Chapter One: The Brightest Witch of Her Age

Hermione had once crammed sixteen hours straight for an ancient runes final exam she had forgotten about. She sustained three paper cuts from her notes, drank ten cups of coffee, and then had a nervous breakdown directly after the test in her dorm room. She had accidentally caused all the feathers to erupt from the feather pillows on her roommate's beds. Her dorm room had looked like a snowglobe.

She was more stressed about a single coffee shop date than about cramming for that exam.

The shop was called "The Witch's Brew," and Hermione couldn't decide if she liked it or not. The walls were covered in lurid chalk drawings of forest creatures that scampered and winked. This gave the shop a claustrophobic feeling; a 5-foot tall squirrel towered behind her table, grinning maniacally. All of the drinks were named disgusting things, like "Cup of Worms" or "Eye of Newt Neopolitan Soda." A strange scent lingered on the air, like a cross between burnt cocoa and a potion gone sour. Hermione delicately sniffed the drink in her hand, hoping the smell wasn't coming from her cup.

From across the room Hermione spotted Tonks approaching, and she put her cup down with a sharp snap.

Tonks was dressed in a purple suit. The cover of an old record that her parents owned flashed through Hermione's mind at the sight of it-Purple Rain, by Prince. Tonks also sported black combat boots, dark purple fingernails, and long curly hair.

Tonks paused at the edge of the table, looking as nervous as Hermione felt. "Is this too much? I may have gone overboard."

"You look like Prince," Hermione blurted out.

Hermione turned a deep shade of red, cutting Tonks off before they could respond. "I'm so sorry, I haven't been on a date in… hardly ever. I don't do this much."

A wicked smile pulled at the corner of Tonks mouth. "Oh, so this is a date?"

Hermione opened her mouth, and then closed it with a snap. Tonks laughed, and it rumbled pleasantly in their chest. "I made Hermione Granger-war hero, former Prefect and the top of her year-speechless. This is going to be fun. And for the record, I love Prince. My mum had his record when I was younger."

Tonks' gaze fell at the mention of Tonk's mother. Hermione wanted to say something-she had heard the news about Tonks' parents in the paper, or maybe Harry had mentioned it-the end of the war had been a terrible blur of death and horror. But instead she blurted out: "My mom loved Prince. My dad would tease her about it all the time. He said that she was going to leave him for Prince someday."

Tonks laughed. "Imagine what your mother is going to say when she finds out you're dating Prince."

Something sharp and painful twisted in Hermione's chest at the mention of her mother. Sensing the shift in mood, Tonks sat down and changed the subject. "So, ah, is this your favorite coffee shop? Do you come here a lot?"

Hermione leaned in, in case one of the waitresses was lurking nearby. (All of them were dressed in ears and tails of some kind, to represent woodland creatures, which Hermione found sexist at best and a little disturbing at worst.) "To be honest, I've never been here before, and it's a little… weird."

Tonks exhaled. "Thank Merlin, I didn't want to offend you. But this place really creeps me out."

"Right?" hissed Hermione, "The chalk drawings are too big! And they watch you."

"And what's with the waitresses? And the burnt smell that's everywhere?"

Hermione laughed. She swirled the pink contents of her mug, showing it to Tonks. "I think that this is just pepto bismol with a spell on it."

Tonks grinned at her again. It made Hermione's heart pound a little faster, her palms sweat. It's just because it's too hot in here, Hermione told herself nervously.

Tonks stood, banging their knee on the table leg and grimacing. They held out their hand. "Would you rather see a really cool bit of magic instead?"

Hermione stared at their outstretched palm. "Are you… offering to help me up? Gallantly, or something?"

Tonks grinned a crooked smile. "This is my move, actually. I offer to help you up, and then I don't let go of your hand. It's very natural, very suave, which is something I don't manage very often. But I see that I've finally met my match."

Hermione's cheeks colored again. Tentatively, she held out her hand. Tonks was stronger than Hermione had expected; but then again, as a Metamorphagus, Hermione supposed that Tonks could make themself as muscular as they wanted. Hermione barely had to steady herself as Tonks pulled her upright, despite her weak leg buckling a little. She hoped that Tonks didn't notice her wobble.

