Music and Merlot

Disclaimer: Hey, yeah, I'm still not worth millions. But! You know who is? J.K. Rowling is. Because she owns Hermione and all her friends, along with the school they attended and the teachers who taught there and the bad guys who terrorized it. I don't. So. Umm. No suing, okay? Good. Glad we're clear.

Thanks to Alison for planting the seed to this story last night. It's not the one you expected it, but it's here, right?

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“stop looking through scrapbooks and photograph albums, because I know they don't teach you what you don't already know”

-idlewild, “roseability”

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Hermione Granger was a very long way away from home and she was very thankful for it. Yes, she'd put as much distance between her and London as she could've hoped. Four thousand, one hundred and ninety miles, to be exact, she thought to herself primly. Routed through New York City, of course. She hadn't flown, she'd Apparated, but she took a small amount of comfort in the large number. Right now Londoners were settling in for a commute or a spot of dinner and Hermione was only halfway through her day. In fact, she'd just finished lunch and was currently immersed in Chicago's downtown foot traffic. She was wearing simple flared khakis and a white linen shirt and looked like all of them. No one gave her a second glance, unless it was just an appreciative look at another human being.

She was on her way back to her office to churn out a few more inches of text for the interview she was writing and then it was home and maybe some music and wine for her tonight. She was inordinately pleased with her solitary plans for that evening and was already mentally going through her cd collection for something appropriate. Last night she'd been out on a pre-interview with a persnickety Britpop boy she recognized from his huge debut about five years ago and was appropriately tired. Five years seemed like such a long time. In a way, it was. So much had happened in that time.

It'd been a little over a year since she'd left England, determined to leave her brain behind for a little while. It had been easy enough, with her grades, to do whatever she wanted to in the wizarding world. And, unbelievably enough, what she wanted to do was give up books for a while. She'd packed up almost all of her personal library and left it at her parents. She took one box of books and cds, her wand, Crookshanks and the contents of her Gringott's vault with her. The last two years of Hogwarts had been far too much for Hermione and she didn't like thinking about it. She, Harry and Ron had defeated Voldemort a year ago, right at the end of seventh year. Her role in the attack had been rather simple. The potion she had researched and reproduced had been difficult to brew, but that was all she had really done.

All she had done, she laughed to herself as she thought back on it. It had taken a year of her life. Only hers, really, because Harry and Ron seemed to be occupied elsewhere. For a while she'd stopped sleeping, it seemed, while she researched the potion Harry had taken before dueling Voldemort. It was simple and brilliant and she wished she'd actually invented it and ended up in the Hospital Wing for exhaustion three times while she was researching it. It was an ancient potion, working on the same fuel as a Patronus and serving to lend focus to your inherent powers. All you had to do was think happy thoughts, basically, and then blast whomever off to Neverland. Harry had been brilliant, using his vast resources of power to vanquish the evil wizard, saving the world and putting himself nearly into a coma doing so. Hermione had waited to make sure he'd waken up and then she had left. Packed and clicked her heels, so to speak, promising her parents she'd call when she got to wherever she was going. When she got decided to move to Chicago, she threw herself into her life there and hesitated to think about her life in England.

This was curious because Hermione Granger was nothing if not a Gryffindor. She was brave and resourceful and so intelligent it was frightening. She'd been standing beside Harry for seven years, fighting evil beside him in her own innumerable ways. She'd been there for Ron during his various trials and tribulations. But what did she do when faced with the threat of another press ambush, more Ministry inquires since…well, since that nasty business with Voldemort fifth year and all the praise the wizarding world could lay at the Dream Team's feet? Not to mention the absolute horde of job offers she'd gotten. Even Snape had congratulated her, right after he reprimanded her from pilfering a few things from his stores.

When faced with the spoils and glory, she had turn tail and left. She didn't go into hiding at Hogwarts, she didn't hole up in her childhood home, she didn't go on an extended holiday in the sun somewhere. No, she left the continent altogether for the wilds of America. She had, of all things, gotten a job writing about British music for an American magazine. It was a huge magazine with a witch in Human Resources, a few in management, and they hadn't, obviously, been keeping up with events in England because not one of them, bless them, recognized her. Hermione had heard about the job through a newspaper article and when the interviewer had discovered she was a witch, she'd overlooked the numerous holes in the story Hermione had fabricated about her background and hired her on the spot.

She enjoyed her job. She had always listened to the radio when she was home with her parents and had quite a cd collection. Her tastes were diverse enough that she was actually quite good at writing about music. She was shocked she had gotten the job, but she wasn't silly enough to turn away serendipity. She met rock stars, who she viewed with clinical fascination, and got all the free cd's she could find shelf space for. She wasn't star struck, not only because she'd been friends with The Boy Who Lived for years, but because she'd gotten quite famous since her part in the whole thing had come out. Miss Hermione Granger was a star in some academic circles. Which was all the more reason for her to stick around her fabulous Chicago apartment. Sure, she cringed a little when she had to interview her fellow countrymen in person (one never knew who was who) but that was a danger everywhere. It wasn't like Chicago was Unplottable.

She'd only intended to stay a year, but that anniversary was quickly approaching and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to go home just yet. Hermione had spent the last seven years of her life being responsible not only for herself, but for Harry and Ron, to some extent, as well. It had gotten wearing after a while, solving their problems, getting them out of squeezes, maintaining her spotless academic record and performing her student leadership duties. So, she concluded, she deserved a bit of spotty behavior, didn't she? She'd never had the luxury of acting like a child. It was partially her fault, but when she got to the age where she realized there was more to life, she couldn't reach other for it and so even when Harry and Ron had been up to no good she'd stayed focused and busy. She'd helped save the world and if she wanted to party with rock stars, she was bloody well going to do it.

Besides, Americans always went for the accent. Humourously enough, she'd interviewed a Scottish band last month and had swooned at their accents. Funny, you'd think she would've heard more of those soft sounds, living at Hogwarts. She had made a note to look up Oliver Wood when she got back to London and stuck it to her computer monitor. Every day she looked at that note and laughed. The old Hermione would've never written that down on paper. She would've tried to pinpoint what town the band were from using a linguistics text and then immediately set to tracking down Oliver. At this point she just wondered if Seamus would do, as well.

So while she hadn't completely shut down the part of her brain that was almost painfully academic, she was giving it a rest. Her wearied synapses, she reasoned, needed it. Furthermore, it wasn't like writing inches and inches about actual people was as easy as, say, Transfiguration essays. There was an essence to catch here and present to her readers and sometimes it proved elusive enough to be more exhausting than even an essay for Snape.

She set about emailing her article she had been working on during her daydreaming to her editor and then, for the first time since lunch, looked at her watch. And finally, it was time for her to actually get some rest. Wine and music, she reiterated silently. No drinks with publicists and their “hot new things”, no happy hour with her coworkers. She would be resolute in her solitude, she smirked to her reflection in the mirror she'd hung on the back of the door. It was silent and she laughed at her whimsy. If it was one thing she didn't miss, it was those blasted mirrors. Grabbing her purse, she then settled into the evening's truly major debate - walking versus Apparating. The sun was shining, though, and the wind looked relatively calm. Walking it was, she decided, and started towards the elevator. Her step was light and she was feeling quite cheerful as she moved down through the core of the building. Fridays, of which this was one, were marvelous things, even if one technically did not have to be in a work building, per se.

Living downtown certainly had perks, such as her proximity to work. It also made it trickier for owls to find her since even magical owls had a hard time distinguishing between curtained high-rise windows. The Daily Prophet owl had mastered it, though, and it was the one she was truly concerned with. She had gotten a subscription because she knew it was a good way to keep up with her friends and the records were sealed. Although, there were a number of tabloids that would've done the same trick, she mused wryly. She and Harry had encountered that sort of journalism fairly often, in fact, since they spent so much time together. Curiously, though, it was always her and Harry, not her and Ron. Which made far more sense than she would ever admit.

The last issue she'd seen featured her class, actually, as the one year anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort approached. And everyone, predictably, was doing what they had done at Hogwarts, only on a grander scale. Harry was playing Quidditch, Ron was working with his father at the Ministry, Parvati was opening a boutique filled with lovely clothes with Ginny Weasley this summer and Lavender was taking the recently opened Divination position at Hogwarts. She'd had to stifle a snort at that. There had been a line about her at the end, something to the effect of her presence being missed in the British magical community. She'd smiled a bit at that, for no reason. It was nice to be missed. She missed them, in her own way, as well. She just wasn't ready to deal with it yet and whenever she thought of it, she got the queerest feeling in her stomach, which she resolutely pushed down. She was enjoying her high-flying journalist lifestyle. Hermione always told herself that she would think about it when it became completely unavoidable and to stop thinking. She was actually quite adamant with herself about it.

