that crossed Victoire's features. The young Ravenclaw had composed her features in as rapid a manner as they had been allowed to deviate, but Hermione was an expert on hiding her feelings. The part-Veela was good, but Hermione was better. It was hard not to be better with two decades of experience in the practice.

“Hey, Teddy,” Victoire said, prudently retaining her position by her aunt.

“Hey,” Teddy replied with a smile. “Here to escort James off?”

“Of course,” Victoire said, although the faintest of blushes further tipped Hermione off to a different motive.

“The both of you better get on the train, then,” Ginny said. “It's about to leave you behind.”

“And unfortunately we don't have a flying car to send you off if it does,” Ron said, his mouth twitching as he glanced at Harry.

Harry smirked as well, but quickly sobered as he stood before his eldest son, who was growing paler with each passing moment.

“Don't get into too much trouble,” he said, placing one hand on each of his son's shoulders. “We might have to bring you home if that's the case, and as scary as it seems now, you'll never want to leave once you get there.”

“Almost never want to leave,” Ginny corrected. “He'll still want to see his mum every now and again.”

“And me and Al!” Lily said, sniffling.

“Right,” James said, a small quiver in his voice.

“If you need anything at all, you can send Aspen to us,” Ginny said.

“And we'll send Fitz if we want to send you anything,” Harry said.

“Or Aurora,” Albus said, referring to his large barn owl.

“Yes, either one,” Ginny said, and ushered her son away from Harry to envelop him in a hug. “We'll write to you every day if you want us to.”

“No way, Mum!” James said, evidently aware of the eyes of his siblings and cousins upon him. Hermione smiled as she caught James' whisper of “Just three times a week” into his mother's ear.

“And as long as you don't get in Slytherin you'll have at least one cousin to help you out,” Teddy said once Ginny had given a quick assurance to her son.

“And Neville will be more than glad to help you if you need anything. I would say that McGonagall could do the same if she hadn't retired last year,” Ginny continued, ignoring the brief flash of panic that crossed James' features at the thought of being in Slytherin.

“I believe `just in time' were her words,” Harry said. “I suspect she just wanted to make sure Teddy finished his schooling without getting expelled.”

“That woman secretly loves me,” Teddy mused, shoving his hands in his pockets as he glanced wistfully at the train. “I wasn't even in her House and she was always the one to give me detentions.”

“The boldness of a Gryffindor and the intelligence of a Ravenclaw does not a well-behaved student make,” Victoire said with a smile.

“Not to mention the mischief of a Metamorphmagus and the restlessness of a half-werewolf,” Ginny said.

“And the natural predisposition for pranking instilled by being the son of a Marauder and being raised around the Weasleys,” Harry said.

“Face it, mate, you were fated to be a troublemaker,” Ron said, clapping Teddy on the back. “Tough break.”

Teddy was saved from replying as the Hogwarts Express emitted a shrill whistle.

There was a brief flurry of activity as James was passed quickly among his relatives, embraced affectionately by each, until he reached his father, who hugged his son more tightly than anyone.

Between this sight of separation of father and son, Victoire's seemingly impulsive embrace and unheard whispers to an oblivious Teddy, and her own private and tumultuous reflections, Hermione was bombarded with enough emotion to render her speechless as she watched Victoire and James board the train. She barely managed to raise her hand in farewell as the train disappeared from the platform.

“He's going to be alright, isn't he?” Lily said, clutching her mother's hand and looking up at her tearfully.

“Of course! And he'll be back for the holidays before you know it,” Ginny said cheerful, although her eyes were also glassy from pent-up tears.

After a moment of silence, Teddy excused himself from the group and vanished through the barrier. He was closely followed by Ginny, who clutched each of her remaining children's hands in an almost possessive manner as she vanished as well.

“I guess I'll be off as well,” Ron said. “I'll get the kids situated at the Burrow, and then meet you at the Ministry.”

“Sounds good,” Harry said. “Although I'm sure Ginny wouldn't mind if Rose and Hugo want to spend the day at Grimmauld. I'm sure Al and Lily could use the company.”

Ron agreed to this plan at the enthusiastic promptings of his children and then was gone as well, leaving Harry and Hermione standing alone on the platform.

“I think we're getting old, Hermione,” Harry said, continuing to gaze after the long-departed train.

“Speak for yourself,” she responded as she observed his profile. “You're the one with gray hair.”

Harry smiled at that, running his hand through the offending locks at his temple.

“Barely. And I wouldn't sound so amused about it if I were you,” Harry warned. “You'll be next, especially since we can't count on Ginny or Ron going gray on us.”

“True,” Hermione said, attempting to keep her tone light-hearted.

Harry sighed after a moment of silence. “Well, no point in hanging around here. Heading to the Ministry?”

“No, I just like to wear purple robes for the fun of it,” Hermione said.

“I thought as much,” Harry said with a grin, offering his hand in a wordless gesture for Side-Along Apparition. “No need for sarcasm, Granger.”

Hermione accepted his hand as wordlessly as he had given it, for once not making the slightest attempt to correct him with a quietly muttered Weasley before they disappeared.

******************

It truly was a morose evening at the Potter household.

Both Lily and Albus were forlorn at the loss of their brother, however temporary, and Harry and Ginny were equally somber at the strangeness of James' absence. As a result, all four seemed inclined to turn in early that night, as much from exhaustion at the emotional morning as from the desire to start the next day afresh.

Harry retired to his bedroom almost as soon as Albus and Lily were asleep. Ginny was already in bed, jotting down notes on a pad of paper by the light of the lamp on her bedside table.

Harry perched himself on the edge of the bed as he began to unlace his shoes.

“Did you tell Lily she could sleep in her new boots?” he asked as he kicked off one of them.

“Yes,” Ginny said absently as tapped her pen thoughtfully.

“Not that there's any problem with it, but why would you let her?” Harry asked curiously, kicking off his other shoe.

“She said they were comfortable, they kept her feet warm, and that she loved them more than anything in the world,” Ginny answered, scratching through a note on her paper.

“And those were good enough reasons for you?” Harry said, removing his socks as well.

“Well, those happen to be the reasons I sleep with you,” Ginny replied with a grin, nudging Harry with her foot.

“I'm glad to be of some use to you, then,” Harry said, smiling as well.

He slipped under the sheets on his side of the bed a few moments later, vaguely aware that one of his hands had unconsciously reached to cover the small patch of darkened skin on his bare chest.

“I'll be done with this article in a bit,” Ginny said, continuing to jot notes. “It needs to be sent to the Prophet tomorrow afternoon. Is the light bothering you?”

“No,” Harry said. “Take your time. I was just thinking.”

“Thinking about what?” Ginny asked.

“Just wondering if James is okay.”

“He'll be fine,” Ginny said. “He's probably in his dormitory right now, getting to know his roommates and completely unconcerned by the fact that he starts classes in the morning.”

“Do you think he got in Gryffindor?”

“Undoubtedly,” Ginny said. “He's probably even in your same dormitory.”

Harry grinned, pleased at the notion.

“Aspen will probably show up tomorrow with a letter letting us know how his first day was, anyway. So don't trouble yourself too much about it.”

“Okay,” Harry said.

Within ten minutes, Ginny had completed her article and flicked off her lamp.

“Now move over,” she said, settling herself more comfortably underneath the covers. “You're hogging the bed.”

******************

In the Weasley household, Hermione alone could be described as morose.

However, as she was used to doing, she managed to mostly hide the symptoms of her distress. Her haggard appearance gave the only insight into the maelstrom of her emotions, and this could easily be disregarded as lack of sleep to any but the most perceptive of observers. As neither Harry nor her mother was present, she felt mostly safe in this regard.

Presently, as she read aloud to her children, she had little trouble disguising her feelings. This had become a favorite ritual among them, and Hermione loved nothing more than to share her love of books and stories with Rose and Hugo. She sat propped against the pillows in her daughter's bed, with Rose on one side and Hugo on the other, and could scarcely describe how tranquil she felt.

It had been Hugo's choice tonight, and he had requested a few stories from a book of fairytales. The Tales of Beedle and the Bard, needless to say, were nowhere to be seen.

“And then the marriage of the King's son with Briar-rose was celebrated with all splendor, and they lived contented to the end of their days,” Hermione said, finishing what she felt had been a spirited rendition of “Sleeping Beauty.” Or at least as spirited as could be managed through her own desire for sleep.

“Read `Ali Baba' again,” Hugo said immediately.

“I have no idea why you like that story so much,” Hermione said as she closed the book. “Although I imagine the violence may have something to do with it.”

“Swordfights and treasure!” Hugo said enthusiastically.

“I prefer that story too,” Rose added.

“You never have been one for princess stories, have you?” Hermione said with a tired smile.

“Fairytales in general, really,” Rose said. “I mean, they're interesting, but they aren't very realistic, are they?”

Hermione couldn't help but laugh at that. Leave it to her magical daughter to find fault in stories almost entirely surrounding magic. “Which part, exactly?”

“I don't know…” Rose said thoughtfully. “Well, take `Cinderella,' for example.”

“What about it?” Hermione asked.

“First of all, the so-called fairy godmother should never have helped Cinderella in the first place. She was clearly a witch, and showing off to a Muggle should have gotten her in a lot of trouble.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, nodding in amusement. “Statute of Secrecy and all that. Go on.”

“So if you can ignore that obvious flaw in the plot, the Transfiguration itself is very impressive. But then, if the witch is powerful enough to create all that, why would all the magic disappear? And at midnight, no less. Unless the fairy godmother died or just wanted to be a jerk to Cinderella, the Transfiguration should have lasted longer, right?”

“Right.”

“And then, after all that, you find out that not all of the magic disappeared—that a pair of glass slippers, of all things, doesn't disappear. And to top it all off, we're expected to just accept the fact that Cinderella has such a unique shoe size that the glass slipper will not fit the foot of a single other person in the entire kingdom? It's ridiculous!” Rose concluded.

“You're completely right,” Hermione said seriously. “Not to mention the fact that the slipper would have broken to begin with.”

“That too!” Rose said. “Especially if she was dancing around in them!”

“Oh, Rose,” Hermione said with a sigh as she slid from the bed, prompting Hugo off as well. “I fear that you've been around me far too long, love.”

Rose giggled, and Hermione bent to kiss the crown of her daughter's thick brown hair.

“Can I get a glass of water before I go to bed?” Hugo asked.

“Sure,” Hermione said. “Would you like one, Rose?”

“No, I'm okay. Goodnight, Mum.”

“Goodnight,” Hermione said, and flicked off the light to her daughter's room.

Hugo led the way down the hall, through the living room where Ron was perusing a Quidditch magazine, and into the kitchen. Hermione held back a groan of exasperation as she followed her son into the last room—pots and pans were still scattered about the stove, the sink was overflowing with dirty plates and glasses, and the leftovers from dinner remained sitting in dishes on the counter.

“Ron, I thought I asked you to clean up the mess in the kitchen!” Hermione called, her agitation causing her voice to be shriller than she had intended.

Silence followed her rebuke. Then:

“Sorry, must've slipped my mind.”

Although she couldn't see him, she didn't think he sounded particularly sorry about it.

Hugo, now clutching a glass of water, stepped into the living room. Hermione followed once more, bringing Ron into her sight. He continued to staunchly stare at his magazine.

Hugo, quite used to seeing such typical bickering between his parents, took a sip of his water.

“Yeah, Dad, stop being so lazy!” he said jokingly.

Another moment of silence.

“Hugo, it's not your place to criticize your father,” Hermione said quietly.

“Yes, you're infringing on your mother's territory,” Ron replied, his eyes immobile on the magazine.

Hermione felt her shoulders tense involuntarily as cold anger roiled about in her chest.

“It's time for bed, Hugo,” she said evenly.

Hugo glanced between his father and mother curiously. Then, without another word, her son vanished down the hallway, the door to his bedroom clicking shut a moment later.

“That was entirely uncalled for,” Hermione said tightly.

“Look, I'd rather not get into this tonight,” Ron said, his tone just as crisp.

“Really? Because your comment would suggest otherwise,” Hermione said, crossing her arms.

“Maybe you're wrong,” Ron answered, finally looking up from his magazine with a glare. “Did you ever consider that?”

“I suppose that it would be a nice change of pace for me to be wrong, wouldn't it?” Hermione said, not finding it within herself to reign in her anger.

“Right, because I'm bloody wrong all the time, aren't I?” Ron ground out, finally tossing his magazine away from him in anger as he stood up.

Hermione bit back her next mean-spirited retort and turned her back on her husband. Her hip nudged the edge of a rickety table placed beside the couch as she walked a few paces away, and lunged forward to still the lone vase on its surface as it wobbled precariously.

“Maybe you're right,” she said softly, moving her hands slowly away from the vase. “Maybe we shouldn't get into this right now.”

Hermione heard a long sigh as Ron paced away as well.

“Sure, why not?” he said sourly, and Hermione heard him fumbling about with the books on the shelves.

Hermione would later wonder what Fates had to be in play to result in what happened next. Wonder at what had possibly possessed Ron to fumble about on her bookshelves for something to read when he had rarely messed with them before. Wonder why he selected the book he did. Hermione did not remember which book he chose though. It was arbitrary, really. The significance of it came when he pulled the book roughly from the shelf, causing the book next to it to fall forward, landing with a thump on the ground and falling open to a very precise page, where a small, worn piece of parchment was heavily folded.

Realization only dawned on Hermione as Ron set aside the book he had chosen, bent to lift the fallen leather tome into his arms, and plucked the parchment from its crease. When that realization did hit her, it did so so forcibly that she couldn't prevent a gasp of horror from escaping her lips.

Ron might have ignored the parchment had she been able to control herself. After all, a scrap of old parchment in an Ancient Runes dictionary would more than likely be some scrawled note from class. But her gasp told a different tale, and instead of tossing it aside, he glanced at Hermione curiously, then back to the folded parchment with renewed interest.

“Give that to me,” Hermione said, a whine of panic rising in her mind and a blush rising in her cheeks.

Ron didn't reply, instead fixing her with a hard stare. She could see his thoughts churning, and by the time she had crossed the room to snatch the parchment from him, he had clearly made up his mind to do no such thing. He held the parchment out of her reach and instead shoved the open dictionary into her arms.

“What is it?” Ron asked. There was no malevolence in his tone, only a burning curiosity.

“It's—it's just some notes I took in classes,” Hermione said, setting the dictionary on the couch.

Ron cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. “I'm not that much of an idiot, Hermione.”

“Well, then, it's none of your concern,” Hermione said firmly. She made another snatch at the parchment, and Ron jerked it once more out of her reach.

“Would you stop treating me like some schoolgirl?” Hermione snapped. “Just give that back to me!”

But Ron was already unfolding the parchment—unfolding the letter—and Hermione continued to struggle vainly to grab it, to take it away from his prying eyes, even as she knew that it was too late. He hardly seemed aware of her efforts after a moment, and she stopped trying after a moment more.

She backed away from him and collapsed onto the couch, hardly able to force herself to watch him as he absorbed every word she had written, as he read it through a second time, as his brow contorted and the set of his mouth grew rigid.

When he had clearly had enough, he methodically folded up the parchment and with a twitch of his wrist sent it flying into her lap. He then turned his back on her and bowed his head.

The silence that reigned between them at that moment stretched on into more moments, and still neither Hermione nor Ron said a word. Despite her guesswork, Hermione could never appropriately describe what she supposed Ron was feeling during that span of stillness, and, for once in her life, she was unsure if this was knowledge she wanted to be privy to.

Hermione, with equal amounts of guilt, dread, and apprehension, was the first to break through the silence. And breaking it was all she managed.

“Ron, I—”

“You what?” Ron cut her off so bitingly that she cringed in alarm. “You can explain? Is that what you were about to say? What is there to explain? The two of you clearly made a fool of me. End of story. What more needs to be said?”

“Ron, you don't understand—”

“Oh, what a surprise! Something else that Ron Weasley can't understand!”

Hermione hastily cast a Muffliato charm as his voice escalated.

“Would you look at me, Ron! That letter is nothing recent! I wrote that when I was sixteen!”

