Disclaimer: Sadly, I own none of the characters or places or concepts mentioned in this fic. It belongs to J.K. Rowling and corresponding affiliates. Reviews are MUCHO appreciated.

Hermione Granger mounted the steps of the Burrow, completely unaware that a pair of blue eyes was watching her intently from a high window. She cheerfully adjusted the heavy duffel bag she had slung across her shoulder, amazed as always at the tonic-like effect the very atmosphere of the Burrow had on her. Her fluffy gingery cat, Crookshanks, mewed imploringly to be released from the cage she held in her right hand. Stooping down, she unhooked the latch of his pet carrier and watched, amused, as he darted across the lawn in pursuit of a large yellow butterfly.

She remained crouched for a moment, breathing in the fragrance of freshly-mown grass and something she thought might be buttercups. The gentle morning sun playing across her face seemed to warm her from the inside out, melting the worry she had been wearing like a burdensome garment. She smiled, a real smile, for the first time in several days.

She sighed and rose, stretching her arms and legs and yawning. It felt so good just to be outside, to be young and whole and alive. She was on the verge of rapping smartly on the front door of the Burrow when it creaked ominously open. A pale, thin hand emerged from the gap, seized Hermione's wrist, and dragged her unceremoniously inside.

"Ginny -" Hermione began in alarm, but the other girl quickly put her finger to her lips, her brown eyes widened in terror. "Ginny - what- ?"

"Shut up," Ginny moaned under her breath, beckoning toward the staircase that led to the ether rooms. "She'll hear you."

Hermione followed dazedly, her concern mounting.

She placed her hand on the banister. No sooner had she done this than a shrill piercing noise sounded from the kitchen and Mrs. Weasley and Fleur Delacour stormed into the room. Both women's hands were fastened to their hips, and Hermione was alarmed to see that Mrs. Weasley's face was a brilliant magenta. "Hermione - dear," she said, as if she were barely restraining herself from throttling Hermione, "Fleur and I have been cleaning all day and I would appreciate it if you would keep your hands -" Hermione jerked the offending hand from the stair railing with a convulsive gesture, "off of everything."

"Oh, Mrs. Weasley, I'm so sorry," Hermione apologized, throwing a miserable look at Ginny. The redheaded girl was glaring in a way that clearly said, "See what you've done!"

Mrs. Weasley seemed to relax a bit, for she drew Hermione into an embrace and said, "It's all right, dear. I'm sure you meant no harm. Have you been holding up all right?"

Hermione nodded, wondering if she were telling the truth. She had been finding it difficult to eat or sleep since term had ended, and a sort of restless fatigue had lain over her, transforming what should have been restful nights into restive vigils. Deciding that it was too difficult to express these tousled feelings, she returned Mrs. Weasley's hug and forced a smile.

"I'm fine. How've you all been?"

"We're making it, dear," Mrs. Weasley said grimly. "Fleur and I have been all but preoccupied these past few days, what with the wedding and all. Oh, heavens, that reminds me! We've a soufflé in the oven. Ron's upstairs and Harry should be arriving this afternoon." Without another word, Mrs. Weasley and Fleur disappeared back into the kitchen.

"Thank god you're here," said Ginny when she was sure her mother and Fleur were out of earshot. "It's been mad. They've done nothing but clean and bake - and yell at people," she tacked on thoughtfully. "Perhaps they'll lighten up now that you've arrived. Fleur's having a bachelorette party tonight, you know. She's quite keen on the idea - has been ever since she found out about the one Fred and George are throwing for Bill. Seems to think it will be 'vairy amusing.'"

Hermione laughed and followed Ginny upstairs. The two girls chatted unbrokenly, discussing the type of fantastic stunts the twins likely had planned for their oldest brother's bachelor party.

"Plenty of alcohol," Ginny remarked. "I heard Fred saying they were ordering something like three kegs of fire whiskey. Mum's planning Fleur's, so it'll be butterbeers all 'round for us."

Before Hermione could reply, Ginny's brother, Ron, appeared. Bracing herself for an awkward silence, Hermione was stunned when Ron lifted her into a tight hug and whispered into her hair, "I've missed you."

"Oh," she breathed when he released her. He smiled down at her, and she wondered if he could have possibly grown in the week since she'd last seen him. She smiled at the foolish thought, but he really did look - well - larger. Perhaps it was his emotional growth that accounted for his sudden exceptionally straight shoulders and imposing posture, she mused. But all coherent thought was driven from her head when he took her hand in his. "I've missed you too," she managed. They were so close she could smell him - the same fascinating, intoxicating aroma of soap and some unidentifiable spice that he had unconsciously exuded for years. His other hand came up to rest tenderly on her cheek.

"Ahem," said a piercing voice, heedlessly shredding the misty veil that had fallen so suddenly over them. Both of them flushed brilliantly as they became aware of Ginny's presence. Ron quickly withdrew both hands and relegated them tightly to his sides, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. "Right," he said lamely. "Right - so how've you been?"

"Okay," Hermione replied slowly. "And you?"

"All right." He coughed a little awkwardly and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Been spending a lot of time in my room, you know. Sleeping. I think I needed it."

Ginny laughed a trifle bitterly. "Exhaustion's characterized this whole family since - well, since -" She broke off, and Hermione felt tears spring, unbidden, to her eyes. The ache that signified Dumbledore's absence in her life throbbed powerfully within her chest, and she attempted to push the hurt away. She couldn't afford to show even the slightest weakness. Not now, when everyone else seemed so strong.

"Right," she said, pasting on the false smile that, no matter how often she donned it, would never feel natural. "Um, I guess I should put my things away." She gestured weakly to Crookshank's carrier and her bag. "I'll be sleeping in your room, then?"