It was always particularly awkward when an actual personal missive from the people she'd left reached her and she was forced to debate what to do about it. It was always positive in that there was no real threat at this stage of things, but the sender inevitably begged for a visit of some kind. Sometimes the writer asked if she was using her “talents” wisely. Frankly, Hermione didn't feel like responding, most of the time. She would deal with it what was happening when she got back. They'd survived without her this long, they'd keep doing so. In the end, she'd always send a safely anonymous postcard back, one that didn't have “Chicago: The Windy City!” plastered across it. She'd say what a great time she was having, say something vague about returning and send her love to everyone. She'd also learned some clever cloaking charms. No way were they going to trace her mail. She wasn't the cleverest witch at Hogwarts for nothing.

Her parents, sworn to secrecy of course, just emailed her under her work address. She'd thought of that, a nom de plume for when she was working. After all, someone who knew her was sure to read the glossy she wrote for and it wouldn't be good to be recognized so easily after all her careful hiding, right? Under the right circumstances, her name would've been an asset, being the memorable moniker it was. Alas, she hadn't quite found that opportunity. She started as a Mudblood and ended up a heroine, fan club and all. Honestly, Harry was supposed to have all that nonsense happening to him, being famous since his first birthday, basically. She chuckled a bit at that throught and noticed she'd reached her apartment. The last year of urban life had obviously made her commute subliminal. Nodding at Alex the doorman, she stepped into the shiny silver elevator and continued the ongoing debate about what she was going to listen to.

Having made her decision, Hermione stepped out of the elevator on her floor and started over to her door. It wasn't warded or otherwise magically protected. She hadn't seen the need, honestly. Who would look for her here? Yes, she thought smugly as she fit the key into the lock, she'd created a cozy little life for herself here. She opened the door, dropped her purse on the table she kept in the foyer and noticed Crookshanks sitting at her feet and looking pointedly into the living room. She smiled a little at his disturbed look and picked him up to carry him into the room he'd been drawing her attention to.

“Aww, was my poor Crooks lonely to…” She trailed off as she realized the reason her half-Kneazle cat had been staring into the living room. His catlike appearance, it seemed, had lulled Hermione into temporarily forgetting his uncanny intelligence. He could hardly blame her, she was kind of tired sometimes these days. So there he sat in her arms, smug in the knowledge that he had one up on her right now, as she looked between the two people occupying her front room. She'd thought he had just seen a spider or something, scuttling across her immaculate crème carpeting. It was something much more concerning than that, especially considering where her thoughts had been for most of the day. Perhaps this was karma, chiding her for her smugness, she thought wildly as she observed the scene.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, it seems, had decided to join her for that bottle of wine.

Disclaimer: See previous. Still not mine. Carry on with the lack of lawsuits.

Thanks to all my kind Portkey reviewers - you cats are superspiff, even if some of you did cheat. *grin* No, honestly. Kind reviews like the ones I got are so warm and fuzzy. Aww, squish!

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“sometimes the truth is like a second chance”

-dar williams, “after all”

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Now this, she thought to herself, this was a Situation. Capital intended. Hermione hadn't expected this at all, and there they were. Her two other parts. In her living room, her fifteenth story Chicago living room, where she was supposed to be half a world away from them. They were most definitely not supposed to be sitting there and yet there they were. Harry sat almost placidly on her brown leather couch, the only indicator of his inner turmoil his vivid green eyes. Ron was on the other side of the room, his eyes skimming her first major article. She'd been so proud when it was published she'd framed it in a brown frame. It had matched the couch she bought with the proceeds. Funny, that. The frame and the couch matching. Since those were the things that…well, never mind that.

When Hermione got nervous, she tended to let her mind have free reign. It usually served to help her come up with a solution to whatever was bothering her. In this case, though, the welcome chatter that told her that her brain wasn't working didn't seem to be helping. In fact, she hadn't said a word since she had greeted Crookshanks so effusively a minute ago. Nobody had. Harry had stared, Ron was skimming and Hermione's eyes were darting between the two of them. She felt, inexplicably, like a small child about to be scolded.

Wait, she thought, that's not how it is. She didn't have to answer to Harry and Ron, of all people, if anything they owed her an explanation. And as soon as the thought passed her brain, she almost laughed. Of course she did. They were her friends, more than that. They'd always called each other on their behavior. The answers tended to vary from snappish secrecy to embarrassed pleasure at being called out, with stops at various points along the way. Hermione wasn't feeling any of that. She was honestly a little tired. She'd started one major story last night and finished another one this afternoon, not to mention the exhaustion immediately caused by coming face to face with the inevitable end of the memory lane she'd tripped merrily down this afternoon.

Somehow, all the faith and joy she'd had in her intelligence and cleverness had evaporated between the foyer and the living room. Alison Gryffin, her writer alter-ego seemed to have disappeared, as well, leaving Hermione Granger there in all her glory. She even expected her recently acquired glossy shoulder length ringlets to grow out into the waist long bushy mass she'd had a year ago, just completing the transformation going on in her head. Her grasp of the situation had faltered and in thirty seconds she'd reverted from a glorious eighteen year old independent woman to bookworm Hermione again. That hurt. And just when she'd started resolving the two. Honestly, sometimes she felt honestly schizophrenic.

And hadn't she told her brain to stop babbling for a minute?

Noticing that Ron had turned to look at her and no one was saying anything, she felt suddenly frustrated. They surely hadn't come all this way to stare at her and she was missing out on precious moments of her relaxing evening. Which, she concluded, seemed to be fairly out of the picture. The wine still seemed like a good idea. Better, even. And music was said to soothe the savage beast. Which is what she had a feeling she might be facing in a minute. Well, then, she mused, she'd best get a couple of minutes of casual in. She looked at both boys and simply nodded.

“Harry, Ron,” she said, managing to keep the slight tremor out of her voice, “so nice to see you. If you'll give me a moment. . .” She trailed off and walked out of the room. That should buy her thirty seconds or so, she thought to herself. Which it did. Almost precisely, in fact, she had just gotten to her bedroom and closed the door a second ahead of the cacophony that had erupted in her living room. Laughing in spite of the situation, she changed into one of her yoga outfits (not just for yoga, they were great for working from home and general lounging, a multi-purposeness that Hermione appreciated) and walked back into the room, completely ignoring them for the moment. She'd decided while debating between pink and grey - she was not going to let them have the upper hand here. She'd never let them have an easy advantage, she surely wasn't about to start here. And she'd picked the yellow and decided that maybe it wasn't a pop night. Debussy, perhaps, thanking the foresight that had made her “borrow” some of her dad's cds.

From behind the closed door, she flicked her wand towards the living room, starting the music before she got into the room. She walked in to the continued wall of sound coming from the boys and, for all outward appearances, casually walked into her kitchen and got out the bottle of merlot she'd been thinking of, which she opened and set aside so it could breathe. Only when her music was going and her wine was breathing did she stop and listen. And honestly, that's all she did, just listened.

“Hermione! Mum was so worried about you when you took off why didn't you - “ That was Ron, going on about the concern all of the Weasleys had displayed during her self-imposed exile. So he would be taking the stern guilt route. She really was pleased with herself for taking this so well. She was finally getting to be the free young woman, being an adult on her own terms, and she intended to carry the serenity that knowing what she was doing in Chicago gave her. She was doing what she wanted to, instead of what people needed her to do. Ron went on for a minute or twenty, and Harry, who had gone silent when she sat down, had just looked at her. “ - owl or call on the fellytone,” Hermione rolled her eyes, he didn't even bother, “or anything at all! Smoke signals, a personal ad, anything! Harry and I were upset! Harry put his Quidditch career on hold until we finally went to your parents who were able to confirm that you weren't dead! Why would you do. . .” She was slightly shocked at one part of this. Harry had put his career on hold for her? She felt a momentary twinge of guilt at this, which she resolutely squelched. She turned her attention outward and was not even remotely surprised to notice that Ron was still going.

Harry, on the other hand, had continued looking at her in that disconcerting manner, and to be honest, that worried her far more than Ron's angry tirade. She had made the mistake of glancing at Harry under her heavy lashes and had been caught in the sheer weight of his contemplation. Hermione, not entirely unpleasantly, felt like an exhibit in that moment. She knew she should feel something negative about it, that she should at least challenge him with her own nonverbal signals, but she found she didn't have it in her. Instead, she moved forward and conjured three glasses. Pouring herself a glass of wine, she noticed her ears suddenly ringing with tinnitus, in the absence of other sound. Ron must have stopped then. Good. She gestured to the other two glasses and the bottle of wine. Maybe they noticed, maybe they didn't. She sat back and closed her eyes, inhaling the deep scent of the dark red wine.

“'Mione,” Harry said gently, causing her eyes to snap open, “we missed you.” And that, it appeared was all he was going to say. They'd come over here on her relaxing bloody evening so Ron could screech at her, oddly reminiscent of Molly Weasley and Harry was pulling his wise act. Brilliant. She reminded herself to breathe properly and took a drink.

“And? I missed all of you, of course, you know that. How could I have not?” She tried very hard to be equally gentle, but the frustration she felt at her disturbance tonight seemed to spill over her normally calm voice.