“It doesn't matter that you were sixteen! It's the fact that you lied to me!”

“What would have been the point in telling you?” Hermione asked. “I never even showed that to Harry! It was just…it was just a fleeting crush, Ron.”

Strangely, Ron did not seem at all mollified by this.

“That just makes it worse, doesn't it?”

He no longer shouted at her, but the soft way he spoke struck Hermione as significantly worse. He finally faced her, and Hermione was startled to see tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“It's not about the fact that you wrote it when you were sixteen, or that you were just writing about a crush. It's about the fact that you've never said anything like this to me. That apparently as a sixteen-year-old you could feel as strongly as this about Harry when you obviously don't feel this way about your own husband.”

Hermione paled at the unwelcome veracity of these words and immediately averted her eyes.

“I…I don't know what to say, Ron.”

“I guess that's the point, isn't it?”

Hermione heard Ron sigh as he sat down on the couch next to her.

“So,” he said, and the word seemed to extend farther in her mind than any single-syllable word had the right to do.

“So,” Hermione echoed.

“Is this it, then?” he said.

The matter-of-fact way he said it rendered her breathless—it felt as though steel bands were tightening, constricting her heart and lungs, and she gasped for air as the tears finally flooded to her eyes.

“I guess so,” she managed to choke out.

“It wasn't—it wasn't all bad, was it?” Ron asked, fiddling with the edge of his shirt.

“No, of course not,” Hermione said tearfully. “You're still my friend, Ron, and nothing could change that.”

And that was it. There was no open declaration of defeat, no exclamation of failure. She knew she had been unfair to him, that they had been unfair to each other, and had been too good of friends to admit that they just didn't work. She also knew that he deserved someone better than her, a person that could love him as unreservedly as he deserved to be loved and make him happier than she could ever make him.

As she turned to observe Ron, she didn't see her thirty-six-year-old husband, but saw past that to the lanky, red-haired teenager she had met at Hogwarts. And as they pulled each other into an embrace, she knew she was not hugging her husband.

She was hugging her friend, and there was a bittersweet rightness in that small consolation.

“I love you, Ron,” she said as they broke apart.

He gave her a small, regretful smile.

“I love you, too,” he said.

Then he left the room, leaving Hermione alone.

She pulled the Ancient Runes dictionary towards herself when he was gone, intent for some reason or another to replace her worn letter back within its pages. It was still open to the place it had opened to, and Hermione glanced at the contents of the page as she wedged the parchment securely into the binding.

“`Ehwaz,'” she read, tracing her finger down the runes.

It means partnership, not defense.

She snapped the book shut ruefully.

“Still can't believe I missed that one,” she muttered, and tossed the book on the table next to the couch.

She immediately regretted this act as the vase on the table fell instantly to the floor and shattered.

“Of course,” Hermione said, hardly alarmed by the development.

Ron returned to the room at the sound of the breaking porcelain.

“Vase fell?” he asked unnecessarily.

“Yes. It doesn't matter, I knew it would happen eventually.”

“Then why didn't you stop it?” Ron asked, bewildered.

And it was such a simple question.

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45. No Second Chances

A/N: So…finally, right? Needless to say, I was not on my game over the summer with updates. However, hopefully the fact that the next chapter will be updated in exactly one week (yes, just one) will make up for it. I would have updated this last month sometime, but I really thought the next chapter needed to be completed first. And before you start reading, two notes: One, thanks for all the reviews for the last chapter. You guys are absolutely awesome and thank you so much for sticking with my less-than-frequent updates. And two…don't be mad at me. Oh, and I apologize in advance if the chapter doesn't upload properly…keeps trying to cut off the text part of the way through the chapter.

Anyway, enjoy! We've finally gotten to the Epilogue!

Chapter 45: No Second Chances

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year.

However, despite the absence of the dense summer heat that had plagued them for months, Dolohov still appeared distinctly uncomfortable, tugging at the sleeves of his robes as sweat clung to his brow.

“And you are sure this is the only way?” he said, his thin face sallow in the poor lighting of the room.

Caius heard his so-called leader's discomfort as easily as he could see it.

Coward.

“Yes,” Caius answered. “You are as aware as myself of the setback that has delayed our plans. Despite our promptings, Potter has not yet retrieved the Wand, and the wards placed upon it are as strong as ever.”

Caius noticed the twitch of Dolohov's eye, the barely suppressed curl of his lip as he reflected upon the frustration.

“Why have you suddenly decided now is the time to strike?” Dolohov said. “You have insisted upon restraint for this long…what have you discovered that has changed your opinion?”

Caius gave Dolohov a rare smile.

“I have discovered much, Antonin.”

It took little explanation to bring forth the avaricious gleam in Dolohov's eyes.

“This is news indeed,” he said, drumming the tips of his fingers against the worn wooden table before him. “You have shown impressive foresight in this matter, and I apologize for any...impatience I have exhibited.” A wide smile revealed crooked yellow teeth quite unlike Caius'. “Can you imagine the possibilities this entails?”

Caius gave no answer. He could, of course, imagine the possibilities quite vividly.

“All of this wasted time will be quite worth it if we succeed,” Dolohov continued, careless of Caius' taciturn nature. “We'll need to proceed carefully, of course. One miscalculation could mean the end of all that we have worked for…but yes, I believe you are right. It's time we pay Mr. Potter a long-delayed visit.”

He paused, leaning back in his chair and clasping his arms behind his head as he gazed upward contemplatively.

“I would imagine you've given some thought to the circumstances of our next encounter.”

Dolohov fixed his dark eyes upon Caius, and Caius stared back, another thin-lipped smile on his lips.

“I might have a suggestion.”

******************

September 1, 2017

It seemed as if no time at all passed before it was time to return to King's Cross.

The bustle of the London streets outside of Hermione's flat compounded the flurry of activity caused as Rose bounded through the rooms, searching for any last-minute items to pack. Thanks to Hermione's efficiency the night before there was little left unaccounted for, and Hermione knew Rose's darting about had more to do with nervous anticipation than anything.

Hermione simply sat on the sofa as she observed her daughter, her limbs feeling abnormally heavy as melancholy settled into her heart. She was truly happy for Rose and the opportunities she would have at Hogwarts (what parent wouldn't be?), but that didn't mean she couldn't feel sorry for herself.

Rose's leaving for Hogwarts would add an unpleasant bump to the life Hermione had only recently settled into. Once her children had accepted the circumstances of her and Ron's separation, which had understandably taken some time, Rose and Hugo had been an undeniable comfort, her one constant in the turmoil her life had become. Hugo, being both younger and of a more easy-going temperament than his sister, had been confused at first. Rose, on the other hand, had been angry at the news, uncertainty causing her to continually place one or the other of her parents to blame, and her long bouts of surly muteness were rarely broken by anything but clipped remarks to direct questions. But kids are nothing if not adaptable, and a few months and many long (and often one-sided in Rose's case) conversations had eased them into the numerous adjustments to their lives.

After Hermione had insisted Ron keep the house in Ottery St. Catchpole (the idea of living down the road from her ex-husband's parents held little appeal), Rose and Hugo had helped her pick the three-bedroom flat that would become their second home. They had both been surprisingly eager to help her decorate, and Hermione had even allowed Hugo to have his bedroom painted Wimbourne Wasp yellow—she figured anything was better than Chudley Cannon orange.

However, despite the separate living arrangements, Hermione and Ron did try to keep things as normal as possible. To minimize the inconvenience to Rose and Hugo, they alternated weeks with their children—one week in Ottery St. Catchpole, one week in London. Additionally, they all ate dinner together on most nights, with the task of cooking falling upon whomever the kids were staying with. As a result, Ron's expertise in the kitchen had risen considerably in the past year. Needless to say, Molly Weasley's aid in this department had been more than welcome.

The rest of the relatives had seemed to have a harder time adjusting. In as large and stable of a family as the Weasleys, the idea of divorce was all but a foreign concept. In the first few weeks after the announcement, Mr. Weasley had been awkward in his uncertainty of how to behave around his son's ex-wife, at times normal and then abruptly formal as though he had briefly forgotten the state of things. Mrs. Weasley had perhaps taken longer than anyone to adjust, torn between loyalty to her youngest son and the woman who had practically been her daughter even before the two had dated. Ron's brothers had been an immense relief to the disorientation of the earliest family get-togethers—Bill's composure eased much of the social clumsiness, and George's well-timed humor lightened any unfortunate lapses that happened to occur.

Ginny's reaction had perhaps been the strangest of all the Weasleys. At first she had been similar in behavior to her parents, caught in the uncomfortable position of sticking up for her brother without accidentally tarnishing the character of her husband's best friend. But this behavior had rapidly transitioned into something Hermione could only describe as smothering. It was as though Ginny had suddenly taken it upon herself to be Hermione's one-woman support group and, consequently, rarely abandoned her side when they were in the same vicinity.

And then there was Harry, who had been…well, Harry.

Hermione had told him first. He had seemed even sadder than Ron at the development, both unsurprised and dazed that his friends' marriage had deteriorated to this point, but had been surprisingly quiet as he listened to her. He didn't prod her for more details than she gave, but his furrowed brow and unsettled expression spoke for the question that troubled his mind.

This isn't about you, she had told him.

Which was the truth.

At least mostly the truth.

She was not leaving Ron for Harry, after all, but she occasionally wondered how deeply Harry had influenced the dissatisfaction that had led to divorce. If not for Harry, would she have ever realized she had reason to be discontent, even considered the possibility of leaving Ron? Ron had been the only relationship she had ever had, and she had never had anything to compare it to until those brief, stolen moments she had shared with Harry when she was pregnant with Rose.

Oddly, she liked to think that, with or without Harry, the end result would have been the same.

But she would never know for certain.

Even if it had been about Harry, she wouldn't have told him anyway. He had enough guilt to burden him without the added encumbrance of breaking up a marriage.

Hermione had unfortunately found it necessary to convince Katherine Granger of the same thing. She hadn't seemed to believe her, but Hermione had more important things to deal with than a skeptical mother.

“Mum,” Rose said, skidding to a halt before Hermione and interrupting her thoughts. “Do you know where that Self-Correcting Ink you bought me is?”

“In your trunk,” Hermione said, sighing.

“And those treats we got for Sable?” she asked, referring to her new calico kitten.

“Next to her carrier.”

“And that bag of Canary Creams Uncle George gave me?”

“Hidden from both you and your brother.”

“Aw, you're no fun!” Rose said. She was already dressed in her pristine Hogwarts robes and practically bouncing in excitement.

“Is that everything?” Hermione asked. “Because your father should be here any minute.”

“I think so.”

“You can always write if you think you've forgotten something. I can send Marcellus with it,” Hermione said.

“Okay!” Rose said, already turning to bound away again, but she hadn't even made it out of the room before a loud honk sounded from the streets outside.

“That would be your father,” Hermione said, shaking her head at Ron's laziness.

Rose cringed slightly as she peeked out of the window. “Are you sure you can't drive us?”

Hermione shrugged helplessly. “He insisted he wanted to do it. He did pass his driving test, sweetie.”

“A passed driving test does not an experienced driver make,” Rose replied, crossing her arms as she continued to peer down at her father's car.

Hermione smiled at this. “True. But don't worry so much—I'll make sure he doesn't screw up too badly.”

Rose feigned wiping sweat from her brow and then continued to dash away, shouting for Hugo as she went.

“HUGO! DAD'S HERE!”

As Rose fetched her brother, Hermione cast a Featherweight charm on her daughter's trunk. Had they been at the Burrow, she would have cast a Levitation charm, but she suspected that a floating trunk might not go over very well with the Muggles of London.

Rose and Hugo emerged from their rooms a moment later, the former clutching a mewling kitten to her chest and the latter hopping forward as he pulled an unlaced sneaker onto his foot.

Hermione waited patiently until Rose had placed Sable in her carrier and Hugo's feet were fitted snugly into his shoes.

“Everybody ready?” she asked.

Rose and Hugo quickly nodded their assent and then led the way out of the flat.

Excellent, that makes two of us, Hermione thought glumly, and cast one last glance through the room before shutting the door quietly behind her.

******************

Harry would have been a bit ashamed to admit to Hermione how chaotic his own home was in comparison to the relative tranquility of her flat.

He would have thought that, having done this once before with James, the second time around would be considerably easier. He had been confident he could avoid the mistakes that had delayed the Potters last time, and was consequently convinced the atmosphere would be considerably more relaxed.

However, this morning had made multiple things clear to Harry:

One, he had been quite mistaken in his assumptions.

Two, doubling the amount of children preparing to leave for Hogwarts doubled the amount of packing, yelling, stampeding up and down the stairs, and the severity of the migraine pulsing somewhere behind Harry's right eye.

And three, much of this stemmed from the fact that he was absolute rubbish at planning and organizing without Hermione hovering over his shoulder, and Ginny wasn't much better.

Harry massaged his temple as the cacophony of his sons' shouting, Ginny's even louder shouting, Lily's wailing, and the owls' screeching bombarded his senses.

“Harry, what are you doing!?” Ginny said, poking her head into the living room as a distraught Lily clung to her sleeve. “Would you please get up and help James and Al? We're going to be late if we don't leave soon!”

Harry sighed as he heaved himself from the soft cushions of the couch, wondering if there was some elixir that may help his brain pound a little less viciously against his skull.

“Okay,” he said, despite knowing that it was unlikely Ginny could hear his reply.

He followed the noise of shouting upstairs until he reached James' bedroom, arriving just in time to hear an outburst from Albus.

“Would you just shut up, James?” he said.

Harry could hear the pronounced annoyance in his youngest son's voice, and almost collided with him as Albus tried to storm from the bedroom.

“Woah,” Harry said, halting Albus' progress by placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. “What's going on up here?”

Albus glared downward, his face pale, and seemed to grit his teeth.

“James is just being a jerk,” he muttered.

“Is that so?” Harry said, raising an eyebrow as he glanced up to James framed in the doorway, bearing a slightly guilty expression. Harry knew his sons well enough to know that James could occasionally take a joke too far, and that it took an exceptional amount of needling to rile Albus up to this degree.

“Care to share, James?” Harry continued.

“Not especially,” he replied, scuffing his foot on the wooden planks beneath his feet.

Harry continued to stare expectantly.

“Fine,” James said after a moment of tense silence. “I was only telling him that there's a chance he could be Sorted into Slytherin. He took it all personally for some reason.”

“He said that he'd disown me if I was Sorted into Slytherin!” Albus interjected, seething.

“James!” Harry admonished.

“I was just joking!” he said defensively. “I just mentioned that no one in our entire family had ever been Sorted into Slytherin.”

Albus shot James another glare before turning back to his father. Once his back was to James, Harry saw Albus' anger melt into anxiety. Before Harry could say anything, Albus pushed past his father and went to his own bedroom.

“James,” Harry scolded again once Al was out of earshot. “Lay off, will you? It's clearly bothering him.”

“He should learn how to take a joke,” James muttered. “But okay, I'll lay off a bit.”

“That's all I ask,” Harry said. “Now, are you finished packing? Because we'll have bigger things to worry about if we're not downstairs in about three minutes.”

“'Bigger things to worry about' meaning Mum?”

“Smart boy,” Harry said, ruffling his son's hair.

******************

“Do you think Al and James are here yet?”

Rose peered up the platform nervously as she spoke. Understandably, Hermione could see that boarding the Hogwarts Express for the first time without backup was a daunting prospect for her daughter.

“I don't think so,” Hermione said.

“How unlucky of them,” Ron grumbled as he waved at the retreating figure of his brother. “Had they been ten minutes earlier, Harry could have listened to Percy's rousing discourse on broomstick regulations…I may just have to fill him in when he gets here.”

“Don't do that!” Hugo said, yawning widely. “That means we'd have to hear it all again!”

“Fair point, Hugh,” Ron said. “That would be cruel and unusual punishment.”

“Hey, there they are!” Rose said suddenly, pointing.

A group of five people emerged from the thick white steam obscuring the platform, their faces coming into focus as they drew near. Al was the first person visible, looking quite pale as he pushed his trolley forward. His barn owl, Aurora, was in a cage perched on top of his trunk, and she hooted a greeting to the group. Harry, Ginny, and a tearful Lily followed directly behind, and James was nowhere to be seen.