Ginny shook her head, wilting suddenly. "Mum's bloody chunked you in the guest room. Lucky."

"Why? I'd rather share with you."

Ginny heaved a small sigh. "I'm already bunking with Gabrielle…you know, Fleur's younger sister? She's a right pain in the arse."

Hermione nodded her comprehension, grinning a bit when she realized that Ginny had dispensed with Fleur's former, very unflattering, nickname. The redhead was clearly growing accustomed to her new sister-in-law-to-be. "Gabrielle's what, ten? Does she speak any English?"

"Her English is crap," sighed Ginny, "and she's essentially the carbon copy of Fleur. But what can you do, right? I can't exactly kick up a fuss over my new roommate when everyone's so preoccupied with…other things. C'mon, the guest room's just below the attic."

Hermione hoisted her duffle bag onto her shoulder and followed Ginny along the narrow hall. She tossed a parting glance at Ron over her shoulder. His ears were suddenly tinged with red, and Hermione couldn't suppress a rather vixenish smile. After all, flirting felt good.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione's bags were unpacked and her few possessions had found a new home in the Weasley's guest room. It was a rather small room, shabby like the rest of the house, but it was neat and clean and smelled of lemon cleaning solvent. Ginny had sprawled herself across the crazy quilt Molly had affixed on Hermione's bed, idly picking at her fingernails. Hermione was assessing her apperance in the mirror, mentally picturing herself with a shorter, more stylish haircut. She ran an experimental hand along her lengthy curls, then sighed, turning to face Ginny.

"Should I…you know…take the plunge?"

Ginny sat up expectantly. "You mean tell Ron you love him?"

"Are you kidding?" Hermione squeaked. "God, no. I'm thinking about cutting my hair. You know, for the wedding and everything"

Comprehension dawned on Ginny's freckled face. "OH! You totally should. I've always thought short hair would look gorgeous on you."

Hermione flushed pleasedly, as she had always secretly harbored a similar notion. "Seriously?" Ginny nodded. "Right. Let's do it. Like, now."

"Now?" Ginny repeated incredulously. "Um, don't you think you should leave drastic haircuts to the professionals? Mum's friends with this fantastic stylist, her name's Orchid Snippet, she works out of Diagon Alley and she's done…"

"No stylists," Hermione decreed, overriding Ginny in midsentence. "I want to do it myself. With your help, of course. I mean, c'mon, Gin, how hard can it possibly be? A little snip here, a little snip there and voila: new and improved Hermione."

Ginny's eyebrows remained skeptically aloft.

Hermione sighed, touching her hair again. Suddenly, the familiar mass of bushy curls felt like a burden. If she could rid herself of these weighty locks, perhaps some of the heavy pain she was carrying inside would disappear, too. She could start afresh. She was a grown-up now, after all. Wouldn't a new, grown-up haircut aptly mark the occasion?

Hermione placed a beseeching hand on Ginny's forearm, widening her already large brown eyes to their fullest extent. "Please?"

Ginny sighed helplessly, powerless under Hermione's pitifully imploring gaze. "Right. Fine…I'll get Mum's shears."

Hermione grinned wildly, seizing the younger girl in a bone-crushing hug. "Brilliant."

Hermione's enthusiasm was apparently infectious, for Ginny found herself grinning wildly back. "I'll be right back."

It was over. Hermione was sitting on a spindly, three-legged stool, her back facing the mirror and her face screwed up with anticipation. Ginny held the shears aloft in one hand, her stance reminiscent of the lone perpetrator in a brutal mass murder; Hermione's bountiful locks were her unfortunate victims. Piles and piles of lush, dark hair densely carpeted the scuffed guest room floor. Another curl, an afterthought, fluttered to the wayside as Ginny casually snipped it.

"Is it over?" Hermione demanded through gritted teeth.

Ginny rumpled the short cap of hair that remained on her best friend's head, considering. "Yeah. I suppose so."

A long sigh issued through Hermione's clenched teeth. Cleansing breaths, she thought.

"So I can turn around?"

"Yep."

Hermione spun around on the stool, her eyes squeezed shut. "So I can open my eyes?"

"Yep."

Hermione took another cleansing breath, vainly attempting to stay the trembling of her hands.

"ZUT ALLORS!" yelped a voice suddenly from the threshold, and her eyes flew involuntarily open.

A terribly unfamiliar girl greeted Hermione's bewildered sight . Her oval face was flushed with excitement, her pink mouth popped slightly open with surprise. Her soft, bright brown eyes widened when Hermione's did, made terribly prominent by the girls' unusual haircut. Her brown locks barely skimmed the tips of the girl's pointed ears, curling softly about her wide, expressive forehead. Its striking brevity emphasized the girl's determined jaw, and her full, rounded cheekbones. Hermione's mouth closed as she continued to consider the face in the mirror. This girl was beautiful, and stylish, and very arresting.

And oddly enough, she was Hermione Granger.

Just as this thought registered in Hermione's confused brain, Fleur Delacour grabbed her round the face and impulsively kissed her forehead. "Oh, my, but your hair! Eet is most beautiful!"

Hermione went red. "It's not -- I mean…"

"Just you wait until ze uzzers see! Zey will die! Zey will faint! Magnifique!"

Fleur appraised Hermione for a few more moments, beaming all over her gorgeous face. "Ron will crap his pants," Ginny volunteered helpfully.

"Ah, mais oui! Bill's youngest bruzzer will melt into your arms. And eef his kisses are anything like his Bill's…" Fleur trailed off delicately, her violet eyes suddenly dreamy and faraway.

Hermione went, if possible, even redder.