“Well, that's bloody wonderful!” Ron was angry, of course, and she didn't even bother to correct his language. After all, she used that word once and again herself. “So while we were all missing each other, why did you leave, `Mione?” Harry had gone back to his thoughtful silence.

“I couldn't handle it, Ron. We had done what we set out to do, and that was all I had in me then. Not a teaching position, not enough for a book dea, not a potions apprentice. I needed to get out. I was drained. And since I still got the Daily Prophet, I know how much press there was, and it started immediately after. Dumbledore didn't hide you forever, and he wouldn't have been able to, even had I requested it.” She tried very hard to be reasonable with him. She was not going to lose her cool tonight. She was going to remain calm. Fuck that, she thought, and snapped.

“Ronald Weasley, I've been an adult for as long as I can remember! My entire scholastic career I've been keeping an eye on you two. It's always been my special job,” she stated with no small bitterness, “to be the stable one, the secure one, the problem solver. Who solved my problems, Ron? Did you? Did you, Harry?” She whirled around to face the silent boy, who met her eyes surprisingly calmly.

“Hermione, that's not fair because…” Ron started. Hermione snorted inelegantly. Ron, surprised, quieted a bit, just enough for Hermione to start talking. Once he listened to her, he was silent, surprisingly. Apparently, something in the back of her mind registered, Ron had decided to learn when to shut up at some point. Perhaps some of the emotion she'd kept safely buried inside was leaking through the calm veneer she'd painted over herself during his tirade. Or maybe he was just hoarse from the shouting earlier. That, she thought sardonically, was probably it.

“You're right, Ron, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that my childhood disappeared while you two were chasing bloody Quaffles and Snitches and doing Wonky Feints.” For once the boys didn't laugh at her error, but continued to listen. “I know you two lost yours as well, but where did you come when you needed someone, Ron, Harry? You two had something. You had Quidditch and girls. But every time I tried to find someone, you'd scare them off or bother me to the point where I didn't want to bother! So, I don't see what the big deal is if, after helping you two save the fucking world,” here both Ron and Harry had the grace to look abashed, Hermione never swore like that, “I wanted to nip off for a while. I don't see where it's any of your business how long I wanted to nip off to and where. And, furthermore, Ron Weasley, it certainly hasn't hurt your press, has it?”

“We're your friends, though, that's why. And you're making it sound like you went to the Leaky Cauldron for a week. You've been gone for a year, Hermione, and no one's heard from you, except for those postcards.” Harry finally uttered more than four words and Hermione rounded on him.

“My friends? It didn't feel like that about a year and a half ago. I was researching every waking minute and what were you two doing? Playing sodding Quidditch. Quidditch!” She was nearly hysterical at this point, all the rage she hadn't quite realized was there boiling up to the surface. She'd felt slightly bitter, of that there was no doubt, but the depth of her feelings surprised even her. The boys, once again, looked slightly ashamed of themselves. “I felt so alone. I know we were all having various issues then, but…why did you leave me alone?” The last words had been a whisper, but she wasn't done. “And why, if you didn't want me, couldn't you let me go?”

Ron looked shocked. Panicked, even. Hermione had never been like this. He might expect something like this out of Ginny, who was his sister. And while Hermione was like a sister to him, he wasn't sure pulling her hair and walking away to get his mum was what he quite needed to do in this situation. Briefly, he wished he were back home, where he could Floo Ginny or Mum or have Lav take care of this. Because now Hermione looked positively miserable. When she'd lost her need to yell, she'd dropped into her chair and curled up into a little ball. The music and the wine and even, to a point, the two boys were forgotten as tears streamed down her face. He looked over to Harry, only to see the most curious thing.

Harry was crying, too. He was looking at Hermione like he'd never seen her before and his own face was tear-streaked. Ron was almost frightened right now. There'd been no need for them to cry, they'd planned this expedition to straighten out Hermione for a month. Hermione crying, he could see. He wasn't quite sure, but apparently Hermione had felt very hurt by something he and Harry had done, but Harry crying? For a minute Ron wondered if he'd gone mad and needed his mum to take him to St. Mungo's for a check-up. They'd come here to yell at Hermione, not get all soppy. Harry's next move shocked Ron even more. Harry walked over to the large overstuffed armchair Hermione had curled her slight frame into, picked her up and settled her into his arms and started making soothing noises and patting her hair and telling her how much he'd missed her. Not how much they'd missed her, but how much he, singular, had missed her.

This was where Ron started wondering what exactly what was happening to both his current and former best friends. Hermione had stopped crying quite so hard and was now looking up at Harry wonderingly and Harry had the barmiest look on his face. This went on for a few more minutes as Ron got more and more baffled. Could that be why Harry had. . .no, it couldn't be. This was Hermione, after all. Ron cleared his throat to get their attention. It didn't work.

“'Lo? Harry? He. . .Hermione? Erm. . .shouldn't we be talking right now?” Hermione looked up at him and Harry shifted his eyes to Ron, who felt immediately awkward and guilty for a moment. Then the two shifted their eyes back to each other and both blushed scarlet. Hermione slid off of Harry's lap and retrieved her glass of wine. Harry poured his own and moved back to the couch, leaving Hermione to reclaim her armchair.

“Should we be talking right now, Ron?” Hermione looked at him almost challenging, her gaze flickering to Harry, seeming to forget thirty seconds ago. Ron swore, he'd never understand her as long as he lived. He didn't know what to do right now. Half of him wanted to leave and forget about this, and half of him knew that this would happen again even if he did leave right now. Besides, he wasn't even sure if Harry would come with him, the way he was acting right now.

“Well, nothing's going to solve itself otherwise, is it?” Ron's words had a strange twist to them, almost Snapian in origin. Hermione laughed.

“Funny, I've been telling you two that for years.” And, oddly, in that moment, all the angry undertones abated for now and they were back to Hermione-and-Ron-and-Harry instead of Harry and Ron in Hermione's living room for a minute and all three of them exhaled. Being friends with each other for seven years would've made them strong as it was, but their dangerous escapades had made their bonds almost unbreakable, amazingly even still. They would always have a confrontations and then the sharp edges of anger would soften as it became something else, a puzzle. This would have happened either way, Hermione mused, she'd just put it off. And now, it seemed, it was time to reacquaint herself with her two other pieces.

The dynamic was different, though, she'd noticed. Ron had missed `Mione, his verbal sparring partner and constant touchstone. Harry, it seemed. . .she didn't know what it seemed, but she was very curious as to what exactly he had missed. He'd never held her like he did a minute ago. And he had cried. Harry was the strongest person she knew, even more so, she believed, then Albus Dumbledore, and he had cried over her. He had petted her and murmured to her and she had felt herself instantly jolt with a new sort of frightening recognition. This was Harry. Harry Potter, her best friend. But, for a moment, sitting on his lap, crying out a year of residual misery, she had felt something else, something unfamiliar. She looked over at Ron and smiled, knowing he would always be the same, his relationship with her was a constant. She's always assumed the same of Harry, though.

One look at Ron reassured her. He was looking from Harry to her in a resigned sort of fashion that left her bewildered. She caught his attention and he rolled his eyes at her.

“You're both acting completely mad.” Harry's head snapped up from where it had been staring at the floor and he shot Ron and annoyed look. Ron threw a pillow at him, Hermione yelled at him for throwing her imported housewares and Harry smiled at the exchange.

“Look, if you two want to catch up, you might as well stay here tonight. I don't want you splinching yourself going cross-Atlantic after this. You can use the. . .well, the phone if there's anyone you need to call. I'm not connected to the Floo Network, though.” Hermione, frankly, was quite curious to know what would happen after she made that offer.

“Oh, it's fine. Mum knows where I am and Lav does, too. I think we will stay here tonight.” Ron made himself quite comfortable on one side of the couch as he said that and looked at Harry. So that's how it was, she thought. The sly asides the newspaper had used to infer that the youngest Weasley boy was dating Hogwarts' newest teachers seemed to have some base in truth. She made a mental note to ask Ron about how that had come about later and also turned to Harry.

“I live alone, Hermione, there's no one who will miss me. I took some time off from practice, Oliver's covering for me.” Harry looked up at her and, for a moment, there was a weird lack of air in the room as Hermione met his eyes and thought about the implications of the words Harry had just murmured. Harry was alone and he had held her so tightly earlier. She looked steadily at him, unblinkingly, trying to tell him the deepest secret of seventh year. It hadn't been the potion or all the times she stole ingredients or any of that, that was one thing for certain. He looked back at her with a spark in his eyes that had rarely been there since. . .well, since before. Ron wasn't sure, honestly.

Well, well, Ron mused, looks likes absence does make the heart grow fonder.

Disclaimer: For cryin’ out loud, how many times do I have to tell you? Oh, every time? Well, okay then. I still don’t own this. And you should continue with the not suing.

Thanks again to my Portkey reviewers - it’s so nice of you to care about my little ol’ story. Soon, this will be caught up to ff.net. One more chapter. . .