“Hi,” Albus said as he neared them, sounding immensely relieved.

Rose beamed at her cousin, clearly as relieved to see him as he was to see her.

Hermione flashed Harry a smile, which he returned wearily.

“Parked all right, then?” Ron asked Harry immediately, causing Hermione to shake her head amusedly at his eagerness. “I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you? She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner.”

“No, I didn't, I had complete faith in you,” Hermione said, although in truth she had had her doubts about the written portion of the exam. She had even been lenient enough to ignore Ron when he actually did Confund the examiner—he had only forgotten to look in the wing mirror, and Hermione knew he would use a Supersensory Charm for that anyway.

As Harry and Ron lifted Albus's trunk and owl onto the train, Hermione glanced towards Lily and Hugo, who were animatedly discussing what they thought Hogwarts would be like. Rose and Albus were also bunched together, speaking in much lower tones and seemingly drawing fortitude from each other's presence as they took turns glancing furtively at the scarlet train.

“Lily seemed upset a moment ago,” Hermione said.

“She wants to go to Hogwarts with her brothers,” Ginny replied with a shrug, smiling as she observed her daughter. “Something I can obviously relate to.”

“At least she and Hugo have each other for company while the other kids are at school,” Hermione said.

“True. Neither of them have ever been alone without their siblings before.”

A moment later, Harry and Ron reappeared, the former looking amused and the latter looking slightly sheepish. The two men approached the group just as Lily and Hugo speculated which House they would be Sorted into.

“If you're not in Gryffindor, we'll disinherit you,” Ron said, “but no pressure.”

“Ron!” Hermione scolded, shooting him a glare. She guessed that Al and Rose didn't need the added anxiety of being teased, and their solemn expressions supported her conjecture. Lily and Hugo's laughter didn't help matters.

“He doesn't mean it,” Hermione and Ginny said simultaneously. To Hermione's ire, Ron was no longer paying attention. Instead, he was looking pointedly at Harry, clearly trying to catch his eye. Once he'd succeeded, Ron nodded covertly to a point some fifty yards away.

Hermione followed his gaze, and once the steam had thinned, three people stood in sharp relief to the shifting mist.

“Look who it is,” Ron said, smirking.

Draco Malfoy was standing there with his wife and son. Although his white-blonde hair had receded somewhat, thereby emphasizing his pointed chin, the dark coat buttoned up to his throat gave him a striking air. Hermione couldn't help but smile when she saw that the boy by Draco's side resembled his father as much as Albus resembled Harry.

Draco suddenly stilled, apparently aware of being watched, and was gratified by the sight of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny staring at him when he turned his head. Hermione could see Draco immediately hone in on one person in particular, and she knew for a moment his ice blue eyes met Harry's emerald ones.

Then he gave the group a curt nod and turned away.

His son glanced towards them for a moment too, clearly interested to see what had drawn his father's notice, but jerked his gaze away rapidly when he saw they were still looking.

“So that's little Scorpius,” Ron said under his breath. “Make sure you beat him in every test, Rosie. Thank God you inherited your mother's brains.”

Harry caught Hermione's eye, and the corner of his lips twitched upward as he tipped his head obligingly towards her as if to say, Well, it's true.

“Ron, for heaven's sake,” Hermione said, half stern, half amused. “Don't try to turn them against each other before they've even started school!”

“You're right, sorry,” Ron said, but unable to stop himself, he added, “Don't get too friendly with him, though, Rosie. Granddad Weasley would never forgive you if you married a pureblood.”

Hermione inwardly cringed at the idea of her daughter marrying into the Malfoys, but had no chance to respond to Ron before her oldest nephew came bounding towards them through the steam, evidently bursting with news.

“Hey!” James said breathlessly, and pointed back over his shoulder. “Teddy's back there. Just seen him! And guess what he's doing? Snogging Victoire!”

Hermione felt a twinge of delight at James' words, but she certainly couldn't say she was surprised. Harry, Ron, and Ginny seemed equally unsurprised, and James was evidently disappointed by the lack of reaction.

“Our Teddy!” James clarified. “Teddy Lupin! Snogging our Victoire! Our cousin! And I asked Teddy what he was doing—”

Hermione outwardly cringed now, embarrassed for Victoire's sake.

“You interrupted them?” Ginny said, voicing her similar disbelief as she shook her head. “You are so like Ron—”

“—and he said he'd come to see her off! And then he told me to go away. He's snogging her!” James added as though still worried he had not made himself clear.

“Oh, it would be lovely if they get married!” Lily whispered ecstatically. “Teddy would really be part of the family then!”

“He already comes round for dinner about four times a week,” Harry said. “Why don't we just invite him to live with us and have done with it?”

“Yeah!” James said enthusiastically. “I don't mind sharing with Al—Teddy could have my room!”

“No,” Harry said firmly, “you and Al will share a room only when I want the house demolished.”

They all fell quickly into silence as the whistle of the train split the air. Hermione grew solemn as she saw Harry check the battered old watch on his wrist.

“It's nearly eleven,” he said, “you'd better get on board.”

Rose immediately moved back towards Hermione and Ron as Al and James migrated to Harry and Ginny.

Hermione heard Ginny tell James to give Neville her love as she hugged him. Ron had already enveloped Rose in a bear hug, his eyes looking misty.

“We'll miss you, Rosie,” Ron said, clearing his throat. “Don't know what Hugh and I will do without you to keep us in line.”

“Don't worry,” Rose said, also swallowing a lump in her throat. “I'm sure Mum can take a few extra shifts if you guys need the help.”

Ron laughed and gave Rose a final squeeze before releasing her to go to say goodbye to her mother. Hermione saw him wipe at his eyes quickly when Rose turned away.

Hermione tried to smile reassuringly, but then her eyes began to tear up and she jerkily pulled Rose into a tight hug, trying to contain her emotions. Rose didn't seem to mind, though—her eyes had also seemed to be getting watery, and a mother's shoulder is as good a place as any to disguise tears.

“I love you, Rose,” Hermione said in a choked voice.

“I love you too, Mum,” Rose replied emotionally, her voice muffled by her mother's robes.

“You study hard,” Hermione said, “but have fun, too. You're going to meet so many people and have so many adventures…”

Hermione was briefly tempted to mention that there was a chance she'd meet her future husband on the train, but she knew Rose was nervous enough without putting such an awkward idea in her head.

Over the crown of Rose's wavy hair, she saw James aim a kick at Albus and thought she heard some mention of thestrals, which seemed to instantly vex Al. Then in rapid succession James permitted Ginny to kiss him, gave Harry a fleeting hug, and leapt onto the rapidly filling train to search for his friends. Their attention was quickly turned to Albus once James had disappeared.

“And you and Al watch out for each other,” Hermione murmured to her daughter as she watched Harry crouch before his youngest son. Al looked so like Harry at that age it made her heart melt.

Hermione held her daughter tighter as she considered what else to say. She had thought of so many things, and it was unlike her to forget something so important—she should have made a list.

“Don't talk back to your teachers unless you have a really good reason,” she said. “Don't forget to feed Sable. Don't worry too much if you don't become instant friends with your roommates, and remember that you have lots of cousins there to help you if you need it. You can talk to Hagrid or Neville if you need to discuss something with a teacher, and you can send one of the boys' owls home if you need anything at all. Marcellus should be a frequent visitor if you want to send a letter with him.”

She paused, wondering if there was anything else she should mention.

“Just…be brave, alright? Don't be afraid to take a risk…I don't want you to miss out on something you'd regret, because that's one of the worst feelings in the world.”

“Okay,” Rose said, pulling away from Hermione and straightening her robes in an attempt to compose herself. “And Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Keep Hugo out of my room, please.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, smiling.

“I'll see you at Christmas, then,” Rose said, and she boarded the train.

Hermione exhaled slowly as her daughter left her side. She noticed Ginny wave cheerily to Rose as Harry continued to speak quietly to Albus, and Rose waved back. Happiness had already settled back into her features, and she redirected her wave to Hermione as though to reassure her.

See, Mum? I'll be alright!

Hermione waved back, already anxious for the letter she would receive tomorrow.

Albus jumped into the carriage a moment later as the doors began slamming all along the scarlet train, and Ginny closed their carriage behind him.

Hermione had been so absorbed with saying goodbye to Rose that, until now, she hadn't notice the great number of faces, both on the train and off, that seemed to be turned towards Harry. Harry also seemed oblivious, although that may have had more to do with practice than ignorance.

“Why are they all staring?” Al demanded as he and Rose craned around to look at the other students.

“Don't let it worry you,” Ron said. “It's me. I'm extremely famous.”

Albus, Rose, Hugo, and Lily laughed. The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, smiling and waving to Al and Rose, whose faces were already ablaze with excitement. Hermione knew he must have been feeling just as torn up as she was as they watched their children glide away from them…

The last trace of steam evaporated in the autumn air. Then the train rounded a corner, and they were gone. Harry's hand was still raised in farewell as he stared after the scarlet engine.

“He'll be all right,” Ginny murmured as she approached him. Hermione, Ron, Lily, and Hugo were just behind her.

As Harry looked over at them, he lowered his hand absentmindedly until it had reached the lightning scar on his forehead.

“I know he will,” he said, letting his hand fall to his side.

Hermione wondered what he was thinking about. She knew Harry's scar had not pained him for nineteen years, since the day Voldemort had been killed. But nostalgia could prey easily upon them on days like this, emerged as they were in an environment that could have been plucked directly from any of their memories and played before their eyes like a film strip. The wistfulness fell even harder upon the observation that the chaos of the platform, of the students boarding the same train that had borne them so many times, could proceed just fine without them. And Harry would, of course, be imagining how close he had come—how close they had all come—to not having the pleasure of seeing their own children experience the same thrill of excitement that had burned through them so many years ago.

But here they were, almost two decades later, doing just that.

All was well.

At least for the moment.

******************

Harry had barely let his hand fall to his side when Teddy appeared among the group, looking marginally dazed and thoroughly pleased. His tousled teal hair was almost fluorescent in intensity, and the extra bounce in his step could have alerted Harry to his godson's activities even without James' earlier proclamation.

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Ginny said, smiling knowingly.

“Sorry,” Teddy said, not looking particularly sorry at all. “I got a little…held up.”

“So we heard,” Harry said.

“And you could at least try to look a little more shame-faced,” Ron said. “She is my niece, after all.”

Teddy worked his jaw furiously in a visible effort to reign in his grin, but the end result was hardly better than when he had started.

Although all of the adults were smiling at Teddy's obvious happiness, Harry noticed that Hermione looked exceptionally delighted, no doubt due to the suspicions she had long held about the two teenagers.

Right yet again.

“Well, I seem to be failing miserably at this,” Teddy said, relaxing his jaw and allowing his features to settle firmly into a grin. “I've got to go, anyway—interview at St. Mungo's. Sorry I missed Al and Rose.”

“You're not the only one,” Harry said, glancing up the rapidly emptying platform.

“Yeah, where is Mitch?” Ron said, following Harry's example and peering toward the entrance to the platform.

“He must've gotten caught up with something,” Harry said. “We were going to leave from here to catch lunch before he went to check on a few leads.”

“He's probably just running late,” Hermione said. “And speaking of late, I need to go. Ron, please remember—”

“To drop off Hugo at Luna's for a play date with the twins and to pick him up around five because you'll be late at the Ministry,” Ron quoted, waving his hand flippantly at his ex-wife. “I got it.”

“Thank you,” Hermione said gratefully, stepping over to hug Ron and peck his cheek with a quick kiss. She then knelt and hugged her son as well. “Be good for Luna, alright?”

“I will, Mum,” Hugo assured her.

“Have fun, then,” Hermione said, kissing the crown of his fiery red hair. “I should be back in time for dinner.”

“I'll make sure Mum sets something aside for you if you're running late,” Ginny said.

“Good idea,” Ron said, patting his stomach appreciatively at the thought of his mother's cooking. “Between me and Hugh, I can't guarantee anything will be left by the time you get there.”

“I appreciate the thoughtfulness,” Hermione said with a good-natured roll of her eyes.

Harry was always pleased to see Ron and Hermione on good terms, their friendship largely unaffected by their divorce. In the first few months, he knew (through many long and divided outings) that Ron had been bitter that Hermione had initiated their separation, while Hermione had been guilt-ridden and uncertain about her decision. Not to mention the added anxiety both felt over their children.

Harry was hesitant to mention it to either Ron or Hermione, but now, a year later, he could easily discern how much happier his friends were. From the casual set of Ron's shoulders to the relaxed expression on Hermione's face as she gave Hugo one more hug, they both seemed the better for the separation, removed from the worry of whether a word or action would set the other off. Harry wished he had the time to speak to her about Rose's departure…while both had had their fair share of seeing off a copious number of nieces and nephews, seeing off your own child, especially your firstborn, was another matter entirely. He knew she must be feeling emotionally disoriented, just as he had been with James (and truthfully now as well), but she was hiding it well behind a business-like demeanor.

Hermione met Harry's gaze as she straightened, as though conscious of the fact that he had been thinking of her. He shoved his hands into his pockets and offered her a smile, which she took only a moment to return before turning away.

“I'll see you all later,” she said.

A small pop sounded as she turned and vanished from sight.

“Same here,” Teddy said as soon as Hermione had gone. “I'll try to swing by for dinner if I can.”

A moment later he too had disappeared, although he exited through the barrier to King's Cross, undoubtedly to retrieve his motorcycle.

Ginny looked towards Harry then, an eyebrow raised.

“Are you going to wait for Mitch?”

“Yes,” Harry replied as he fished around in his pocket for his car keys, which he placed into Ginny's outstretched hand. “At least for a bit. I'll probably just head to the office if he doesn't show up soon.”

“Okay,” Ginny said. “And Ron, why don't I take Hugo to Luna's for you so you can keep Harry company?”

Ron looked as if he would decline Ginny's offer until he caught the mischievous look in her eyes.

“I…sure, you can take him,” he said. “Save me a trip.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny asked. “I didn't know if you and Luna had anything to discuss.”

“No, not a thing,” Ron said casually. He added a shrug after a moment for good measure.

“In that case, you both have a nice time at work,” she said with a smile.

She reached up to kiss Harry before stepping back and grasping one of Lily's hands in her right and one of Hugo's in her left.

“Bye, Daddy!” Lily called over her shoulder as they began to move toward the barrier, both her and Ginny's vibrant hair swishing back and forth on their backs.

“Bye,” Harry called back, and a moment later the three redheads had vanished.

The platform continued to empty of its few remaining occupants as Harry and Ron stood silently by the tracks. Within minutes they were alone.

“So what was that about?” Harry said, although Ginny had already filled him in thoroughly on her suspicions.

“It's nothing,” Ron said gruffly. “Your wife being a pest. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Harry grinned. “That pest happens to be pretty perceptive about a lot of things.”

“I hope you haven't told her that,” Ron said. “She's annoying enough without an ego boost.”

“I think she figured that out on her own,” Harry said.

When Ron didn't offer anything but stony silence, Harry continued.

“So there isn't anything going on between you and Luna?”

Ron jerked his head rapidly to look at Harry.

“Ginny's talked to you about this?” he said.

“A bit,” Harry said.

“Has she talked to anyone else?” Ron asked, nervousness edging his voice.

“I doubt it,” Harry said. While Ginny rarely held anything back from Harry, she wasn't one to spout off gossip. “Why? Is there actually something going on?”

“I…I don't know,” Ron said. He seemed quite uncomfortable. “Sort of, I guess.”

“Sort of?”

“I mean, there's something there,” Ron said, quickly adding, “But nothing's happened. Not yet, anyway.”

Harry didn't reply immediately, intrigued and thoughtful as he was by the idea of Ron and Luna as a couple.

“You don't think it's too soon, right? For Hermione to know?”

Harry furrowed his brow as he glanced at his friend. His expression was still one of discomfort, and Harry couldn't exactly blame him. They had never been ones to discuss their relationships with each other—between Ron marrying Harry's best friend and Harry marrying Ron's sister, any conversation of the sort would be awkward at best, and mortifying at worst. And now…now Ron was uneasy not only about how Hermione would feel about him dating, but about how Harry would feel for Hermione's sake.

“I can't really speak for Hermione,” Harry said after a long moment's deliberation, “but I think this is exactly what she'd want for you. It's been a year…the point of ending things was to find someone who would make you happier than you made each other, right? If Luna makes you happy, then I think Hermione would be happy for you.”

“You think so?” Ron said.

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said honestly.

“How do you think I should tell her then? I don't know—”

But Harry didn't have the opportunity to hear what Ron didn't know as the sound of rapid footsteps burst upon them as abruptly as Mitch materialized through the barrier wall, an inexplicably panicked expression on his face.

Before either Harry or Ron could sufficiently process this, before Mitch could utter a single word of warning, another figure swept onto the platform, his wand held aloft and a jet of light already surging from its tip toward Mitch's back.

Mitch was thrown through the air by the force of the spell, landing in a breathless heap at Harry and Ron's feet.

“Tried…to tell you…” he wheezed.

Ron knelt next to Mitch as Harry, adrenaline pumping through his veins, lifted his wand and trained it on the wizard who had attacked his partner. However, to Harry's intense ire and unease, four other wizards had joined the assailant during the course of the last few seconds.

His grip on his wand tightened as he surveyed the men before him. He blinked repeatedly, hardly allowing himself to believe what he was seeing. Although he had not laid eyes on the wizards in years, their features were unfortunately all too effectively ingrained in his memories for the years of aging to matter.

“Dolohov,” Harry said, his mouth dry, as Ron heaved Mitch to his feet.

“Potter,” Dolohov replied, nodding his head courteously.

“I see you've brought your cronies along too,” Harry said.

The other Death Eaters lurking behind their leader sneered in response, their stares uncomfortably eager as they aimed their own wands at the trio of Aurors.

“Of course,” Dolohov said. “I wanted to have a chat and I needed your attention.”

“You've definitely got my undivided attention,” Ron growled, brandishing his wand while continuing to support Mitch, who was still attempting to regain his wind. Nevertheless, Mitch's eyes were alert and his wand was pointed amongst the Death Eaters as well.

“Ronald Weasley, correct?” Dolohov said. “The last time Harry and I spoke, I had the good fortune of seeing your wife—or ex-wife, if my sources are accurate—but it's been considerably longer since I've met with you.”

“Can't say it's a pleasure,” Ron said, his wand arm twitching.

“Hold it, Ron,” Harry murmured, his eyes moving rhythmically among the group.

“Yes, I wouldn't try anything rash if I were you,” Dolohov said, gesticulating behind him to both the Death Eaters and the barrier. “There may be only five of us here, but there are a number of us among the Muggles as well. We'd rather not cause a scene.”

Harry's stomach roiled as he continued to assess his predicament. Mitch had finally recovered from his fall and was standing ready next to Ron, although his breathing was ragged. That brought Harry's defense to three, a number that was not at all to Harry's liking. He hadn't particularly liked the odds when he thought there were only five of them, but now…there was no knowing how many Death Eaters waited in King's Cross. Besides Dolohov, three of the wizards Harry recognized from their last encounter—the dark-skinned Nakul, the ratty, gray-haired Burkes, and the tall, bearded man called Watts. The fifth was a thin-limbed man with wispy, pale-blonde hair whom Harry was fairly certain he had never seen before.

That left, at minimum, Rowle, Krause, the dark-haired twins Krista and Xavier, and the unnamed blue-eyed Death Eater unaccounted for, some or all of which could be prowling beyond the barrier. And it was very likely there were more.

Harry turned his eyes back to Dolohov, thinking hard. There was little to no chance of the three of them holding back a group of ten or more Death Eaters on their own, simple as that. As much as Harry hated to admit it, their best option was simply to retreat—to Disapparate from the platform as quickly as possible before things got out of hand. Questions battered about in Harry's mind, demanding answers, commingling with the dull pounding of anger to generate a deplorable mentality for cool and rational thinking. After one too many ill-considered encounters with Dolohov, Harry at least had the presence of mind to recognize this.

He couldn't risk Ron or Mitch's life for his own reckless curiosity.

Harry breathed in deeply through his nostrils as he signaled a retreat to Ron and Mitch, and before he could change his mind, Disapparated from the platform.

However, just as he began to feel the familiar pressure of Disapparition pushing down upon his body from every direction, the force vanished as suddenly as a tightening rubber band being snapped in half.

The relentlessly steadfast walls of the platform continued to stare doggedly at him, ridiculing him as much as the sight of the Death Eaters still standing before him.

“Harry…” Ron muttered, fidgeting in the periphery of his vision.

Dolohov smiled. “Is there a problem?”

Harry remained silent, his fingers white-knuckled around his wand.

“No?” Dolohov said languidly. “Excellent, for a moment I thought you had tried to leave before we could have a chance to talk. In any case, I placed an Anti-Disapparition ward over the platform before we entered. Rest assured that the exit behind us is the only way out.”

Harry's right arm lowered almost involuntarily as he sighed. “Fine, you have my attention.”

“Don't act so downtrodden, Potter,” Dolohov said. “I truly just want to discuss a matter or two with you.”

“And what is it exactly that you want?”

“You know what it is I want.”

“I could guess,” Harry said. “But that doesn't explain what you're doing here now. You've flown under the radar for the past decade—done nothing. Why now? What's changed?”

“A number of things, really,” Dolohov said. “Since you've taken to sitting behind a desk and a title for the majority of your work, today was the only time I could be sure you wouldn't be cooped up at the Ministry.”

“And how did you know I would still be here? After the train was gone?”

“You don't expect me to reveal all my tricks, do you?” Dolohov said. “Although I will say that an Imperius on your friend there did help matters along nicely.”

Mitch scowled as Dolohov gestured in his direction.

“Anyhow, your promotion has only been a small part of the problem,” Dolohov continued. “More than anything, your lack of action has drawn significantly on my patience.”

“How so?”

“You never collected the Wand,” Dolohov said simply. “Despite our promptings, you have never gone to take it from wherever you have hidden it, neither for its protection nor your own.”

“Why would I?” Harry said, not bothering to be coy. “It's safest where it is. Even if you killed me, its wards would shield it.”

“Possibly,” Dolohov said. “I'm sure such wards would be powerful, but once the Wand's allegiance to you was broken I'm sure they would not be unbreakable. Its whereabouts are still the primary priority. I would rather not be too hasty and kill you and have the Wand lost forever.”

“So, what, you've been searching for it all this time? That's why you've stayed hidden?” Harry asked, finding it hard to believe that a group of a dozen or more Death Eaters couldn't determine its location.

“Yes and no,” Dolohov said. “While I have dedicated some time to searching for the Deathstick, I was also given some advice by one of my colleagues to refrain from taking action too soon. Luckily, some new information was brought to my attention that indicates such advice was well-founded.”

“New information?” Harry said.

“Yes, information that quite changes the game. Or rather, quite improves the stakes.”

Dolohov spread out his arms, his hands open except for the wand he rolled avidly between his thumb and index finger.

“The Elder Wand alone seems like such a paltry reward when compared to all three Deathly Hallows, doesn't it?”

Harry felt the blood drain from his face, and his mouth felt drier than ever.

He cleared his throat, intent to say something, anything, to refute his connection to the Hallows, to laugh off Dolohov's implication as ridiculous, but before he could even begin to formulate a coherent statement, Dolohov spoke again, as if he had just read his thoughts.

“Don't bother trying to deny it, Potter. It would simply be a waste of your breath and an insult of my intelligence. Your notorious Invisibility Cloak, the ring that Albus Dumbledore so arrogantly displayed before his death, which no doubt made its way to you…all these things point to you as Master of Death.”

Harry considered Dolohov warily, anxiety permeating his thoughts as well as confusion, primarily in regards to his returned Cloak. However, he pushed away such thoughts as Dolohov looked at him expectantly.

“So what if I am?” Harry said, all he could think to say.

“Well, that brings us to the entire point of this encounter,” Dolohov said. “I'd like to offer up an ultimatum of sorts…to give you one last chance to relinquish the Wand as well as the other Hallows from wherever you've been hiding them.”

If the situation had not been so serious, Harry would have laughed at the audacity of such a proposition. Instead, a sickening kind of fear flooded his mind, making it hard to breathe.

“I refused to give you the Wand before…” he said. “What makes you think I'd give up the rest of the Hallows?”

Dolohov raised a single eyebrow as contemplated Harry. “I think you'll find that I can be quite…persuasive…if you refuse. Let me be perfectly clear, Harry Potter. I am done playing games and my patience ran dry long ago. There will be no second chances from here, and the consequences will be worse than you could imagine.”

This was said bluntly, with no adornment, no patronizing smirk. The undisguised neutrality lacing through Dolohov's tone and lined face left no room for dispute or snarky responses, and Harry was left once more with little ability to say anything due to the tormenting visions his imagination was already formulating in his mind.

“So?” Dolohov said, still unsmiling. “Will you hand over the Hallows?”

Harry wished there was any other possible response to this question.

“No,” he said quietly.

A small sigh of disappointment escaped Dolohov's lips.

“I had expected nothing less,” he said, “although I'd be lying if I said I hadn't hoped things would turn out differently. It would certainly be easier for both of us.”

As Dolohov took a step backward, he ran one long-fingered hand down his face, tapering down to his scraggly chin.

“This really is all very regrettable.”

Harry took a step forward to maintain their distance, and he heard Ron and Mitch do the same.

“Well, Potter, I guess there isn't really much more for the two of us to say. It seems we have reached an impasse, and I hope you aren't overly repentant for your decision when its ramifications are brought to light…”

Dolohov raised his wand upward and stared at Harry with shadowed eyes.

“…which may be sooner than you think.”

Before Harry could react, a piercing light flashed through the platform, blinding him. He rubbed furiously at his eyes, his knuckles knocking against the rims of his glasses, and a snarl escaped him as he heard the sound of retreating footsteps. Oblivious to the pain in his eyes, he stumbled forward, intent on reaching the barrier.

With a lunge, he staggered through the portal, almost colliding with a group of Muggles who eyed him irritably.

Harry ignored them, squinting about King's Cross for any sign of Dolohov.

But he was gone.

******************

By the time Harry, Ron, and Mitch had finished searching the train station for traces of Dolohov's escape, a slight quiver had set in to Harry's hand.

By the time they had reached the Ministry and Harry had given orders to the department to focus all available resources on capturing Dolohov, the quiver had worsened so that he could hardly grip his quill.

By the time Ron mentioned he had to leave to pick up Hugo, he felt a tightness in his stomach that made the thought of eating repugnant.

And by the time that Luna had Flooed to his office, asking when Lily was going to be picked up or if she should just stay over due to the late hour, the tightness became excruciating, gripping his rib cage, crushing his lungs and heart, clenching his skull until it seemed as though his vision had gone blurry.

After an incoherent response to Luna and the clatter of his chair to the ground, he was in his backyard, grass springy under his feet, a few old brooms almost hidden among the green blades.

A panicked whine reverberating through his mind, Harry sprinted to the door, bursting into the darkened kitchen with Ginny's name on his lips, hardly a thought registering for his own safety.

He shouted her name once more into the darkness, and heard it echoed back to him in the stillness. He stepped forward and heard the frail crunching of glass beneath his feet.

Then he saw the small, pale, delicate hand lying still within the doorway of the next room, saw the flyaway strands of fiery red hair spilled across the floor, and Harry's worst nightmare had come true.

In his dazed frenzy to reach his wife, Harry was oblivious to the rest of the porcelain shards strewn across the tile, as well as a single scrap of parchment that had seemingly fluttered to the floor from the opened package sitting on the counter.

No second chances.

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46. Always

A/N: Another update! Special thanks to all of you who reviewed last week! And just to mention once more, this story should still be coming to a close by Chapter 50 or so. Three chapters and an epilogue.

Anyway, I'll let you get to it.

Chapter 46: Always

Being who he was, Harry Potter had more reason than most to wonder what exactly fate was, and he was uniquely suited for a broad and ever-changing perception of its role in his life. At times, he was inclined to believe that fate was in fact a very real and very powerful force that intruded into his existence on a whim…for better or for worse, an inescapable paradox that capriciously dealt the cards from which people were obliged to build the precarious framework of their lives.

Harry suspected many were inclined to lean toward this idea. After all, people were almost invariably disposed to blame anyone or anything but themselves for the failures within their lives. Fate, after all, was an easy choice for a scapegoat. Therefore, it was often not `I was to blame' for this or that misfortune, but rather `fate was cruel' to have brought this or that misfortune into my life.

Although Harry, after all he had been through, was reluctantly prone to having a similar view of fate, he did not delude himself into thinking fate was in any way cruel. Because fate was not cruel. Fate was an unbiased dealer of circumstances, and this is where its interference ended. What you chose to do with what you were dealt was where things could go right or terribly terribly wrong.

When you fold too early and miss out on the chance of a lifetime.

When you go all in and lose everything.

So no, fate is not cruel. It seems ruthless only when you play the game wrong and wind up with your pockets empty, merciless only when you call a bluff and fail, like a shepherd who refuses to run from a wolf and winds up between its jaws.

Harry felt all of this with a deep certainty, and thus felt an even deeper sense of self-loathing as he took in the shambles of his life and knew it was his fault. Knew it was his fault that his wife of almost fifteen years lay withering away in a bed at St. Mungo's, a distorted imitation of what she had once been a mere three and half months ago. She had been kept alive this long only through the substantial and extremely expensive efforts of highly trained Healers, and of course specialists in everything curse-related.

He remembered the first few weeks very vividly, perhaps because it had been so early, when Ginny was still mostly herself, when there was still hope that the shattered remains of the porcelain figurine would reveal their secrets and a cure.

There had been no such luck.

And so here he was, signing papers to discharge his wife from the Wizarding hospital so she could be at home for Christmas—her last Christmas, as his unwilling thoughts were too ready to remind him.

Harry dropped the quill once his final signature had been firmly inscribed on the last sheet of parchment and immediately strode back through the corridor to Ginny's room, past the smiling receptionists that had become as familiar to him as his co-workers at the Ministry, and past the pair of towering Aurors that had been stationed on either side of the door since Ginny had taken permanent residence there. Just as there were Aurors stationed around his home, around the Burrow, around Ron's house, around Hermione's flat. Each had been reinforced with every ward imaginable, but Harry was done taking chances.

Two female Healers were already within the room—one was Ginny's typical, very experienced Healer Atwell, and the other looked as though she had come here straight off the Hogwarts Express. The older witch was performing a final, routine set of spells to okay Ginny's return home. After months of watching the procedure, Harry had grown quite adept at analyzing the information the spells revealed, and had been privy to the gradual decline of his wife's vitals.

The younger witch, curly blonde hair swinging about, was performing a simple spell to test for heartrate by pressing her wand to Ginny's pale wrist, from which her darkened veins stood out vividly. Harry, as he noted what seemed to be a small, portable radio settled on the girl's hip, discerned a strange conglomeration of noises filling the air as she went about her spellwork. Listening as he approached Ginny's bedside, he detected the sounds of a babbling brook, the chirp of crickets, the rustling of fallen leaves, and the occasional whistle of a songbird.

Harry also noticed that Ginny was also examining the girl, a look of perplexed intrigue on her haggard face.

“What's that supposed to be?” Ginny asked, her voice coarse, as she gestured to the radio.

“Oh!” the blonde girl said, lifting the device off her hip for Ginny to observe more closely. “You mean the music?”

“Yes, the music,” Ginny said, although her tone of voice suggested calling the cacophony of noises `music' was quite a reach. “What is it?”

The girl let the radio fall back to her hip and smiled, seemingly pleased Ginny had asked. “I'm doing an experiment to test if peaceful sounds can lower a patient's heartrate,” she said. “Muggles use it all the time—listen to things like the ocean and what-not while they sleep. This one emulates the sounds of a forest. It's supposed to relax you.”

“What if you're afraid of bears?” Ginny said, raising an eyebrow.