I swear, I was going to leave this as it is. I really was. But the reviews I have gotten asked me to write some more and I’m nothing if not accommodating… As Meowie is my witness, I will not sleep until I have at least a thousand words. *raises coffee mug*

(Never doubt a vow taken on a cat.)

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“if you go a million miles away, I will track you down, trust me when I say I know the pathway to your heart”

-r.e.m., “superman”

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How, Hermione wondered to herself, could Harry be single? Harry was the Boy Who Bloody Lived. Right before she’d left, he had been forced into taking his N.E.W.T.s in a dank room of the Leaky Cauldron because his fan club wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t been able to step foot outside a specially appointed set of rooms while he recovered from the final battle. She had assisted in triple warding them herself before they’d realized who she was and she had been forced to run from the barrage of questions. She silently laughed. She’d taken personal delight in keeping Harry’s horde of admirers and wistful nursemaids from bothering him. And his Quidditch career, even though he had put it off, certainly didn’t allow for fading into the distance. Sometimes the Daily Prophet fairly screamed about his latest achievements. Come to think of it, though, she hadn’t seen him on the society pages much lately. Sneaking a peek over at him, letting Ron’s voice wash over her in the chatter that had ensued after her invitation, she realized that he’d grown thinner. Maybe it was all that Quidditch training. He looked like he could use some sleep, too. When he looked up at her, she realized that they were both looking at her like something was expected. Had she missed something? Best take a listen, she thought to herself, as she schooled her face into a thoughtful expression. . . Lucky for her, sweet Ron was still as oblivious as ever when it came to these things and assumed she was shocked. She wasn’t about to confess that she’d learned to tune him out fifth year and he still had yet to catch on.

“I know, ‘Mione! Mal-foy. Draco-sodding-Malfoy! My little sister is dating that wanker! They’re planning on moving in together after she graduates. Mum’s about to toss Ginny into a. . .what’s that place they throw those women who aren’t allowed to. . .well, get their oats? You know. Either way, it’s rubbish and I’ll AK him if he does anything awful to my sister.” He sat back with a defiant flourish.

“Ron! Language! And, furthermore, that’s not something you should say so easily, considering. . .well, considering. And it’s a convent.” Hermione sat back, mimicking Ron’s gesture, only with a prim fashion that was pure vintage Hermione. “Besides, your sister is of age. She can legally do whatever she wants. In both worlds now, I believe.”

Ron sputtered for a moment. “But. . .but! Not with Malfoy, she can’t!”

“Mate, she’s going to do it even more happily if she knows you disapprove this much.” Harry, surprisingly, came up with this pearl of wisdom. “Besides, she looks like she’s happy to begin with. Don’t want to encourage her further in carrying on with her life.”

Hermione was surprised at Harry’s callous treatment of the matter, but when he looked up at her and winked, jerking his head to where Ron was turning a lovely shade of fuchsia, indicating that he was winding their other best friend up, she couldn’t help but giggle into her wineglass. Looking up at Ron, who had gotten up and started pacing in front of her large living room window, she smiled, thinking that not much had actually changed in nine years. When her glance went back to Harry, though, who was smiling at her in a vague sort of fashion, she had to wonder if perhaps she was wrong. Setting her glass down, she leaned forward.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Ron stopped pacing when he heard Hermione’s soft question and looked at Harry, almost as if he were just as interested in the answer.

Harry’s eyes fairly glowed. “I am, Hermione. I’m okay. Today’s a good day.” He gestured around her living room with a wineglass. “I know. . .well, I know we said it earlier, but we missed you. It’s good to be back with you. I was just thinking of how good it is to have the trio back together again.” He grinned at the use of the simple moniker they had used for their dynamic before his face grew thoughtful again.

The room cheerful atmosphere suddenly seemed to shift into a weighty sort of contemplation. Ron and Harry were looking at her again, Hermione realized, in that manner that indicated she was expected to say something here. Honestly, she wasn’t quite sure what to tell them. She’d vented all her frustration on them earlier and right now, she realized, her reasons were a little small. There was no reason for her to cut them off completely. Maybe, she deducted, she had been a little selfish. It wouldn’t have killed her to have the Floo Network connected. On the other hand, the part of her that had grown up so much during the past year showed that maybe it hadn’t been such a bad idea. She’d had valuable time to develop herself, Hermione, as opposed to helping Harry and Ron along. It was the mature thing to do, she had decided then, and she still felt that way. The three of them had gotten a chance to decide what they were on their own, as opposed to doing something that all three of them could do, but might have regretted. The tricky part, she mused, was putting all this into words. She had to try, though, and hope that maybe they’d done a little maturing over the last year, as well.

“Harry. Ron.” She held a hand out to both of them. “You two are part of me. You used to be as much a part of me as I am. And that. . .that isn’t how it should be. I needed room to find out who I was. I had to have some space to be Hermione instead of Harry, Ron and Hermione.”

Harry interrupted her at this point. “Hermione, we never saw you that way. You’ve always been Hermione to us.”

“But, Harry,” here Hermione looked at him beseechingly, almost as if she were begging him to understand, “I wasn’t to anyone else. Everyone saw me as just an extension of you two. And I know there are some people who see you as the same, only as puppets of myself.”

“Oi, Hermione, so? We’re a team, that’s all they need to know. Why’d you have to skive off, though?” Ron had interrupted here.

“’Skive’? I ‘skived off’?” This time it was Hermione who was turning an alarming shade of red. “Ronald Weasley, I do think you’re using that in the wrong context. I did my duty. As did the two of you. But I wasn’t happy with all the fuss afterwards. I didn’t do any of that so I could get my picture in the Daily Prophet, you know!” Hermione’s voice was reaching that high register that she noticed it only seemed to hit when Ron Weasley was involved. The two of them were standing now, facing each other down like so many times in the Common Room, but this time Harry stopped them instead of letting them have it out.

“Well,” Harry said around the chuckles that were begging to escape, “the two of you are certainly back to normal.”

“No, Harry, don’t. I think there are definitely some things that need said,” Hermione stated seriously, her voice returning to its earlier levels as she sank into her chair, “and I intend to say them.” Turning to Ron, she went on. “Frankly, Ron, let me tell you this in the simplest possible way. I needed to be a young adult. I needed to not be clucking after you two. I needed to go live my life as something other than one of the saviors of the wizarding world. I just. . .I just couldn’t deal with it. I wanted to hide from all that attention and just be myself.”

“Hermione, we would’ve helped you.” Ron’s voice was blunt. “You know we would’ve done whatever you bloody wanted, hid you away if that’s what you needed. I still don’t understand why. . .”

“Ron! I needed this. Look around!” Hermione waved around the apartment. “My apartment isn’t even warded!” Ron snorted at this and Harry looked concerned, but she continued resolutely. “I’ve been living here a year and not once have I needed it. No paparazzi snapping pictures. No leftover Death Eaters. Just me and my work and my life.”

“Yes, just you. But it hasn’t been just you for years, we’ve always been a team. What you do, we do.” Harry pointed out and Hermione jumped out of her chair.

“That’s exactly it! Oh, Harry, Harry, that’s exactly what I was talking about! We’ve always been a team, at least until seventh year.” Both boys looked a little awkward at that statement. “Ever since I was 11, I’ve been with you two. We got so co-dependent on each other that I wasn’t sure who I was. Before this year, I would’ve rather died than be apart from you this long.” She stopped at Ron’s questioning look and held his gaze for a minute as he slid his eyes over to Harry and raised one russet eyebrow. “Both of you. Ron, you’re like a brother and Harry, you’re. . .” she trailed off thoughtfully and then continued in a rush as she realized her mistake. “Then, our last year at Hogwarts, I worked so hard on the potion for the final battle that I didn’t have time to be sure of anything. I needed to rest, I needed to find out who I was and, to do so, I felt like I needed to do it on my own, without you two defining me. Besides, I felt like the two of you had abandoned me anyway, seventh year, and that hurt so much. I didn’t think it would matter that much if I left.”

Ron set down the magazine he had been turning over in his hands after he sat down and looked over at her guiltily. “About that, ‘Mione, I’m sorry.” He looked over at Harry, and seeing the stricken look on his friend’s face at the girl they both loved and her obvious distress, amended it. “We’re so sorry. If we had known that this would happen, we would’ve helped you more.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron, you shouldn’t have had to have been asked. You should’ve helped me more anyway. But, then again, I’d always found these solutions by myself, haven’t I? I’ve always given of myself, and I’ve always enjoyed it. I wanted to help Harry and all of us without disturbing anything or anyone. Why change?” Not bothering waiting for a response, she simply continued speaking. “But I nearly killed myself finding the answer that time. I went into the hospital wing three times. I didn’t want to have to ask you for help, and by the time I did, you two were busy with other things.” Her traitorous voice had started to quiver at the last bit.