Ginny's primary Healer chuckled as she exchanged her wand for a notebook she withdrew from her robes.

“And that, Landry, is why we marked `cheeky' on her chart,” she said, smiling at the bewildered blonde intern as she jotted down a few figures. She directed her attention to Ginny as she tucked it away once more. “Well, that's it—you're good to go home. We've arranged for a Portkey, just as you requested.”

“Thanks,” Ginny said as she leaned forward with effort. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure, Ginny,” Atwell said, genuine warmth and a touch of sadness in her voice. She shooed her intern out of the room before pressing a small, lime-green orb inscribed with St. Mungo's crossed wand-and-bone emblem into Harry's palm.

“Activate it and count to ten,” she said emotionally, and then bustled from the room.

Harry turned to Ginny, who was tiredly attempting to tie her dry, lifeless hair into a ponytail. Her lethargic, clumsy fingers made this simple task take twice as long as it would under normal circumstances. When this was done, Harry assisted her in swinging her legs over the side of the bed and standing.

“Are you sure you want to take the Portkey?” Harry said, his arm wrapped firmly around Ginny's waist. “We can still drive, if you'd like.”

“No, I want to get home as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” Harry said, knowing that would be her response. He laid the orb on Ginny's bed before extricating his wand. Then he tapped the lime-green sphere, replaced his wand, and picked up the Portkey, holding it out for Ginny to touch as well. The familiar sensation of being pulled by the navel overwhelmed him, and then they were gone, leaving the empty hospital room in their wake.

******************

The next few days leading up to Christmas passed in an emotionally-draining blur for Harry.

The flurry of visitors to see Ginny would have been overwhelming under less stressful conditions, but now it became almost unbearable to everyone involved. It was soul-numbing to watch the various Weasleys trail through the house like a depressing parade, always beginning with a strained sort of joviality before descending into inevitable tears.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were always the quickest to break down, the prospect of burying yet another child—their baby girl—a burden they could hardly face.

Then there was George, lifeless, as he was re-submerged in that dark place he had occupied in the months after Fred's death, that had loomed just out of sight ever since.

Bill, with whom Ginny had always been especially close, often made the bravest attempts to be strong, but was especially inconsolable once his sister was out of sight.

The endless procession of nieces and nephews, most recently home for the holidays, and almost all faced for the first time with death.

Percy and Charlie.

Teddy and Victoire.

Luna, Neville, and Dean.

And, always, the guilt, dense as lead in Harry's gut as he watched it all.

The few moments that Harry was away from Ginny were just as challenging to the flimsy state of sanity he clung to. James, Albus, and Lily each presented their own unique manner of dealing with their mother's illness, and Harry found himself at a loss of how to help any of them. James was feverishly angry in the way only a teenager can be; Al was practically mute from the effort of bottling up his emotions, seemingly willing to talk to no one but Rose; and Lily, the only one of the children to have been around for all three months of Ginny's decline, was heartbreakingly confused.

Harry could understand the rage, the numbness, the turmoil, but he felt fiercely inadequate to help his children process them, especially when he was so directly involved in causing them.

And so here he was, sitting in the hall just outside the living room, paralyzed by his inability to do anything of use. He had just left Ginny there, lying on the couch in front of the fireplace, with the excuse of fetching tea for the both of them. He didn't know if it was the strange quietness of the house, the lack of chattering guests and continuous footsteps, but he had suddenly become overwhelmed by the prospect of that emptiness, that haunting silence, following him long after Ginny had gone.

So he sat, his arms draped across his raised knees, his forehead pressed into his forearms, the tray of tea-things lying forgotten next to him.

When Hermione arrived an hour later, Rose and Hugo in tow, the tray still sat on the floor, the tea long-gone cold. But Harry was nowhere in sight.

******************

Hermione picked up the tray, frowning.

“Rose, why don't you take Hugo up and see what Lily and the boys are up to. I'll go check on Aunt Ginny.”

“Okay,” Rose said, grabbing Hugo's hand and immediately beginning to climb the staircase.

Once the two children had disappeared onto the first landing, Hermione stepped into the darkened living room, the blazing fireplace casting a pulsating golden glow over the furniture. She glanced about the room, still clutching the tray, until a stirring movement drew her attention to the sofa.

“Harry?”

Hermione stepped further into the room, into the light of the fire and into Ginny's line of vision. Ginny was lying lengthwise on the sofa, reclined slightly by a stack of pillows, and an afghan covered her legs.

“Oh. Hello, Hermione. And you've brought tea. Excellent, I've been waiting for some.”

Hermione glanced down at the teacups and quickly set the tray down.

“Waiting how long?” she asked, pressing one of the teacups into Ginny's frail hand.

“About two hours,” she said, taking a sip. “It's a bit cold.”

Hermione immediately pressed her wand to the other teacup, warming it before exchanging it for Ginny's icy brew.

“Where's Harry?”

“No idea,” Ginny said. “He went out for tea and haven't seen him since.”

Hermione sat down in the overstuffed chair opposite the sofa, and flicked on the lamp on a nearby table. The room was not significantly brighter, but it provided a steady, dependable source of light to observe Ginny's expression, which was surprisingly neutral. She looked unperturbed at Harry's absence, and even seemed mildly gratified by Hermione's company.

“Did Ron come?” she asked.

“No, he's at home. I thought I'd bring Rose and Hugo by for a few hours before heading over there.”

“You didn't have to do that. It's Christmas Eve; we'll see you tomorrow.”

Hermione shrugged carelessly. “Either way, it seems I came in the nick of time—clearly you were in desperate need of tea.”

“If you had arrived in the nick of time, my tea would've still been hot,” Ginny said, a weary smile blossoming on her gaunt face.

“I stand corrected,” Hermione said, also smiling.

A moment of silence stretched between them, the crackling and occasional sharp pop of burning lumber the only noise permeating the room. It was a peaceful moment, and Hermione felt herself sinking further into her armchair, relishing the sight of the flickering flames as much as their warmth on her skin.

But the fire could only keep her attention for so long. She glanced away, towards Ginny, and was met by the sight of her bright brown eyes, undiminished by illness, focused intently on her own. Her brow was furrowed in contemplation, and Hermione felt slightly exposed under her scrutiny.

“Do you need anything, Ginny? More tea?” she asked, although she could see the first cup had barely been touched.

“I…well, there is something.”

“What?” Hermione asked, bracing her hands against the arms of her chair as she moved to stand.

“No,” Ginny said quickly. “Don't get up.”

Hermione blinked, perplexed, as she sank back into her chair, although she sat up a bit straighter than before.

“Then what is it?”

“There's something I need to talk to you about. Just you. And I don't know if I'll get another moment to do it.”

The gravity of Ginny's tone caused Hermione immediate discomfort.

“What would you like to talk about?” Her throat was suddenly dry, and she reached over to grasp the delicate handle of the second teacup, gulping some down before remembering that it was ice-cold.

Ginny hesitated, her eyes drawn to the cherry-red embers of the fireplace. “I'm not exactly sure where to start.” She glanced to Hermione again. “I suppose cutting straight to it would be best.”

Hermione didn't reply, instead reaching forward to set her cup back on the tray.

She heard rather than saw Ginny's deep intake of breath; her words came in a single expulsion of air.

“I know about Rose.”

If Hermione had really cared, she would have been grateful that she had almost set down her teacup as Ginny spoke, resulting in the loud tinkle of china against china as she dropped it instead of the even louder sound of shattering porcelain.

But in that moment she couldn't have cared less. In fact, broken china would have probably been preferable right now, given her an excuse to do something besides sit there, frozen, her hand still extended over the tray.

When she could move, she did so slowly, easing herself back into the armchair with a forced casualness that she was sure seemed anything but casual.

“What about her?” she asked.

Hermione finally turned to Ginny as she said this. Any trace of good humor or hesitancy had vanished from her face, to be replaced by a chagrined, although not overtly hostile, expression.

“Don't do that, Hermione. Don't…don't play dumb. We both know you're not.”

Ginny glanced downward as she drew her afghan higher, enveloping herself more tightly in its folds. When she looked up again, Hermione saw a fierce determination in her eyes.

“We both also know that I don't have time for beating around the bush. Or the patience for it.”

“Ginny,” Hermione began, “you've got it wrong, Harry and I are just—”

“Just what? Just friends?” Ginny laughed, real amusement hiding an undercurrent of frostiness.

“Yes,” Hermione insisted, her heart thundering in her chest. “He—he saved me from that troll and we've been best friends ever since…”

“And you fell for him before or after the troll?” Ginny asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No! We've never—”

“Give it a rest, Hermione!” Ginny snapped as she sat up, her voice surprisingly strong as she cut her off. “Stop trying to feed me excuses and lies! I know! I saw you on the porch that Christmas, I saw the looks you gave each other! I know about the affair, I know about Rose, I know!”

Ginny stared hard at her, her chest heaving, before falling back against her pillows, seemingly exhausted by her short outburst.

“I know,” she said once more, much more softly. “And I think the least you can do, the least you owe me, is a little honesty. Can you do that much for me?”

Hermione gazed back helplessly, feeling as though she were strapped to her chair by the truth of Ginny's words. She swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat, fighting to control the haze of tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks.

She didn't deserve to cry.

“Yes,” she finally breathed, her voice quavering. “Ginny, I can't begin to tell you how sorry—”

“No,” Ginny said, raising a hand. “I really don't want to hear it. I don't need to hear it. I know you're sorry. I bet you hated yourself for it, just like I hated you for a long time afterward. But I didn't bring this up to get an apology from you. Yes, I was angry when I realized what had happened, when I figured out that my husband and best friend had betrayed me like that, had betrayed my brother like that. Or when Harry would leave work early to see you. When I'd sit at home, wondering if I'd brought this on myself, hadn't done enough, hadn't been enough for him.”

Even through the horrible, sickening guilt (which Hermione had not experienced in such concentration since that sweltering August night over a dozen years ago), she could not help but be mesmerized by the calm neutrality of Ginny's words, even if the content itself made her want to close her eyes, press her fingers into her ears, and hum until she could drown out their validity.

“But I've…I've had a long time to come to terms with it,” Ginny continued. “I know—or at least I think I know—nothing happened after Rose was born.”

“It didn't,” Hermione interjected quickly, eager to absolve herself and Harry of at least this much shame, little as it was.

“Well, regardless,” Ginny said. “I had to stop dwelling on it. It just hurt me more than I cared to hurt. So, I guess what I'm saying is that, as hard as it was, I forgave you. I had to forgive you, if only to maintain my sanity.” She paused, fiddling with a hole in her afghan. “I had to forgive you…because I had to forgive him.”

Ginny stopped messing with the blanket and instead laced her fingers tightly together before fixing her eyes on Hermione once more.

“And now I'd like it if you could forgive me.”

Hermione stared at Ginny, astonished. “What for?”

Ginny smiled sadly. “For taking him away from you.”

Hermione continued to stare, uncomprehending and utterly confused.

“I don't understand.”

Ginny was beginning to look agitated again, as though she would have preferred to not have to spell it out for Hermione.

“Look,” she said. “Whenever I came to terms with everything, I realized that, in an odd, indirect sort of way, I had brought it on myself.” She shot Hermione a sharp look. “That obviously doesn't remotely begin to excuse you for what happened, of course.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, inclining her head slightly.

Ginny's look dulled then. “But, nevertheless, it's true,” she said. “It's true because—even though Harry may have been too thick to realize it until it was too late—I could see you felt the same way about him that I did…that you felt even more than I did. I may have had a crush on him for forever, but you loved him. Really loved him. In a way I didn't know how to for ages.”

She seemed to momentarily lose her train of thought as she cocked her head, peering quizzically at Hermione. The shadows cast by the fire played over her face, accentuating the hollows of her cheeks.

“Since you were…fifteen?”

“Fourteen,” Hermione murmured, a faint blush creeping to her cheeks.

“Fourteen,” Ginny repeated. “Anyway, you never said it, but I knew. Practically everyone knew at some level, I think. But I never said anything. I never encouraged you to go after him, never even asked if you were really okay with me going out with him. I almost did ask you a few times. But I didn't. I never let you both have a fair shot.”

She smiled faintly, glazed eyes gleaming brightly in the light of the fire.

“I knew it should've been you. Deep down. But I still didn't say anything to you. I wanted it to be me that he needed, so I convinced myself it was.” She shook her head, brushed at her eyes. “There's no reason you should ever forgive me for that, but I want to ask now because…”

She trailed off.

“Because what?” Hermione asked.

Ginny laughed suddenly. “Because nothing. I'd like you to forgive me, but I don't expect you to. I kept you and Harry apart. I realize that now…that even though it hurt me so much for you to steal that moment from me, I stole so many more from you.”

The tears began to spill, and she pressed the heels of her hands hard to her eyes as if to stem the flow.

“Merlin, I've said this so many times in my head, I can't believe I'm really doing it. Like I said, I could see it was supposed to be you two. As far back as I can remember. But I kept you apart, and I'm not even asking you to forgive me for that…it's not what I'm after right now. I just want you to put it right, to fix what I messed up for you.”

“Ginny…” Hermione said, overwhelmed by the implication of her words.

“I just want you to be there for him, Hermione… like you've always been there for him.”

In a surprisingly quick motion, Ginny reached across the gap between them, clasping one of Hermione's limp hands in a vice-like grip, her gaze entreating.

“He's…he's just so angry right now. Angrier than I've ever seen him. Pouring everything he can into finding Dolohov. That rage…” Ginny trailed off, her grip decreasing slightly. “He can't go on that way. And I need you to tell him that…well, after. That I forgive him. For everything.”

Her thin fingers tightened over Hermione's hand as she gave it a squeeze.

“He needs you. If he has you, I know he'll be fine. Eventually.”

Then, after Ginny had finally allowed Hermione's hand to fall from hers and fallen back into her mass of pillows, she turned her face to the fire and closed her eyes.

“It's not too late.”

She spared no further glance for Hermione, who sat like a statue, her own eyes frozen on Ginny's serene features no matter how much she wanted to look away.

And so their conversation ended. In the hour or so that passed after that, there were no further words spoken between the two. Partly because Ginny was exhausted, drained by their talk, but also because there was a mutual sense that they had done enough serious talking for one day. Or at least Ginny had done enough serious talking. As for Hermione, she was reluctant to press the issue any further, worried that this tentatively delicate understanding between them would shatter. She wasn't exactly sure how Ginny was feeling, but for Hermione, once all the strong emotions had settled, once the fire had faded into dying embers…she was feeling okay. She felt as though something that had been hanging over her for ages had finally gone, even if things were still far from sorted out. She wasn't elated by any means, but there was something good there, a small shaft of light from a door that had been cracked opened.

A door that led to somewhere better.

******************

Once Hermione had left Ginny and dropped Hugo and Rose off at Ron's house, it took her over an hour to track down Harry's whereabouts. She searched as many Muggle pubs as came to mind, as well as the Leaky Cauldron and the Three Broomsticks. In each, she was met by the sight of a few older, scraggly men, sitting hunched in the corner and staring into the depths of their tankards. For this reason, when she was met by the sight of another such drunkard in the corner of the Hog's Head, she almost turned away before realizing it was Harry. His thick woolen cloak sat heavily upon his shoulders, and his face was so hidden in shadow that only an errant glint of a lit candle on his glasses made Hermione approach.

She plunked herself into the chair across from him and, when he didn't glance up from the table, flopped her bag onto its surface, causing the sharp-smelling contents of his drink to slop over the glass's rim.

“Hermione,” he said, peering up at her with glazed eyes as she removed her gloves. His voice was mildly slurred, and the H of her name was almost lost. “Fancy seein' you here. You wanna drink?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “How about I take this one?”

She slid the half empty tankard from his loose grip, and he gave a shrug.

“Suit yourself. I'll jus' order another.”

He made to signal to Aberforth at the bar, but Hermione grabbed his hand before it had fully risen from the worn wooden planks of the table. Gently, she lowered it to rest between her palms.

He gazed at Hermione, blinking repeatedly as though he were seeing her through a fog.

“You have snow in your hair,” he said vacantly.

“Well, it is snowing outside,” Hermione said.

“That'll be it, then.”