“Hermione, you didn’t tell us how serious the situation was.” Harry stood up in a sudden burst of motion, both hands shoved into the bottom of his pockets. “You should’ve told us! Dammit, Hermione, it’s okay! Everyone needs help sometimes, all you had to do was tell us what was happening to you. Albus didn’t tell us exactly what had happened that year until you had left. Wouldn’t tell us where you went, either.” He paused here, looking annoyed for a moment before shaking his head and walking over to Hermione’s chair. “Anything, anything at all you need, Hermione, and you always have help. You had it then and,” he crouched next to her chair, putting a hand on top of the one she had resting on the arm of her chair, “you have it now.” Feeling her hand under his, Harry was amused. Her hands were so small. It was easy to forget just what they had done, what they were capable of.

Looking at her as she fought for control of her emotions, he realized that all of her was small. He felt a sudden surge of guilt at not finding her sooner. He’d searched alright, but Hermione, while she hadn’t warded her door, had cast personal wards. And when a witch as powerful as Hermione didn’t want to be found, it wasn’t easy. It had taken enormous amounts of power to cast the tracking charm he had, the one that had finally broken through her concealment. Meeting her dark brown eyes, he wondered if it would do any good. The goal of this was to bring Hermione back to their world, or at least get a standing invitation into hers. He hadn’t told Ron, but he had missed Hermione in a way that he was sure, he hoped, his other best friend hadn’t. Unknowingly echoing Ron’s earlier thought, he was dismayed it had taken a year and an ocean to make him realize how he felt about their other third.

“But. . .” her voice was just a whisper, “it didn’t feel that way. I felt so alone.”

Harry sighed and Ron looked at the two of them with a shrewd eye that people rarely suspected he possessed. He had realized a few minutes ago that they weren’t going to get much more out of Hermione. She was emotionally exhausted. Anyway, he had recognized this excursion of Hermione’s as what his mother would simply call a growing pain. All they could do, honestly, at this point, was try to get over it. Besides, he kind of saw her point. He didn’t see why she had to have it all the bloody way over here, but he’d had his own bit of rebellion fourth year. Hermione was just a little slow when it came to those things. In the meantime, though, he was knackered. He was willing to bet Harry was, too. It was ten o’clock here in the States, which meant it was. . .well, late at home. Ron calculated his next action carefully. Harry was still stroking Hermione’s hand and Hermione was looking at where their two hands were sitting together. Crackers, these two were. Everyone knew the hero got the girl, right? Or maybe in this case, the hero got the Quidditch player. He wasn’t sure. He was definitely glad he’d starting carrying on with Lavender, though. Made things right easy, that did. He’d never had quite the grief he was observing. Would continue observing, he thought, if he didn’t do something. He only hoped his plan wasn’t too horribly up front about it. Then again, if the situation itself were any indication, he didn’t have to worry about these two finding anything too obvious.

Standing up, Ron stretched and yawned loudly. “’Mione, you look tired.” She gave a ghost of her normal smile, since it was Ron that was yawning.

“Ron, I’m a music writer, I’m used to staying up late. Researching and whatnot.” Harry and Ron both smirked a bit at this.

“Fancy that.” Ron dryly muttered before continuing on in a louder voice, oblivious to Hermione’s scathing look. “I’m tired.”

“I can see why. There’s quite a difference in times. It’s four a.m. in England. You two must be exhausted.” Suddenly, Hermione slid her hand out from under Harry’s and became all bustling motion as she grabbed her wand and moved towards a hallway that led, apparently, to the bedrooms. Ron found it scarily reminiscent of his mother.

Harry cleared his throat. “Actually, Hermione, I’ll stay up with you for a few more minutes.” He missed the smirk on Ron’s face and Hermione was out of the room, much to his relief. Harry had learned to be very observant over the years. There wasn’t much his bespectacled green eyes missed and Ron was surprised that he hadn’t received a frown for his troubles.

“Well, okay, Harry,” came Hermione’s strangely disembodied voice, “but if you’re tired, I don’t mind. I’ll probably be in bed in an hour anyway. I’ll have another bed in here in a second.”

“Right, a second.” Ron whispered as he grabbed his best friend by the shoulders, much to Harry’s surprise. “Look, Harry, I know.”

Harry looked around before meeting Ron’s gaze. “Know what?”

“I know. How you feel,” Ron waved towards the hallway where Hermione’s footsteps could be heard returning, “about ‘Mione. Do it. You both need this.”

“Ron? Where are you? I thought you followed me back here?” Hermione could be heard approaching the living room. Ron threw a complex series of hand and facial signals at his best friend before his other best friend came in, a worried look on her features. “Harry, seriously, though, it’s okay if you’re tired.”

“Actually, Hermione, I had to ask Harry if he’d brought a change of clothes with him. I know I didn’t. And Harry slept late today, to make sure he wouldn’t be too tired while we were finding you.” Ron looked innocently at Hermione.

Hermione looked at him for a minute before grabbing a box of tissue. “Oh, of course. Long distance tracking is exhausting. Anyway, I’ll transfigure these into some pajamas for the two of you and put them back here.” And off she went again, just as Ron had intended. It was clear, he thought, she hadn’t been around. Normally she would’ve known something was up immediately. Briefly he wondered what else he could pull over on her while they were here.

Shaking his head resolutely, he instead, simply took the time he had amazingly been gifted with, he turned back to Harry. “Harry, it’s okay. You have to try.”

“Ron, mate, what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Harry looked slightly startled. “And how can you tell?”

“She does and I just can. Blimey, Harry, I’m not sure how you two have stayed apart this long, but I have to go. Use the time wisely, my son.” Wiggling his eyebrows at Harry, he walked down the hallway towards where Hermione had gone, leaving the Boy Who Lived to wonder how he was going to confess to being the Boy Who Loved, as well. Wrinkling his nose, he wondered if he had read that somewhere. Talk about too much press. Maybe he was starting to believe his own. His thoughts were interrupted by Hermione’s returning footsteps.

Moment of truth, he thought to himself, as Hermione came in. She was still wearing her yellow outfit, he noticed, and she looked beautiful. She had paused, though, in the archway that led into the living room and was looking at him in a most confusing manner.

“Harry, I. . .”

“Hermione. . .”

Obviously, he thought, Ron might be right. Perhaps there were some things to be said on both their parts. He watched as she settled into the armchair she seemed to favor and he moved towards the couch. They looked across the coffee table and, with a wave, Hermione indicated that he could go first.

“Hermione, there was a reason I put off starting this year.”

“Oh?”

This was going to be harder than he thought.

Disclaimer: *tapping a foot* Yo. For the last time (I think), I'm telling you that I don't own Harry Potter. I'll say this again and again and you'll continue to not sue me.

So. This story is coming to a close, I do believe. And since I'm writing it, that's all that matters, no? Anyway, if this isn't the last chapter, then there will be just one more after it. And I'll let you know at the end.

I *heart* my reviewers. *grin*

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“everything will change”

-the postal service, “brand new colony”

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The seconds after her questioning murmur felt like hours. Harry sat across from the girl who had inhabited his dreams for the past year and a half and found himself looking at his feet with nothing to say. Well, no, he had plenty to say, the words just wouldn't come out. And there she was, Hermione Granger, cool as a rock star. Maybe she'd learned it at work, his inner voice snickered. Either way, Harry'd been less afraid facing down half a dozen Death Eaters. And he'd certainly never had any problems with girls before. But they were just. . .girls. This was Hermione. No sweet words would save him here and, even if they could, he wanted this to be real. He looked at his shoes for another minute or so before realizing that the silence was dragging on. He looked up at Hermione and saw that she was leaning slightly forward, hands clasped between her knees, waiting for him to talk. How Hermione had gained this still quality he'd never know. When he last saw her, she was still all kinetic motion and barely concealed urgency.

He finally opened his mouth, fully intending to speak, to tell her exactly how he felt, to let it all come tumbling out of him, but the best he managed was a squeaky sort of sigh. Hermione leaned back, looked at him appraisingly for a moment and laughed.

“Harry?” Her voice still held the echoes of her laughter, even as she spoke. “You came all the way over here for that?”

And just like that, the dam broke. Harry jumped out of his seat, went around Hermione's sleek little coffee table and pulled her out of his chair and into a fierce hug.

“No, `Mione, I came over here for this.” And they stood there, embracing each other tightly. He could've sworn he heard her sniffle a little

Hermione broke away first and looked up at him, her face, as he suspected, shiny with tears. “Harry, I said I was sorry and I meant it. But I also told you why I had to do it and meant that, too. I had to go. But honestly, I missed you two so much. The first few months were miserable.” Here she paused, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I was trying so hard to succeed and survive and I felt like I was dying, like part of me had just been taken out. I had to do it, though, so that I could. . well, so I could grow up. And I have. So have you two, I've gathered.”

“We have.” Harry stated the two words simply and without any attempts to make Hermione feel guilty. There had already been enough of that from Ron earlier.

A moment of silence passed between the two, each of them studying the person opposite, and when the moment came, there was no hesitation from either of them. In the years to come, they would argue about who moved first.

It was Harry, actually, who moved that millimeter closer, though Hermione was the one who realized what was actually about to happen. Her first reaction was to pull away, seeing as Harry was probably just in shock at seeing her. Then she realized that there was time to deal with all that later, and she smiled a little as she closed her eyes, and she could actually feel Harry's smile as he touched her lips to hers and it was all fireworks and falling stars and Harry. Harry's hand on her back and his other in her hair and his scent of grass and soap, his hair tickling the side of her face, his glasses slightly pressing into her nose.

She'd always wondered what it was like, ever since years ago when she'd told him that he couldn't be a bad kisser. At the time, she'd just known it, instinctively. There was no way that Harry Potter could have been, could be, a bad kisser. She had found out that her roommates agreed with her the hard way, as they giggled and whispered in their beds and she had felt sullied. She would've known that about Harry even if he weren't the Boy Who Lived. To her he was just her best friend until things had changed and he'd become her best friend and a little something else. She thought him terribly brave for doing all the things he'd done, but she also knew about all the times he wasn't a hero. She'd held him as he cried over his godfather, she had spent late nights up with him, discussing what the future held for all of them, including him. After all, Ron and Hermione weren't destined to have a fight to the death with a Dark Wizard.

The fact that they would and did had nothing to do with destiny and everything to do with loyalty and love. Not because he deserved it for having a scar on his head from an incident when he was a year old. He didn't care about all that and neither did they. He deserved it for being kind and generous and funny and sweet and just generally all those things that made him uniquely, beautifully. . .well, Harry.

This was what she was trying to tell him, their only point of communication being their lips. She put every single ounce of the two years she had spent wishing she could be his into that kiss, every happy thought of the seven years they'd spent together.

When they finally broke apart, she suspected she'd succeeded. Harry's eyes were slightly glazed and oddly bright. Meeting them, she blushed momentarily and then looked straight back at him.

“I'm sorry I never knew, `Mione.”

“I'm sorry I never mentioned it. Honestly, Harry, I couldn't expect you to know. I was just scared. I didn't want to distract you. I thought about it, I thought about it a lot. It wasn't the time. Even after the battle, it still wasn't quite right.”

“So what's different now?” Harry looked at her curiously, wondering why she hadn't said anything even when Voldemort was gone.

She stepped back, waving around. “This is an apartment, Harry, and it might as well be a million miles away from Hogwarts and London. I might as well be a million miles away from the girl I was.”

“But you don't seem all that different, Hermione. I don't understand. Tell me what's changed.”

“Nothing but me. Take. . .well, take a minute ago.” She paused, swirling away to walk to her window, where she looked over the bright Chicago night. “A year ago I would've never done that. I would've thought it to death. I would've analyzed it to see if it would be too strange afterwards or what Ron would think or a million other things. And those are all concerns, but what if we hadn't kissed? I would've always wondered and, in the end, that's what it comes down to.”

“Well,” Harry started, puzzled, “of course it does. What else would it be?”

“That's where we've always been different. You and Ron go charging off into whatever the near future holds, you create it as it happens. But me, well, why do you think I loved Arithmancy so much? It was so tangible, so logical, so enlightening. The research I always did? It took me somewhere, it showed me where I could go. But since I've come here, I've learned that sometimes, now and again, you have to stop looking and leap.”

She turned back towards Harry, finding him about a foot away from her, studying her as if she were some odd specimen Hagrid had brought into class. She honestly couldn't blame him, she thought, walking back into the main part of the room and sitting on the couch. She just as surprised as he was, this being the first time she'd put her huge paradigm shift into words. She'd always known something was different about her since coming here, but she'd never been quite sure what. Navel-gazing was one of those things she preferred to forego in exchange for more concrete topics. Like anything other than that, really. Anything at all. She looked over as Harry sat down beside her, his leg touching hers, just like they'd sat a million times before but oddly different.

She was thinking about how she could still taste him a little when he finally spoke.

“See, that's funny. You see, we've sort of done the exact opposite. I started the season late partially because I was worried about you, love, but also because I wanted to think about it. You were right, it was a bit much after you left.” He smiled as Hermione snorted at the understatement. “I could've done anything I wanted to. Ron could've done anything he wanted to. Hell, `Mione, you could've done more than both of us put together, probably, when it was all said and done. Endorsements and book deals are one thing, but did you know Puddlemere Potions had a reward out for information on where you were just so they could offer you a job there?”

Hermione looked directly at him, startled. “Are you serious?”

“Gryff's honor. By the way, nice new name.”

“Thanks.” She said that a bit absentmindedly before looking back at him. “That's why I left, Harry. I couldn't stand it. I've never really been used to the attention, certainly never enjoyed it.” She held up a hand, stilling the protest that her companion had opened his mouth to deliver. “I know you didn't, but you had lots of experience with it. Of course, Ron had some fun with the whole thing, but I just couldn't deal with it, and what you just told me let me know that I did the right thing, at least for me. Remember fourth year? I knew from then on that being your best friend was going to be different in more than the adventuring way. To be honest, I'd rather deal with a mountain troll again than reporters.”

“But, Hermione, you became a reporter.”

“Ah, but we become the things we most despise. I just get paid for it. Besides, it's different. I interview rock stars and it's fun. It really is. Growing up with you has sort of made it difficult for me to be that impressed by fame, so I get to know them on a level that most people don't see. And I share that with my readers. It's like discovering something new.”

Harry's eyes twinkled at her. “Ah. So meeting musicians is like doing a Potions report now, is it? You know, you could always do a column for the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. I don't think you understand - you could do anything.” He paused for a minute. “But you would've been able to do anything you wanted without the publicity and that's why you should take the chance.”

He reached over to her, pulling a springy ringlet away from her shoulder and releasing it to snap back to near her head, smiling as it fell in with the rest of her hair. She batted at his hand and he grinned, catching hers in midair before it had a chance to hit him. She turned around on the couch, swinging her legs up to sit in a half-lotus position, her legs resting on his, and gave him her best playful glare. But she didn't slide her hand out of his.

“Sorry, I've still got the old seeker's reflexes. . .you should come see me play sometime.”

“I. . .” Hermione trailed off, looking away from him and biting her lip a little. “I'm not sure if I could just yet, Harry.”

“But you've been away a year,” he said, using the hand that wasn't still holding hers to guide her face up until she made eye contact, “and we miss you. Molly Weasley keeps the jumper she made you for Christmas in a cupboard in the living room, in case you come back. I miss you.”

“I know, I know you all miss me. I know you miss me.” She stopped speaking and her eyes widened a little. “Mrs. Weasley really does that? Well. She should talk to my mother, who emails me every other day lately, asking when I'm coming back to London for at least a visit. I'm just. . .I don't know, Harry.”

“Behold, the great Hermione Granger doesn't know. Let me write this down,” he grinned, “so I remember to tell Ron. But, really, what's so hard? I'm sure a Portkey isn't beyond your capabilities. You know, they can make them for you if it is.”

“Very funny. I'll have you remember I made one sixth year so we could go chasing down Pettigrew, remember? But it's not that, nothing to do with that. It's just that England is where I grew up and where I had all these adventures, but I'm not sure I'm the same person who did those things. Since I left, I've changed a lot. I've gotten accustomed to living a normal life, as opposed to being a celebrity. Alison Gryffin is just a reporter, nothing more. I get paid to fade into the shadows and watch, to not be the person that people are paying attention to. If I come back to England, I'll be trotted out and bothered and they'll all want me because I helped defeat Voldemort, not because I can make friends with prickly people and give them to the world. Eighteen is a difficult age to have your own chocolate frog card, as I'm sure you know.”

The boy across from her looked almost steely for a minute. “I found the first one that had my face on it in sixth year when a second year Ravenclaw asked me to sign the one he had gotten at Honeydukes, I know about all that. You should see it,” he muttered, looking glum, “unauthorized biographies, toy wands, they want to make a movie about me for the Muggles, `Mione! Professor McGonagall is handling it all for me.”

“I know, Harry. But you deserve all that fame, you earned it.”

“But you said yourself, you nearly went into the Hospital Wing three times finding a way to defeat Voldemort. And when I was allowed to talk to people after I got away from Madam Pomfrey, I told them that, but they didn't listen and you were gone. I just focused everything, but you, you came up with it all.”

There was another pause, the newest in a conversation that seemed filled with moments where they were searching for what came next, groping for the next place to be filled in. Harry finally broke the silence, asking what he'd wanted to know for the last year.

“Why'd you leave without saying goodbye? That hurt, a lot, to know that you could just walk away from me without even an owl telling me where you were going.”

“Would you have cared?” Hermione asked in a quiet tone.

Harry looked completely appalled at the suggestion. “Of course I would've! Bloody hell, Hermione, even if you did think it was bad, we're best friends! You can't just disappear and not tell us anything. I was worried sick. First I had to go take the N.E.W.T.s and then right after, we fought Voldemort. Madam Pomfrey told me you helped shield where I was staying, but that you had gone. I asked everyone, I looked around, but no one knew where you were. The newspapers were running stories and asking where you were and no one had any answers. I wouldn't have told them, but it was hard knowing that I couldn't even if I had wanted to.”