Silence fell between them, and the only sound came from the occasional thunk of a glass at the bar. Hermione removed her hands from Harry's and instead interlaced her fingers tightly around his drink.

“Where's your Auror?” she asked after a moment.

Harry waved a hand carelessly as he sat back as well.

“I have the Cloak,” he said. “Still not sure about that, by the way. Besides, I should be asking why you don't have an Auror. No one's really after me, remember? They can't kill me yet. Everyone else is free game, but I'm good. I get to see it all happen, though. Cheers, right?”

He raised an invisible glass, and Hermione frowned.

“We were wondering where you got off to,” she said. “Ginny and I.”

“Oh, sorry about that. It was too quiet in there. I had to get out.”

“That was rather selfish of you.”

She spoke matter-of-factly, and Harry gave a snort of derision as he made to pull his tankard from Hermione. She let him.

“Right you are,” he said, taking a swig. “That's what it comes down to, isn't it? Me being a selfish prick. If I'd just left her alone, let her marry some other bloke, everything would be fine. Now she won't even get to see her daughter off on her first day of Hogwarts…” He gave a strange half-sob, half-bark of laughter. “It's bloody ironic, isn't it? That I broke up with her to protect her from Voldemort, and then he's gone and I marry her, and she's dead anyway. Because of me!”

With little warning, he hurled his tankard away from him. It shattered on the wall, and what little remained of its contents dribbled down onto the floor.

Then he buried his face into his hands, pressing his heels into his eyes in a manner not unlike Ginny's a few hours previously.

“Harry,” Hermione said. She reached over to tug at one of his hands. “Would you just look at me, please?”

He finally did, his glazed eyes shinier than ever as he allowed Hermione to pull his hand into hers once more.

“She's not dead yet,” she said, squeezing tightly. “You should be with her.”

He used his free hand to run down his face, and then did the same to his unkempt hair.

“It's just so damn hard, Hermione.”

“How?”

“Because I can't think about anything else but how it's going to be when she's gone,” he said, his hand twitching in her grip. “When I'm busy…with paperwork, or the kids, or Dolohov…I have to throw myself into it nonstop, because if I stop for even a second, I started wondering if I'm doing enough to save her. And then I always realize I can't.”

Tears were flowing unchecked now, and he gave another strange laugh.

“I can't even start a real conversation with her,” he said. “Because every time I try I start wondering if we'll be able to finish it properly.” His eyes darted to the shards of his tankard, as though regretting he had been so hasty to dispose of it. “Morbid, right?”

He shook his head, swallowed at the lump in his throat.

“She deserved so much better than me.”

In that moment, as she contemplated Harry's hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes, his quivering hands, Hermione thought she had never seen him so utterly broken.

“In a lot of ways she deserved better than both of us,” Hermione said. “But that's not the point, Harry. You love her. And she loves you. So much.”

“Pity for her, then,” Harry mumbled.

“Don't just brush that off, Harry,” Hermione said, lowering her head as she tried unsuccessfully to reacquire his gaze. “People die every single day, and so many of them will have never found a fraction of what Ginny had with you. You gave her that. And if she died today, I think she would be content with that.”

Harry closed his eyes as he bowed his head, and Hermione continued, leaning in closer.

“You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, Harry, but you do have some choice in who you let hurt you. And I think she's alright with her choices.”

They sat that way for some time: Harry with his bowed, dark head, his hands stretched across the table to rest in Hermione's grip, the melting candle beside them flickering faintly as the wick sank farther into the yellowed wax.

Then, with an abrupt but resolute squeeze of his hand, Harry stood up. Without another word spoken between them, Harry put his arm around Hermione's shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, and they turned and walked away from the table, out of the pub and into the gently drifting snow.

******************

The snow had begun to fall in earnest when Ginny heard the raspy creak of the stairs.

Unruffled, she continued to watch the white flakes dance past the window, swirling in and out of her sight in what she assumed was a brisk wind. The silky sheets of her bed curled about her, caressing her skin, barely shifting against the light flutter of her chest as she breathed, and the thick comforter sheltered her thin frame like a tent, cocooning her in its warmth. Despite her frequent naps, she felt drowsy, a not uncommon ailment that plagued her waking hours as thoroughly as the curse that polluted her veins. But despite this, she felt comfortable, more so than she had in weeks.

The door scuffed across the carpet as Harry entered, and Ginny finally angled her head away from the window.

“Hey,” she said. “Long time no see.”

Harry said nothing, his frame silhouetted against the faint light of the hall.

“It's okay, you know,” Ginny said. “I don't blame you if you needed a break.”

She could see him shake his head, and a strangled chuckle escaped him.

“I wish you wouldn't try to make me feel better,” he said. His voice was hoarse.

“That's what I signed on for,” Ginny said. “For better or worse, right? Granted, this may be one of those latter moments, but I'm personally sticking it out. I've got too much time invested in this thing.”

Harry chuckled again, more genuinely this time, and stepped further into the room. He settled himself on the edge of the bed, gently, trying not to jostle her. The mattress creaked as he swung his legs atop the comforter.

As soon as he had nestled his head into the well-formed indentation in his pillow, Ginny reached over and slid her hand into his loose fingers. She angled her head towards him and saw that his eyes were closed beneath his glasses, his hair falling more scruffily than usual upon his brow. Without opening his eyes, he brought her hand upward, pressing it against his lips, and then rested it, palm-down, against his chest, just below his collarbone. He covered it possessively with one of his hands, hiding it completely with its breadth, and then overlapped it with the other, enveloping her fingers in layers of warmth just as the sheets did for her weary body. She felt his heart beat strongly, drumming, energetic, against her own feeble pulse, lending a simulation of life, insisting upon a match of vitality.

It was a lifeline for him if not for her.

“I feel like I'm dying, Gin,” he said. His eyes opened slowly as his neck twisted, just as slowly, to meet her gaze.

She smiled a little bit. “What a coincidence.”

A spasm spread through his hands and into hers, which he attempted to cover it up by a stroke of his thumb. Back and forth, back and forth against her papery hand.

“Sorry,” Ginny said. “Too soon?”

“Way too soon.” He paused, long enough to draw in a deep breath and roll on his side to face her more fully. She did the same. He still held on to her hand, although he let them rest on the bed in the gap between them.

“Why aren't you angry with me?”

He did not elaborate, and she didn't need him to.

“Because I don't blame you, Harry. I don't,” Ginny said. “You're my best friend and I wouldn't trade our years together for anything. Besides…I don't want anger to be the last thing I feel.”

She shrugged as she said the last bit, a half smile on her face.

Harry reached over and traced a path through her fiery hair, from her brow, behind her ear, down to where it lay limply at her collarbone. Then he pulled her (gently, always gently) to nestle against him. His heart beat even more firmly in her ear as she rested her head against the cotton of his shirt.

His chest swelled and shrank as he pressed his cheek against her hair.

“I'm going to miss you, Gin. Always.”

Her chest swelled and shrank as she fought the fierce burning in her throat.

“Same to you, Potter.”

Always.

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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47. Chapter 47: Simple

A/N: So yeaaah…I feel terrible for taking almost a year to update, but in my defense I've been incredibly busy. To hit a few high points, since I last updated I graduated from college with a B.S. in Biological Sciences, had two nephews introduced to the world, started veterinary school, and have already taken six tests in said school. Again, I apologize, but it couldn't be helped. That being said, I'm still fully committed to completing this story, so THREE UPDATES left. That's my intention, anyway. We'll see how these next few chapters develop. Enjoy and please review!

Chapter 47: Simple

Rose pushed her spoon glumly about her oatmeal, scraping the sides of her bowl as she mixed the mushy substance to an even mushier consistency. It had long gone cold, but she continued to sit stubbornly on the wooden bench, trying to appear oblivious to the continual looks being shot in her direction.

Al, who she was willing to bet was actually oblivious to the gawking students, sat next to her, his own breakfast in an even worse state than her own. He prodded mindlessly at his sausage and eggs, blending ketchup and congealed yolk into an increasingly unappetizing concoction, while James, a little ways down the table, seemed to be eating enough for the both of them, shoveling eggs and bacon and toast into his mouth with abandon. Both needed haircuts; their dark shaggy hair fell heavily on their brows, accentuating the mutual sullenness of their expressions.

They had barely been at Hogwarts a week, and Rose already felt her patience with her fellow students dwindling into nonexistence. James and Al were having a rough enough time as it was without the constant pity sent their way. True to his disposition, Al handled the attention more gracefully than his brother, who simmered in his anger and lashed out at all but the simplest commiserations. Al was far more polite, but Rose could easily see he disliked the pity at much as his brother.

Out of the corner of her eye, Rose noticed a group of Hufflepuffs muttering amongst themselves, shooting furtive glances towards the Potters and herself. A Ravenclaw nearby craned her neck to peer at James, and the whispers of a trio of Gryffindor girls were loud enough to drift to Rose's ears.

“…know how long ago it happened?”

“A few weeks ago, I think…maybe a month…”

“I heard it was a curse…the Prophet never gave any details though…”

Rose stirred her oatmeal more viciously, fuming at the nosiness of her peers. It was none of their bloody business what had happened to her aunt…

“Chill out, Rose,” Al said quietly, tapping his fork against his plate to draw her attention before whirling it vaguely in her direction. “Doesn't matter.”

There was a loud clatter as Rose's fork and knife dropped from where it had been hovering inches above the table's surface.

“Sorry,” Rose muttered, creating an additional clatter as she deliberately dropped her spoon. Pushing away her bowl, she placed her hands in front of her and decisively interlaced her fingers into a tangled web. “I just wish they'd lose interest. They should all keep their noses out of where they don't belong.”

Al shrugged, a listless rise and slump of his cloaked shoulders. “It'll ease up sooner or later.”

Rose was about to reply, but remained quiet as she sensed the approach of someone behind her. Glancing covertly beneath the crook of her robed arm, she could see a pair of pitch-black, heavily shined and very expensive loafers trod closer to their table, sidling, hesitant. A few seconds of brief consideration enlightened her to the likely resident in the showy footwear. A brief glance over her shoulder confirmed it.

“Scorpius,” she said coolly.

And under most circumstances, cool was as cold—and as warm—a temperature as she ever directed to the young Slytherin. The extensive and largely unpleasant history that existed between her family—especially her parents and uncle—and the Malfoys predicated a polite formality towards Scorpius as much as it inhibited further affability. Frankly, she was unsure of what her opinion of him would be if she didn't know his last name. He was not entirely unappealing in appearance, if a little ostentatious in his demeanor, and she knew him to be of at least moderately above-average intelligence, especially in Charms. Her knowledge of him basically ended there, and even that knowledge was viewed through a lens of neutrality that left little room for personal opinion.

But today was not what she qualified to be most circumstances, and the sight of the boy standing there, not a blonde hair out of place, his grey eyes darting between her, Al, and his stupidly pricey and stupidly fidgeting shoes bugged her excessively. Not to mention the increased and rapid whispers from her classmates that created a droning in her ears; it certainly didn't help matters.

“What do you want, Scorpius?” Rose snapped, angling herself very suddenly to face him, and was gratified to see the boy flinch slightly at her outburst. Al, who had been unaware of Scorpius' approach, shot her a look before he angled himself towards the Slytherin as well. Rose ignored Al's unspoken reprimand, instead choosing to glare at the unwelcome intruder.

Scorpius continued to look uncomfortable as he looked between Al and Rose, although he thankfully spared his loafers further scrutiny. He even shot a glance towards James, who was observing the interaction with vague interest.

Finally, his eyes settled on Al.

“I just…I just wanted to say I'm sorry,” he said, speaking just loud enough for James to hear as well. “About your mum.”

Rose eyed Al as Scorpius spoke, and Al eyed Scorpius, his emerald irises dark and calculating beneath his furrowed brow. She was a bit surprised at Al's silence, the lack of the obligatory gratitude for Scorpius' commiserations, but after a moment she realized why. Of anyone in the school beyond their cousins, this boy, the son of Draco Malfoy, would have heard the most about Ginny Potter. Or, more accurately, he had heard the most about Ginny Weasley, the young, vibrant girl who had walked these halls, perhaps sat on numerous occasions where Rose was sitting now. The thought gave her pause, and she was fairly certain this is what gave Al pause as well. What had Draco Malfoy deigned to say to Scorpius about Al's mother? What adjectives, which memories had he chosen to ascribe to the youngest Weasley? What had he selected to illustrate her core, her very being, to a boy who had never seen more than a glimpse of her? And furthermore, according to her Mum and Dad and Uncle Harry, Draco Malfoy had never liked any of the Weasleys…even the mere possibility that he had slandered Aunt Ginny in any way set Rose's skin crawling. She wouldn't stand for that, family truce be damned. Al's defensive posture betrayed a similar line of thinking.

Scorpius seemed to sense the tension that had descended so rapidly upon the situation, stretched tautly between them and liable to snap at the smallest loafer-clad misstep. He smoothed a hand over his pale blonde helmet of hair and glanced towards the Slytherin table longingly, clearly rethinking his decision to confront them.

“I…” he started again, uneasy under Al's expectant stare. “I just…I know our parents didn't get along, but my dad's told me about her. Your mum, I mean. Said she was really funny. Really good Chaser, too.”

He paused, seemingly unsure of whether he should leave it at that. Rose knew it wasn't his fault, but it all felt so…inadequate.

She was surprised, then, when Scorpius chuckled.

“What?” she asked, furrowing her brow in confusion. What could he possibly be laughing at?

“Sorry,” he said. “It's just that my dad said one of the worst things that ever happened to him in school was being on the business end of one of your mum's Bat Bogey Hexes.”

And just like that, the expressionless mask Al's features had arranged themselves into so persistently was gone. He blinked a few times, as though adjusting to sunlight after being in a darkened room for too long. A small grin blossomed on his lips.

It was James who spoke up first.

“Saw her use that on Uncle George once,” he said, smiling as well. “He says he still has nightmares about it.”

Al gave a laugh, weakly, as though the ability had atrophied after a month of disuse.

“She used to threaten us with it when we got into a fight,” he mused. “She always said whatever we were arguing about would seem pretty unimportant when we had bats popping out of our noses.”

“And she always said that if it was worth all that to keep fighting—”

“—`then by all means,'” Al finished, shaking his head fondly as the memory enveloped him.

Scorpius smiled a bit more widely at Al and James's positive reactions to his words.

“Seems like sound logic to me,” he said.

Al was still smiling faintly as he reached up to briefly massage his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. When he opened his eyes again, they were brighter than before, but Rose thought that he looked more like himself than he had in weeks.

“Yeah,” he said. “It does.”

Al glanced down, and then back up as he nodded to the Slytherin.

“Thanks, Scorpius,” he said. “Tell your dad thanks as well, would you?”

“Sure,” Scorpius said. “Of course.”

He stood there awkwardly a moment more, and then turned on expensive heel and strode back to his table, where his friends were peering at him with open curiosity and more than a few with smirks.

Rose and Al watched Scorpius's retreating back thoughtfully until Al, with a sudden burst of liveliness, swung back towards the table.

He reached towards a jug a pumpkin juice as he jerked his head towards one of the platters on the table.

“Could you pass me a piece of that toast, Rose?”

Rose smiled as she angled herself back to the table as well.

“Gladly.”

******************

Hermione grimaced as she sipped at a scalding and excessively bitter mug of coffee. In her sleep-deprived haze hours earlier, she had mindlessly shoveled far too much of the dark, fragrant grounds into the greedy maw of the filter, resulting in a barely tolerable brew of which she had nonetheless consumed four cups. Not that she could rightfully complain…she had wanted to wake up, and the caffeine-induced thudding of her pulse indicated the effort was an undeniable success.

Of course, over-caffeination was not entirely to blame—the crumpled newspaper on the table before her also lent a great deal to her agitation. Its contents were nothing new, nothing that hadn't been said countless times before, but that didn't mean it didn't rankle her nerves any less today than it had a month ago.