“I know, that was the beauty of it. No one knew, so no one could tell.”

“We wouldn't have.”

Hermione almost squirmed under Harry's gaze. “There was another reason, too.”

“What?”

“I felt like you two didn't need me, didn't want me around anymore.”

Harry brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the part of her fingers right after the first set of knuckles and Hermione almost swooned before she regained her resolution. It was difficult, knowing she was a breath away from starting something that she'd longed for. But she knew that there was unfinished business to discuss before they could move on.

“No, Harry, we have to talk about this. You guys were busy with Quidditch and other things.” They both colored slightly, knowing what she meant by that euphemism. “I don't mean to go on about it, but you two really left me alone there.”

“But,” Harry responded, looking pained, “we didn't know what you were doing. And you were always so tired and. . .well, snappish. We felt like we were bothering you.”

Hermione sighed. “This is never going to be resolved, is it? So much misunderstanding. It turned out well in the end, though, didn't it?”

Harry thought about it for a minute. On one hand, it seemed like Hermione was back to her old self, even if she said that it wasn't that.

“First of all, I'm not sure we're there yet. And, I'm not sure anyone told you this, but when I was allowed to talk to anyone at all, Hermione, you and Ron were the first people I asked for. You and Ron, in that order. And you weren't there. I'm still not sure how I feel about that. I felt so abandoned and didn't really know what to think. You'd always been there for me, and I thought that I had done an all right job being there for you, but I wasn't sure then.”

Hermione blinked at him for a moment. “But, Harry, you had all those people. Albus Dumbledore, the most important person in the wizarding world, was there. Ron was there. The Ministry was probably ready to put you in Fudge's office. Honestly, you and Ron were far closer than I was to either of you that year.”

“I already told you, though,” Harry said, barely concealed urgency laced through his voice, “we left you alone because we thought that was what you wanted.”

“I didn't. I just thought that you two didn't want me around, which is why I needed to go. Because I felt pushed away, so I actually went. There was all of that attention, but not when I needed it, certainly not from the people I wanted it from.” She sat back, biting her lip.

Harry looked at her for a full minute, just examining her, like he had been doing all night. Then he released her hand and, moving quickly, grabbed her face in both of his hands and he kissed her. It was just as spectacular as the first time, making them both wonder what exactly they'd been missing in the past and how often they could do it in the future. When they finally broke the kiss, Hermione was slightly breathless and Harry looked pensive.

Hermione, having recovered herself slightly, looked at him with a completely serious look on her face and smiled slightly.

“I've been in love with you since the summer before seventh year, you know.”

And Harry, even though he had expected that Hermione hadn't been telling him something, was shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth, so shocked that he did the only thing he could do and kissed her again. Hermione participated briefly and then pushed him away, getting up to pace around her large living room.

“No, you have to listen to me. This is so important. I need you to know this. Do you remember that night at the strawberry patch?”

Harry certainly remembered it. He, Ron and Hermione had gone out in the dead of night, in a strawberry patch at the edge of the warded portion of the Weasleys' property. They had sat out there all night, watching meteors. The three of them had laid there, their heads all touching, murmuring quietly as the stars fell from the sky. At one point, Ron had wandered off to pick strawberries, leaving Harry and Hermione conveniently alone to talk. That had been when Harry had told her his thoughts on dying and when she had decided that he wasn't going to. She hadn't mentioned this to him, just sat up and let him rest his head in her lap, stroking his hair all the while.

“Yeah. I remember.” He smiled, obviously remembering the close feeling they had shared.

Hermione walked back to him and perched on the edge of the couch beside him. “That's when it happened. That's when I knew you couldn't die, prophecy or not. I wouldn't let you. A world under Voldemort would be unbearable, but I knew I wouldn't last long in it. But a world without you in it at all was one that I wouldn't want to last in, even if I didn't have to be afraid. I had to do something, I couldn't stand the thought of you dying. Of course, I had never wanted you to die before, really, but it became so pressing. If I thought there was something else I could be doing, I didn't want to sleep, I didn't want to eat. Finding a way for you to defeat Voldemort and live was more important than any of that. That was when it all started. It was later that year when you started dating that Hufflepuff that I realized why it was so urgent to me.” She sat back, sinking into the cushions. “It was a classic case of denial, honestly. Obsession, even, if I had to admit it. Not with you, yourself, per se, because I was fairly blasé regarding that, but with keeping you alive, with keeping you safe.”

Harry looked shocked at what she had just said. He couldn't believe that she had done that entirely because of him, he'd thought she'd done it for the good of the wizarding world, too. But, no, she'd gone to all that to make sure that he made it out of there alive. She'd been so insistent that she and Ron accompany him to where he faced Voldemort for the last time because she wanted to make sure it worked and get him out of there. He remembered it was she who had Apparated the three of them out of there before he fell asleep for the week following all that. It all started clicking into place and made him feel slightly guilty.

“I didn't realize that and I'm sorry. I was. . .I was distracted.”

“I know, Harry. I just didn't want to tell you, I guess. . .” she sighed a little, “I guess I just wanted you to know now, though. It felt so silly, honestly, when it was said and done. I know that I did a great thing, but I had gone to such lengths. And I didn't want you to know, I didn't want you to be. . .well, I didn't want things to get strange.”

“Well. . .I know now. And it's not strange, not when it's us, the three of us, anyway. I need you, `Mione, just like I always have. I've been waiting for the last year for you to come back and I realized that you might not. So, here I am. I'm thanking you for everything in person.” He stood up, ignoring her attempts to brush off his gratitude and looked down at her, as he spread his arms. “Did those kisses mean anything to you? Was it just the moment, is it just one of those things?” He dropped his arms and walked a few feet away. “What I'm asking, Hermione Granger, is if you're willing to accept my apology. My sincerest, deepest apologies, in fact. Can we find a way for it to matter?”

“There's always something to be done, isn't there?”

Harry walked over to Hermione, dropping down to his knees just in front of her. “That's not what I'm asking and you know it,” he said in a gentle voice, “I know there's something to be done, the question is what you're going to decide it is.”

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(Portkey.org is now caught up to ff.net so no more cheating for you cats. *grin*) And, for the record, normally I hate the cliffhanger as a literary device. Ugh. . . One more chapter, as soon as the block disappears.

Disclaimer: Still not mine, alas.

Sorry about the almost year-long wait. No, really. Sorry. Without further ado, the conclusion to our tale. Which I apparently named wrong at Portkey.org. God, how loser-ish am I? I don't know the name of my own stupid fanfiction. . .

For a birthday girl. . .

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

“when you work it out, I want it, too”

-coldplay, “god put a smile upon your face”

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

Hermione's eyes were suddenly sad. “I'm not sure it's that easy, Harry.”

“Why not?” He said, the urgency returning to his voice. “You could even keep your job here. You could commute. You cover British music, right? Tell them you want to get closer to your subjects. Email it.”

Hermione paused for a minute, thinking a few thoughts. He'd obviously known a little more about her than he'd let on, since she hadn't mentioned that she was a career writer and not freelancing. He'd bloody well been watching her, hadn't he? If he knew that the article on the wall wasn't a one-time thing, who knows what else he'd managed to discover. Not that there was much there, but the thought still galled her a bit. The second, distant question was how he knew about email. Time in the muggle world? New wizarding email?

“Harry. . .” Hermione sighed. “It'll be a madhouse if I come back. They'll be all over me.”

“We can make an announcement and then hide you at Hogwarts. They won't be able to find you, but it won't be a shock when you do decide to come back. I know a bit about this and they'll lose interest eventually. Maybe they've already lost interest.”

Hermione, who made a career of knowing when people were about to move on, rolled her eyes as Harry said that.

“You know, that might work. . .if I was willing to stay at Hogwarts for six months! Honestly, how would I get anything done? They'd expect my column, you know.”

Harry looked at her for a minute and, in a sudden burst of perception, realized something. “They have no idea who you are at all, do they?”

“I told you,” Hermione began, “I didn't trade in on any of that. I'm not going to namedrop my way anywhere. It wasn't important and I didn't tell anyone, not anyone at all.”

“But what if it's just your name? Alison Gryffin doesn't exist. That isn't you at all.”

“Harry. . .”

Silence reigned once more. Hermione looked out the window and Harry sighed.

“Hermione Granger is a human being, you know.” Harry leaned forward, trying to get Hermione's attention. “She's smart and funny and loyal and always looking out for her friends. She's a great girl, Hermione, you're a great girl. That's who you are, you can't get away from it.”

“But I have, you know. No one thinks I'm a superheroine here. I'm just a writer.”

Harry looked at her appraisingly a minute before speaking. “I've read your work before I found out it was you and you couldn't be just anything if you tried. You're good at this, just like you've been good at anything you've ever wanted to do.”

“See, that's not true. I wasn't good at being admired. I couldn't deal with the attention I was getting and I certainly couldn't deal with the amount of. . .admiration. . .you were getting.”