POTTER CONTINUES SEARCH FOR KILLER

Head Auror Harry Potter, better known as the Boy-Who-Lived and the vanquisher of the Dark Lord Voldemort, continues relentlessly in the search for Antonin Dolohov, a high-priority suspect in the murder of Potter's wife, Ginerva, who succumbed to a curse-related illness shortly after the New Year. Although further details about the case are being kept under wraps, sources indicate that, despite the time and resources placed at Potter's disposal in apprehending the suspect, little headway has been made in discovering Dolohov's whereabouts.

Below this block of text was a large photo of Harry and Ginny that had been taken years ago at some Ministry event that Hermione had quite forgotten the purpose of. Harry was dressed crisply in dark charcoal robes, his hair tamed for once, and Ginny stood at his side, her fiery hair cascading about her shoulders and her jade green dress popping nicely against her husband's dark attire. They both beamed up from the newspaper, happy, dreadfully oblivious to the caption their photo accompanied.

Hermione's hand quivered more fervently as she continued to stare at the smiling couple, and she hissed in pain as a bit of the scalding contents of her fifth cup sloshed over the rim of her mug, setting the skin of her right hand ablaze and blurring the print of the Daily Prophet. She didn't even bother with her wand to clean up the mess—she really didn't want it within her power to read the paper anymore, to flip as she undoubtedly would have to the story Continued on page 6, and thus allowed the coffee to seep through page after page until the entire issue was sodden.

Only when this was done did she lift the bundle of ruined paper and dump it unceremoniously into the trash.

Hermione had just finished wiping her kitchen table clean when a knock resounded at her door. Tossing the dishtowel aside, she moved to open the door and, guessing who was behind it, was glad she had thrown out the paper away when she had.

Sure enough, her guesswork was correct: Harry stepped over her threshold, a thick jacket covering his shoulders, and Lily clutched his hand, bundled in an even thicker jacket, scarf, and woolen cap.

As soon as the door had shut behind them, Lily immediately began to shed her numerous layers, first picking the gloves from her hands finger by finger. Next came her brightly patterned blue scarf (courtesy of Mrs. Weasley), and the matching hat soon followed, unveiling the full length of red hair that Hermione was sure still gave Harry a pang of distress. Hermione couldn't help but feel it herself.

When Hermione moved to help her from the coat, she finally noticed that Harry remained enveloped in his own jacket and gloves and showed no inclination to remove them. In fact, he stood decidedly by the door, clearly intent to make a speedy exit if at all possible.

Ushering Lily towards the kitchen, Hermione looked expectantly at Harry.

He remained where he was, but nodded his head towards her attire.

“Nice sweatshirt,” he said, the corner of his mouth twitching very slightly.

Hermione glanced down and couldn't help but smirk slightly as well at the fluorescently bright orange sweatshirt she had thrown on.

“I was cold,” she said, crossing her arms over the Chudley Cannons logo emblazoned across her chest. “Aren't you coming in?”

Harry looked towards the doorway, then towards Lily walking about in the kitchen.

“I was only dropping by to ask if you could watch Lily for a bit,” he finally said. “I have somewhere I need to go and I can't take her.”

Hermione considered him for a moment before reaching forward and clasping his gloved hand, pulling him towards the kitchen.

“Of course I can watch her,” she said. “But only if you'll just sit for a few minutes before you leave; you look as though you're about to fall over.”

And he did look like he was about to fall over. As she practically shoved him into a chair next to his daughter, she could easily discern the hollowness of his cheeks, the dark shadows brimming his eyes, the way his coat seemed to swallow his frame. These observations struck her with special ferocity given the photo she had observed scarcely ten minutes before. That visage and the person before her were hardly comparable.

“Lily,” Hermione said, breaking herself away from these thoughts. “Would you like anything? Tea, cocoa?”

Lily's eyes brightened at the latter suggestion, and Hermione had already moved towards the correct cupboard before the young girl had even given voice to her selection.

“Harry?” she asked as she went about preparing the drink.

“I can get—” Harry said, adjusting his chair as though to stand.

A sharp look from Hermione stilled him, however, and a moment later he docilely stated, “Coffee would be great.”

“I have to warn you, it's pretty strong,” Hermione said.

“Stronger the better.”

“I bet you'll say differently in a moment.”

After pouring the remnants of the coffee pot into a mug, she set both steaming beverages on the table before their respective recipients. Harry and Lily simultaneously reached forward and wrapped their hands about the cups; both were seemingly content to let warmth leach into their fingers. Their behavior deviated upon taking a sip, however—Lily's delighted grin contrasted nicely with Harry's surprised wince.

“You weren't lying,” Harry said, smacking his lips. “That's a bit on the strong side.”

“I did warn you,” Hermione said, moving to fetch some cream and sugar.

“It's alright,” Harry said, taking a more liberal sip. “I imagine it'll get the job done.”

“And if the first one doesn't, the second or third will probably do the trick,” Hermione said.

“I'm guessing you speak from experience?” Harry said, quirking an eyebrow as he accepted the cream and sugar from her shaky hands.

“Possibly,” Hermione said, smiling slightly.

Further conversation was mostly impeded as Harry poured a generous portion of cream into his coffee and proceeded to drink it at a rate indicative of his eagerness to leave. Hermione continued to observe him quietly, and Lily was just as silent as she sipped her cocoa.

Harry stood even as he was draining the last remnants of his mug.

“I guess I'll be off, then,” he said. He bent and kissed the crown of Lily's hair. “I'll be back soon, alright?”

She nodded mutely at his words, and Harry immediately started towards the door. Hermione was right on his heels, and she managed to step in front of him before he could reach towards the doorknob.

“Thanks for watching Lily,” he said. “I really won't be gone long.”

“Where are you going?” she asked quietly, mindful of Lily being within earshot.

“I'd rather not say,” Harry said.

“You aren't about to do anything rash, are you?”

“Rash? No, I've thought about it quite a lot, actually. Besides, what exactly can I do that's rash? Go after Dolohov? It's not like I know where he is.”

Hermione had to concede to the veracity of these words, but it didn't do a terrible lot in easing her mind.

Harry apparently saw the doubt on her face.

“I'll be fine, Hermione…I'd just rather not talk about it until it's done. Seriously, don't worry about me.”

“Somebody's got to,” Hermione murmured, and Harry smiled wearily.

She reached up to cup his pale cheek, and his eyes seemed to droop at the contact. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes fully, and looked as if he could very well fall asleep just as he was, standing upright with her hand as his pillow.

After a few moments, in which his features relaxed and his breath settled into a gentle rhythm, he opened his eyes again, and Hermione felt the already rapid thud of her heart evolve into thunder under his stare.

She swallowed nervously, and proceeded to lower her hand.

“You…you should take better care of yourself,” she finally said, feeling flustered.

Harry averted his eyes for a moment as he stepped past her, but paused with his hand on the doorknob as he glanced at her once more.

“Soon enough, maybe.”

He opened the door, and the cold rush of wind that preceded his exit caught her breath.

“I'll be back soon,” he said once more, and the door clicked shut, separating her from him and the harsh wind.

She certainly hoped so.

With a sigh, she returned to the kitchen, where Lily waited expectantly. Her mug was empty, and Hermione mechanically deposited it in the sink.

“I'm sorry Hugo isn't around,” Hermione said. “He's with his dad for the day.”

“That's okay,” Lily responded. “Dad told me he'd only be gone an hour or two.”

“Well…what would you like to do in the meantime, then?”

Lily shrugged noncommittally. “Doesn't matter. I might just go up to Hugo's room.”

Hermione pursed her lips as she considered alternatives to this, intent on not allowing Lily to cloister herself off. She knew she wasn't a substitute for the role Ginny would have filled, not by a long shot, but she hoped her presence provided some semblance of comfort.

“You could…” she mused, “but I was actually planning on baking strawberry rhubarb tarts to send to James for his birthday. I could use some help.”

Lily gazed down at the table for a moment, and Hermione felt certain that her offer was about to be rejected. However, when she looked up, she appeared merely thoughtful. “Could we make some treacle ones for Dad too?”

Hermione smiled at Lily's concern for her father. “Of course we can. If we start now they should be ready by the time your dad gets back.”

“Alright,” Lily said, standing up and moving towards the counter. “What should I do first?”

“You could get the butter from the fridge.”

Lily obediently went about her task, and Hermione took the time to gather sugar and flour from the cupboard. Once the ingredients were spread along the counter, Hermione rolled up her orange sleeves and Lily followed suit, pushing the cuffs of her sweater above her elbows.

“Grab a handful of flour,” Hermione instructed, “and sprinkle it over the counter.”

Lily obeyed immediately, digging her fist into the flour and scooping out a large portion. As she delicately used both hands to meticulously dust the flour over the counter in an even layer, Hermione used her wand to slice the cold butter into cubes.

“Good,” Hermione said once Lily had finished.

Measuring out double portions of flour and sugar, Hermione added a dash of salt before pushing half of the mixture to Lily, and immediately crumbled the butter over each.

“Now mix it,” Hermione said. “We'll use your half for your dad's tarts.”

“But what if I mess it up?” Lily asked.

“You won't,” Hermione assured her, pressing her hands into the flour and savoring the silky dryness of the powdery mixture against her fingers. “It's really quite easy and basically impossible to mess up. I wouldn't mess with it otherwise—I think we can leave the more complex recipes to your grandmother, don't you?”

The corners of Lily's mouth lifted just slightly in acknowledgment before she thrust her own hands into the flour.

They both kneaded at their mixtures silently until Hermione was satisfied with the texture, at which point she poured cold water among the flour.

“It was a good idea to make these for your dad,” Hermione said. “He'll love them.”

Lily's hands continued busily over her dough as the flour absorbed the water.

“Where did he go?” she asked after a beat, her eyes never leaving her hands.

Hermione's hands were the ones that momentarily stilled, but she recovered soon enough.

“He just had some…business to take care of,” she said, pressing her hands into her own dough. The iciness of the added water made her palms sting.

“Is it dangerous? The place he went to?”

Hermione slowly set to work on the dough, kneading and kneading as she turned the question over in her mind.

“I don't know,” she said, opting for the truth. “He didn't say.”

“Does that mean something's going to happen to him? Like Mum?”

“No,” Hermione said instantly, repeating aloud the same answer she gave when she asked herself that question. “Absolutely not.”

Lily didn't immediately respond with another question, but turned her brown eyes (so like Ginny's) to Hermione with an expression of tentative hope.

“How do you know?”

“He's…” Hermione began, dusting her palms with more flour and doing the same to Lily's, “he's him. He always manages. No matter how bad of a situation he gets into.”

“But he usually has help, doesn't he? Like you or Uncle Ron?”

“Yes,” Hermione conceded, “we've helped him before. If he needed it. Luckily, he's still got us to help him.”

“If he needs it,” Lily said.

“If he needs it,” Hermione confirmed.

“But…but he's scared, isn't he?”

Hermione's first instinct was to deny this, to present Harry as the pinnacle of fearlessness, the unbreakable hero, the storybook champion. The words settled on the tip of her tongue, but they fell away silently as she parted her lips to speak. To give voice to such a description would be an injustice to Lily. And to Harry.

“Everyone gets scared sometimes,” Hermione finally said. “Even him. But it's okay to be afraid of something as long as you can face it at the end of the day.”

She glanced over at Lily then, and leaned in closer as though to reveal a secret.

“And between you and me, your dad has always been pretty excellent at that.”

Hermione straightened, and casually reached for a rolling pin, which she began to work over the surface of the dough.

“Did your Dad or Mum ever tell you about the time he saved her in our second year at Hogwarts?”

Lily shook her head, which Hermione was not terribly surprised at. Just as the details of the war were often skimmed over when it happened to come up, many of the darker elements of their time in Hogwarts had failed to make themselves known to their children, at least as of yet.

“Well,” Hermione said, “when we were in our second year at Hogwarts—your mother was in her first year—a monster was released in the school.”

“What sort of monster?” Lily asked, intrigued.

“A basilisk,” Hermione said. “An enormous snake that can paralyze you with a single look.”

“Really?” Lily said.

“Really. It happened to me, actually. And a couple of other students. The entire school was completely terrified. Even the teachers. But Harry didn't let that stop him. When he heard your Mum was in trouble, he found the lair of the basilisk, he took the legendary sword of Gryffindor, and he battled that snake to save her.”

Lily's eyes were wide in surprise as she gazed at Hermione raptly. The dough was completely forgotten, although her hands were still immersed.

“Just like a knight in a storybook!” she said in wonder.

Hermione smiled and tapped Lily's nose with one flour-dusted finger.

“Precisely like a knight in a storybook,” she said.

******************

Hermione had just pulled the trays of tarts from the oven when a knock sounded at the door.

“Just in the nick of time,” she said. “Will you go open the door for your dad?”

Lily complied immediately, sliding from her chair and darting from the kitchen.

A moment later she gave a shout of delight.

“It's Victoire!” she called to Hermione.

“Yes, it's me,” Victoire announced as the pair entered the kitchen. She was dressed as warmly as Lily had been, and her long blonde hair was impeccable despite the wind. A smile enhanced her already lovely features, and although she was typically in a good humor, Hermione thought it may have been a tad too broad for an everyday sort of cheerfulness.

“You certainly seem pleased about something,” she said, removing her oven mitts.

Victoire blinked in surprise, and tried in vain to hide it. But her open and honest features prevented such artifice, and she quickly gave up the effort.

“You're no fun,” Victoire said. “I had an entire bit prepared and you go and spoil it at the first moment.”

“Well, you may as well come out with it then,” Hermione said.

Victoire was eager to comply, and thrust her left hand forward. The silver band encircling her finger glistened brightly as she held it before Hermione's eyes, and the facets of the small diamond seemed to flash more brilliantly than the kitchen's soft lighting should allow.

The unspoken surprise must have shown in Hermione's features, because Victoire immediately tucked the hand close to her body, fiddling with the ring with her right hand as she gave an embarrassed laugh.

“I know it's kind of sudden, but we've known each other for so long…there didn't seem to be much of a point in waiting once it—”

Victoire's hurried explanation was momentarily interrupted as Lily darted between them. Hermione's gaze followed her path and rested on Harry as Lily threw her arms around him. She hadn't heard him enter, but she noticed that his appearance was decidedly tousled: his hair windswept, his scarf barely clinging to his shoulders, his face pale with cold, and his eyes even wearier than before. But he seemed relieved to have his daughter with him again, and the brief flash of comfort softened his features as he returned her embrace. Hermione scarcely heard the conclusion of Victoire's sentence, absorbed as she was in observing Harry.

“—clicked.”

Hermione turned towards Victoire long enough to give her a small smile and nod, reassuring the young woman of her understanding. Victoire smiled in return, still shielding her left hand with her right.

“Hello, Uncle Harry,” Victoire said.

“Good to see you, Victoire,” Harry greeted in return as Lily tugged at his arm.

“Daddy, you've got snow in your hair,” she said, pointing.

Hermione furrowed her brow as she watched Harry brush at the offending locks. Although the wind was as fierce as ever, she was sure it wasn't snowing. A cursory glance toward Victoire's hair and dark jacket further confirmed her certainty.

“That's okay,” Harry said as he gave his hair a final tousle. “It hides the gray.”

Lily grinned before pointing to the tarts cooling on the counter.

“Aunt Hermione and me—”

“Aunt Hermione and I,” Hermione corrected, unable to help herself.

“Aunt Hermione and I,” Lily repeated, “baked tarts for you. Treacle ones. And strawberry ones for James since it's almost his birthday.”

“Sounds like you stayed busy while I was gone,” Harry said.

“Uh-huh. I did everything Aunt Hermione told me to do. I don't know if they're very good,” she added candidly.

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Hermione said.

“I'm sure they're delicious,” Harry assured Lily and Hermione.

“But they've got to cool first,” Lily said sternly. “You can't have one yet.”

Harry snapped his fingers. “Pity. I'll have to try one out after dinner.”

“You might not have to wait all the way until then,” Lily said. “I want Victoire to try one before we leave so they need to be cool enough by then.”

“Great, Victoire can be our guinea pig,” Harry said.

“Way to throw me under the bus,” Victoire replied.

“What happened to `I'm sure they're delicious'?” Hermione said, rolling her eyes as she leaned against the counter.