“Hermione, I was unconscious and I had no idea about all those. . .girls,” there was a pause while Harry made a face indicating that his word choice wasn't really what he wanted to say, “waiting outside my door. When I found out about them I wasn't happy, not even a little. Then I found out you'd left and I couldn't deal with that. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do next. You had become sort of a base for me and without you, I felt lost.”

“But you've done okay. You know what you need to do, you don't need me there for that.”

“You're right. I don't need you there. I want you there.” Harry sat back, almost challenging Hermione to respond to his statement.

“I'm sorry, Harry.” Hermione was radiating both sincerity and determination. “I'm so sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, Hermione, come back. You can live with me. I live in a very secure area and I've already told you - I can keep you safe and away from the press.”

“But this is my life.” Hermione swept her arm around, indicating the open windows and cozy living room. “I can't just leave it now.”

“You were able to just leave last time.” Harry's hurt at being abandoned almost filled the room as he uttered that sentence.

“No, I had to. There's a difference. Harry, we keep talking in circles. I can't come back yet. I'm sorry.”

With that, Hermione got up, swiftly wrapped her arms around Harry and retreated to the safety of her room. She was undressing, her thoughts swirling through her brain when she heard Harry on the other side of the door.

“We're not done talking, you know.” Harry stood there, his hand against the wood of Hermione's bedroom door.

Hermione walked over to the piece of wood between them, leaning her tired head against it. “I need some sleep and so do you. I. . .it's been too much. I just can't fight you.”

“Good.”

“Harry. . . I can't fight you, but that doesn't mean you win.”

“We'll see, Hermione, we'll see.” Harry brushed his hand against the wood almost in a caress before walking away to his makeshift bed. He had given her this round, but the seeds of an idea were forming in his head. . .

The next day dawned clear and bright. Having finished her current article, Hermione was free to work from home for a few days, researching the subject of her next piece. She hadn't set an alarm, expecting her normal habit of rising early to wake her. Turning to said alarm clock, she was amazed to discover it was ten thirty. She hadn't slept that long in months. Not that it had done her any good, she hadn't fallen asleep right away, but had stared into the dark, internally debating going back to England with Harry.

But, she reasoned with herself, she had done a lot for Harry. And now she had responsibilities here. She couldn't just leave this place because Harry swooped back into her life. Yes, she decided, she was going to tell him that. And not leave any room for discussion.

Squaring her shoulders, she left her bedroom stopping when she noticed the stillness in her apartment. It was normal, of course, for it to be this quiet with just her in it. Just as she opened her mouth to call out for the boys, she noticed an envelope sitting on the dining room table. Her name, written across it in Harry's spiky boy-script, seemed almost accusing. Guilt suddenly coursed through her veins. Perhaps she should've listened to Harry last night. Perhaps she should've written more. Perhaps she should. . .perhaps she shouldn't have left in the first place.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts of second guessing, she walked over and opened the envelope.

Hermione,

I understand, in part, that you just can't leave what you're doing. It's part of who you are. I love you for it.

We love you for it, Hermione. Even if it does make you daft sometimes. ~RW

Anyway, Hermione, you're not daft. You're dedicated and I, having gained so much from that dedication, can hardly fault you for it. You've done so much for me.

And me! Couldn't have made it through McGonagall's class without you! ~RW

Well, that's not quite what I'm talking about. I hope I can make it clearer soon.

I love you.

Harry

P.S. I love you, too. Even if you are daft. ~RW

The sign-off wasn't terribly unusual, except it would've been “we love you” in most cases. The three of them had been telling each other that for a long time. They did love each other. How could they not? But something told Hermione that perhaps Harry meant it differently.

Settling back onto her couch with a great whoosh, she idly petted Crookshanks who was sitting beside her.

“Well, Crooks, what do I do now?” The cat blinked at her, almost as if encouraging her to go on. “I love Harry. That's part of the reason I left. He seems to have gotten the idea and that letter seemed to. . .I had a feeling he wasn't just speaking for the two of them. Usually it would've been teasing, like Ron's.”

The orange cat, used to hearing his mistress think out loud, simply rolled over, giving her access to his stomach.

“I wonder what he meant by `I hope I can make it clearer soon?'” And, having uttered that final sentence, Hermione accioed her laptop, settling in to do some research. She always had found comfort in academia. This was just a different sort.

And so Hermione's life settled firmly back into place. Her day-to-day life wasn't different, but it was almost as if someone had flipped a switch, changing her settings from color to black and white. She almost resented the intrusion. She had been doing fine here. It was her adopted home, it was her life. She'd go back to England eventually. She wasn't sure Harry would be there, waiting for her, but that was a risk she had to take. But his presence seemed to haunt her, she felt him through her apartment, almost as if he had lived there instead of only spending a night. She started thinking of Chicago less of home and started dreaming about people who spoke like her. And take-away curries. She had to admit she missed those.

She was finding herself less inclined to go out for after-work drinks, though. Men who normally would've at least piqued her interest in a brief fashion didn't even get a second glance, barely a first one. She knew she had it bad. But her professional pride wouldn't let her do anything about it. Even her boss had noticed, stopping in and asking if Hermione wouldn't want a holiday to go home.

Her boss had been surprised at the barely concealed horror Hermione had expressed at the thought and had slipped away, wondering what that was all about. Hermione, on the other hand, knew exactly what it was about. If she went home, she'd never leave. She'd move into Harry's very secure flat until she found her own (or, if she was being particularly honest, she would just move into Harry's flat, period) and get a job or tele-commute to this one from there. . .

It was after Hermione had spent a very happy ten minutes imagining moving to England that she decided she was going to look into it. She'd go home, make a plan and come in tomorrow and present to her boss. She'd still be fulfilling her obligations to work and she'd get to go back to England. Her self-imposed exile was starting to pale in comparison to the people, the places, she had back home and, just as firmly as she decided she had to come, she decided that maybe she should look into going.

She almost tripped in her hurry to get out the door.

Smiling wanly at Alex as he pulled the door open, Hermione strode across the lobby and stepped into the elevators. She focused on her article. She thought about her parents. She, determinedly, did not think about emerald green eyes under messy black hair. She was going home because she needed to, not just because Harry had asked. Though Hermione was honest with herself, Harry had definitely started this in motion. And she might not be going home at all. She was just looking into it. Nothing was certain.

Stepping out of the elevator, she noticed that there was something different. The small table outside of the door beside hers had a newspaper on it, indicating someone had moved in. She would've normally stepped over and introduced herself, but there was simply no time. Fumbling around in her bag for her keys, she heard the door in question open. Debating stopping and saying something, politeness won out and she withdrew her hand from her purse and prepared to extend it to her new neighbor.

She stopped short when she saw whom it was standing there. Vivid green eyes met shocked cinnamon ones in an amused glance. Messy black hair stood out in stark relief to his lightly tanned face. Must be the Quidditch, she thought.

And then she thought no more, flinging herself into his opened arms. She was horrified to find herself sobbing into his shoulder for the second time that month.

“Hey, hey, Hermione, now, what's all this? Shh, shhh, love. . .” Harry looked down at the quivering girl in his arms, shocked at the strength of her reaction. And he hadn't even told her all of it, all she had done was see him come out of the door beside hers.

“Harry! I'm just. . .I was about to. . .Harry, what are you doing here?” Hermione was mumbling into his shoulder, not willing to relinquish the contact she had desperately thrown herself into.

“Why don't we go inside, love, and I'll tell you all about it.” Harry gently guided her not through her own door, but through the one he had just come from.

“But, Harry, this is someone else's. . .” Hermione started, trailing off as she noticed the Quidditch memorabilia and Gryffindor class photo sitting on the mantle. “Harry,” she started, wonderingly this time, “what have you done?”

“It's, umm, it's just for the weekends. We're about to go into the off-season, and Ron thought it would be good for me to have some place to go when I want to get away from things. Honestly, I think I'll be spending a lot more time here.” Harry said the last part shyly, before adding, “I've got a portkey to take me back and forth so I don't get too tired. I hope you're not upset.”

“Harry, you idiot, you great idiot, how could I be upset?” Hermione stared at him, shocked. “I was just coming home to look into moving back to England.”

It was Harry's turn to be surprised. “You were going to do that? For me?”

“Well, yes. In part because of you. Not completely, you see, but you were, you are, a large part of things. I hope that you'll continue to be a large part of things.” Hermione had said the last part very softly, almost to herself.

“Did you ever ward your apartment, Hermione?” Harry was looking at her very intently.

“Why?” Hermione started to ask questions, but seeing the look in Harry's eyes, she simply shook her head.

And she smiled as Harry waved his wand, creating a doorway that led from her living room to his.

Having finished his work, he placed his wand on the table, simply stating, “I hope to be a very large part of things, too.”

And after saying that, Harry Potter took Hermione Granger's face in his hands and kissed her soundly, clearing all doubt from her mind as to how large a part he was looking for.

Hermione, for the record, was very pleased with this development. Not only was she ending up with the love of her life, but she was sure he had a Wizarding Wireless with him.

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Thanks for reading.

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