“Nothing,” Harry said. “Victoire just gets to confirm.”

“And why do I get that pleasure?” Victoire said.

“Well,” Harry said with a weary smile, “by the way you're hiding your left hand, I'd guess that you should get that honor.”

Victoire blinked in brief confusion as she continued to clutch her left hand, and then shook her head, letting her hands fall to her sides.

“I presume Teddy discussed this with you beforehand?”

Harry shrugged. “He may or may not have asked for my opinion.”

Hermione smiled at that. Harry was the closest thing to a father that Teddy had, and it was only fitting that the young man had asked his godfather for such important advice.

Victoire crossed her arms, flashing her lovely smile as she drummed the fingers of her left hand against her coat.

“And I take it you approve?”

“It took some time, but I came around to the idea,” Harry said. He paused, growing slightly more serious. “Teddy couldn't do better.”

Victoire smiled, moving forward to embrace Harry.

“Thank you, Uncle Harry,” she said. She pulled away after a moment, still beaming as she gave her ring a twist. “I think I'm doing pretty well too.”

Harry nodded and cleared his throat before stepping back.

“I think I'll leave you and Hermione, then,” he said. “Lily, get your things.”

“But the tarts!” Lily said, gazing entreatingly at her father.

“They're still pretty hot, sweetie,” Hermione said. “I might have to package them up and send them over later.”

Lily frowned, clearly displeased, but obediently moved to the living room to begin the process of enveloping herself in her winter clothes. Victoire followed to assist her young cousin, leaving Harry and Hermione standing alone in the kitchen.

Hermione took advantage of the momentary beat of privacy and stepped closer to Harry, peering up at him expectantly.

He met her gaze steadfastly and just as expectantly.

“Well?” Hermione whispered, softly enough to avoid attention from Victoire and Lily. “How did it go?”

“How did what go?” Harry whispered back.

Hermione had neither the time nor the inclination to beat around the bush.

“The Wand. You got it, didn't you?”

Harry seemed unsurprised at her conjecture, but took a moment before he nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “But it doesn't concern you.”

“Anything that concerns you concerns me,” Hermione replied. She glanced towards the door and saw that Victoire was in the process of winding Lily's scarf around her neck.

She returned her gaze to Harry and raised a finger to tap to his chest.

“We don't have time to argue about this right now, but I presume that you intend to get the Stone now that you've gotten the Wand. And I'm going with you when you do.”

The old Harry would have likely grown angry at this statement, indignant that anyone would try to involve themselves in his problems, and raged at the mere suggestion of Hermione placing herself in danger for him. But Hermione was reminded once more of how different this downtrodden version of Harry was as he reached up to press her hand to his chest, his green eyes fierce.

“I won't lose you too, Hermione.”

It was said just as softly as the rest of their whispered conversation, but the intensity and conviction behind it startled even Hermione.

But she recovered quickly, and placed her other hand over the top of his, so that both of her hands were over Harry's heart.

“And you won't.”

“You don't know that,” he said.

“Of course I don't. Just like I don't know if I'll lose you, or Rose, or Hugo, or Ron…We don't know what's coming. We can't know. But I refuse to be sidelined. I don't know how or where this all will end, but while I can, I will help you.”

Harry was silent as he observed her, calculating her words, her expression.

His reply came just as Victoire and Lily approached, the latter thickly cocooned in woolen layers.

“Fine,” he said.

Hermione released his hand, partially in response to Lily's approach and partially out of sheer surprise at Harry's easy acquiescence.

Harry took his daughter's hand as he nodded towards Hermione.

“Thanks again for watching her.”

“Yes, thank you, Aunt Hermione,” Lily said. “Don't forget to send the tarts!”

“Of course,” Hermione said. “And it was no trouble.”

“Alright, then,” Harry said. “It was good to see you, Victoire. Congratulations again.”

Victoire expressed her thanks once more, and Harry turned to leave.

"Harry?” Hermione said just as he opened the door. “We'll talk later, right?”

Harry barely glanced back to her as he gave a small nod, and then he was gone.

Satisfied, Hermione turned away from the door, only to meet Victoire's openly curious expression. As casually as she could manage, she brushed past Victoire and entered the kitchen.

“So tell me more about this proposal,” Hermione said, as she bustled about the kitchen in a manner that would have made Molly Weasley proud. “Harry interrupted you. It did all happen very suddenly, didn't it? How did he do it? I imagine Teddy would have come up with something fairly clever, knowing him, but it—”

“Aunt Hermione, you're rambling,” Victoire said.

The circular motion of the rag that had made its way into Hermione's hand slowed.

“Yes,” Hermione admitted.

“Why?”

“Because I saw the expression on your face and knew you were very possibly going to ask me something I'd rather not talk about.”

“You got all of that from my expression?” Victoire said, smiling as she seated herself at Hermione's small kitchen table.

“Yes, you've always had a very open face,” Hermione said, smiling as well as she replaced the rag by the sink. “For example, it's very obvious that you're going to ask me either way.”

Victoire averted her gaze and stared at her hands for a moment. The fingers of her right hand tapped just out of reach of her left, speaking to her urge to twist at the sparkling band adorning it.

Finally, she looked up again, and peered at Hermione for just a moment before smiling and shrugging her shoulders in a rueful fashion.

“Aunt Hermione, can I ask you something?”

Hermione sighed as she seated herself across from Victoire.

“If you insist.”

Victoire shook her head, her curtain of blond hair bouncing about her shoulders.

“No, I won't ask you if you really don't want me to. That's why I asked permission.”

It was now Hermione's turn to stare at her hands as she mulled over Victoire's words. Despite the considerable disparity in their ages, Hermione felt a kinship with Victoire that she had rarely felt with another witch, and she was surprised to realize that she did want Victoire to ask. Whether it was because she wanted to get a fraction of this burden off her chest, or simply because she wanted someone to give voice and recognition to this thing that had for so long been voiceless and buried, something inside her wanted the question asked…no, something inside her demanded the question be asked.

She looked up just as Victoire had done a moment before and nodded.

“Go ahead.”

Victoire drew in a breath at Hermione's acceptance, and glanced toward the ceiling as she exhaled slowly, clearly gathering her thoughts. Hermione allowed the brief pause, glancing outside as she gathered her own.

“Do you—are you—and Uncle Harry…” Victoire finally began, sounding more like a hesitant ten-year-old than the self-assured eighteen-year-old that she was.

Hermione smiled, still staring out of the window. She couldn't help but be amused by the girl's discomfort.

“Are Harry and I what?” she said, glancing over at Victoire.

Victoire fixed her with a glare. “Don't tease me! I'm trying to be serious. And if you know what I'm going to ask, you may as well just go on and answer.”

“But I really don't,” Hermione said. “I honestly don't. I'm fairly certain of the…essence of the question you have in mind, but there are many facets to that.”

“Fine,” Victoire sighed, still seeming incredibly uncomfortable. Hermione couldn't blame her. “Are you and Uncle Harry…in love with each other?”

Hermione couldn't help the bark of laugher that escaped her throat.

“I'm sorry,” she said in reply to Victoire's look of bewilderment. “It's just that you surprised me.”

Victoire blushed. “I…was I completely off base?”

“It's not that,” Hermione said. “I'm just surprised at the…bluntness of the question.”

“Well, what exactly were you expecting?”

“I'm not entirely sure. Obviously not that… Perhaps I was expecting something more along the lines of, `Are you interested in each other?' or even `Are you attracted to each other?'”

“Are you?” Victoire countered.

“What makes you think that we are?”

Victoire appeared increasingly disgruntled at Hermione's side-steps, but Hermione felt vindicated in her responses. Despite her relief at speaking to Victoire, she had held these secrets for decades…she was reluctant to give up her hand without some effort on Victoire's part. Besides, she really didn't even know how to go about it in the first place. Of the already extremely select group of people who knew the depths of her feelings for Harry, she had only ever articulated them to Harry himself. This was, in many regards, completely uncharted territory, and she was as curious about her own responses as Victoire.

“I don't know,” Victoire said, sighing. “It's just…the way that you are with each other. A lot of little things. The way that you look at each other sometimes. Sometimes when one of you isn't even aware—I've seen both of you do it,” she added in response to Hermione's blush. “Even when I was younger, I noticed it. You both seem—have always seemed—completely at ease around each other. I've seen you storm into the Burrow, completely fuming about a case or a ruling, and then Harry would show up and within minutes it's like nothing ever happened. Or he would be in a mood about something and you would sit with him for a while and he'd be fine. Sometimes you wouldn't even speak to him...”

Victoire trailed off, and Hermione blinked.

“Don't look so surprised,” Victoire said, smiling. “You aren't the only perceptive one.”

“Clearly,” Hermione said. “I had no idea you were so…observant.”

Victoire shrugged. “Is that sufficient for you to answer my question now?”

Hermione bowed her head for a moment. “Actually, no. There's one more thing I'd like to ask you.”

“Which is?”

Hermione looked back up to Victoire, and as she met the girl's gaze, she felt every ounce of vulnerability and uncertainty well to the surface.

“What…would you say if I said yes?”

Victoire furrowed her brow. “Why?”

“It's important to me to know what you would think. If we were.”

“But…I don't see why it matters.”

Hermione peered at her incredulously. “You honestly don't see why your perception of Harry and I being…romantically interested in each other would matter to me?”

“No, I understand why you're interested in hearing what I would think…” Victoire said. “I just don't understand why it…matters.”

Despite the weight of the conversation, Hermione was inclined to laugh once more.

“Because it's more complex than you're seeing it,” Hermione said. “You're only eighteen, Victoire. Newly engaged, just beginning your life. I don't see things that way anymore. I can't afford to. Surely you see how many variables there are to this?”

“Yes, but—”

“How do you think Molly and Arthur would feel about me sweeping Harry up months after their daughter died?” Hermione replied, her tone deceptively neutral. “And of course that's after I've already done the damage of leaving their son. Speaking of Ron, how hurt and angry do you imagine he would be when he realized he lost his wife to his best friend?” Her voice was quivering a bit now, but she could manage. “And Rose? What do you think she would say to me when she thinks I left her father for her uncle?” Her voice was really shaking now, and she could feel tears flooding to her eyes, blurring her vision. “And Merlin, can you imagine how James and Al and Lily would feel about their aunt coming into the picture and trying to replace their mother?”

She hadn't been aware of standing up, but suddenly she was, and staring down harshly at Victoire.

“That's why it matters,” Hermione breathed. “Because I'm not the only one involved. There are so many people that could be hurt if I said yes to your question. Harry and I…we both have obligations to our families, to our children, and to ignore that would be utterly selfish.”

She let the words hang between them. Victoire, rather than appearing upset or even remorseful, peered at Hermione in an openly contemplative manner, one hand cupping her chin. She sat like that for several moments before leaning back, crossing her arms across her chest as she did so.

“So what?”

The bluntness of the remark momentarily stunned Hermione, and Victoire immediately took advantage of the silence.

“Look, I understand that this is complicated. Actually, complicated doesn't even begin to cover it. It's a mess, complete and utter madness. Yes, this could potentially hurt a lot of people. And yes, you do have an obligation to those people. But don't you have an obligation to yourself as well? To Harry?”

Victoire was standing now as well, squared off against Hermione and looking very much like Fleur in her indignation. “I may only be eighteen years old, but I'm old enough to know that you deserve happiness just as much as anyone else. Why should your happiness come after everyone else's?”

Hermione was already shaking her head, her brown curls brushing against her face.

“Victoire, it's not as simple as you make it sound…”

“Only because you're making it difficult,” Victoire snapped. “At this point it goes without saying, but I want to hear you say it anyway. Do you love him?”

“Victoire—”

“Answer.”

Hermione glared at Victoire, provoked by her insolence, but she deflated just as quickly. She sank back into her chair, and Victoire followed suit.

“Yes,” Hermione finally said. “Yes.”

Victoire smiled then, and reached across the table to squeeze Hermione's hand.

“Then that's what should matter. You and Harry…have both have been through so much. Together and apart. If being together would make you happy, then you should be together. Simple as that. Even though Aunt Ginny's gone, and even though things didn't work out between you and Uncle Ron…that doesn't mean you both can't have a second chance at love. It just so happens that it's with each.”

The familiar sense of uncertainty flooded Hermione's senses as much as the significantly less familiar exhilaration of possibility surged through her veins, fighting for supremacy.

Sensing Hermione's internal struggle, Victoire plunged on.

“This is not a betrayal,” she said. “It'll take time, but the others will come around. Merlin, some of them may even feel happy for you.”

Hermione laughed, and would have brushed at her eyes if both of her hands were not clasped in Victoire's.

“So don't feel guilty about this,” Victoire said. “You fell in love.”

She shrugged, a smile gracing her lips.

“Sure, maybe it's not under the best circumstances, or with the most unproblematic person, but that can't be helped at this point. This is still just one person loving another person in its purest form.”

She released Hermione's hand, and smiled fondly at her engagement ring.

“And if there's anything in the world you shouldn't feel guilty about, it's that.”

******************

Hermione sat in the kitchen long after Victoire left, poring over their conversation (or as she saw it, Victoire's one-sided pep talk) with an academic intensity. And as she went about the rest of her day—completing a file for work, wrapping two separate packages of tarts to send to send to James and Lily, picking up Hugo from Ron's and putting him to bed—she pondered. As the sun sank and the moon rose, the words continued to swirl about her mind.

The hours ticked by, and when the moonlight beckoned her, she obediently abandoned the warmth of her home for the freezing night air. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, she tugged mindlessly at tufts of cold grass. Although she had had the presence of mind to drape a blanket about her shoulders before leaving the house, her thoughts rendered her unconcerned of the biting cold.

After so long ignoring her feelings, denying the possibility of more, surrendering herself to a way of living she had long stopped believing would change…

Could that just…end?

Nothing had ever been easy between herself and Harry, and it still wasn't, not by far. But was Fleur right? Was she overcomplicating things at this point? Denying herself the happiness she had craved for the sake of sparing other people's feelings?

She had no doubt that she still loved Harry. Not in the exact same way as before, but still as fervently, still as unconditionally.

And if Harry felt the same…

Was it really that simple?

And in that moment, with no further prompting than the blank face of the moon, Hermione decided that it was.

Seized by her moment of clarity, Hermione dusted her hands free of grass blades before grasping at the neck of her sweater. As her fingers closed around the familiar silver chain, she drew it forward, feeling the teardrop pendant slide against her collar before being exposed to the night air. In the brightness of the moon, she could just make out the words as they etched their way across the silver surface:

Amare sine timore

As she clasped the necklace between her thumb and forefinger, she used her right hand to pick up her wand, which lay beside her in the grass.

Then she took a deep, steadying breath before tapping her wand to the pendant, and unlike previous years, she did not immediately tuck the necklace away, but rather set it deliberately to her chest, where it openly gleamed in the light, scant as it was.

And as she removed her hand, she didn't need to look down to confirm that the etched words did not vanish as before, but endured, permanent and plainly visible for all to see.

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Fulfilling Obligations

1. Dawn of a New Day

2. Another Walk By The Lake

3. An Unexpected Injury

4. The Meaning of Sacrifice

5. Pride and Passwords

6. Second Fiddle

7. Time In the Library

8. Where We Left Off

9. A Lit Fuse

10. Tuesdays With Molly

11. Struck

12. The Early Bird Doesn't Get The Worm

13. Off To The Outback!

14. A Night Down Under

15. Threats

16. Reunion

17. Sincere

18. Scrutiny

19. Happy Birthday

20. Happy Birthday, Part II

21. The Iumentum Elixir

22. Animagus

23. Moving On

24. Regret

25. Reaction

26. Hard to Believe

27. Try

28. A Less Than Modest Proposal

29. Letting Go

30. Falling

31. An Old Enemy

32. A New Life

33. Destructive Perfection

34. Breaking Mirrors

35. Teamwork

36. The Mission

37. Revelations

38. What Is Right

39. Gifts

40. Waiting

41. What's In A Name?

42. Remembrance

43. Chapter 43: Suspicions

44. A Beginning and An Ending

45. No Second Chances

46. Always

47. Chapter 47: Simple