"How far away is this spectacular magic?" Hermione asked, trying to sound casual instead of panicked by the prospect of walking a long time on snow. True to their word, Tonks kept a hold of Hermione's hand as they lead her downstairs.

"Oh, it's just a short walk over the South field. Why, scared that I'm luring you away for devious ends?" Tonks waggled their eyebrows.

"Something tells me most of your ends are devious."

"I am the perfect gentle-person," Tonks scoffed. Their hand felt warm and strong in Hermione's grip. It sent a small jolt of energy up the length of Hermione's arm that she suspected had nothing to do with magic.

They exited the shop and were greeted by a cold blast of January air that made Hermione's eyes water. Hogsmeade wasn't as well-populated as it had been before the war, but six months later, you could see signs of recovery-shops with re-open signs hung in the front windows, clean cobblestone streets, people walking a little more slowly instead of rushing to get indoors.

Thankfully Tonks kept a leisurely pace, so Hermione didn't have to limp or struggle to keep up. Tonks brushed the side of her hand with their thumb. "So this may be a loaded question, but how have you been since the War ended? A lot has happened since then."

The memories danced at the edge of Hermione's vision, thick with pain. Her room underground at St. Mungo's, dark and stifling, the curtains always drawn. The sound of her roommate sobbing wetly into her sheets. Harry's face swimming above her bedside, and then Ron's, and finally just Harry's-his face pale and pinched. The feeling of his hand pressed against her forehead, smoothing her hair.

"They gave me a flat," Hermione blurted out, "And I don't really like it, but it seemed rude to tell them so."

Tonks laughed. "So polite of you. Who is 'them?'"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt. Well, the whole ministry, I guess. They gave Harry one too, and… and Ron."

Tonks cocked an eyebrow at Hermione stumbling over Ron's name. "I had heard a rumor that you and Ron were…"

"We're not." Hermione said quietly. Her muscles were stiffening in the cold air, and she had to slow down. The cobblestones rang with small clacking sounds as her specially-made boots hit the street. "And I really don't want to talk about that."

Tonks nodded. "So this flat… you hate it?"

They had reached the edge of a snow-covered field. Hermione breathed in the sugar-sharp air, letting it sting her lungs. The far ridge of trees was covered in ice, and a full moon climbed high above their dark, twisted arms. To the left of the trees were a few far-off red brick cottages. One of them was cheerfully spouting smoke from a chimney.

Hermione took a deep breath. The ground would be difficult to walk on, impossible for her to walk over quickly. I could just tell Tonks the truth, Hermione thought, exhaling slowly.

Hermione's old stubbornness set in. She kept hold of Tonks hand and took a step onto the frozen ground. "It's a very gloomy flat. I appreciate the thought, because they bespelled it with all sorts of protections and spells, and there are still Voldemort supporters and Death Eaters being rooted out…"

Tonks let out a short bark of a laugh. "Don't I know it. I've been pulling overtime for weeks at the Auror Office."

"...but the windows are small and grimy and it's a bit dismal. Harry is right down the hall from me, which is nice. But it's not much of a home."

"I guess I know what you mean," Tonks said, "I'm living in my parent's old country house alone. It's gorgeous, but without them there, it seems very stifling. I haven't been there much since I've been working night and day."

Hermione paused, words trapped on the tip of her tongue. "They… they died, right?"

Tonks nodded. Their palm tensed in Hermione's. Hermione suddenly noticed the dark circles under their eyes. "Yeah. Earlier on in the war. The Death Eaters got dad. Bellatrix found mom. I've been trying my best to…"

Hermione yelped, cutting Tonks off. Her leg twisted beneath her as she stepped into a hole in the terrain. Tonks tried to steady her but overbalanced, and they both tumbled into the snow. Hermione gave a small cry of pain and rubbed her bad leg, which throbbed angrily, damp beneath her thigh-high pressure sock. Tonks was draped across her torso and scrambled up, slipping and scrabbling on the icy ground.

Tonks offered two hands to help her stand. Her cheeks burning, Hermione shook her head. "I need a minute to stand. My leg hurts. It'll take a second to subside."

Tonks nodded. To Hermione's surprise Tonks sat down in the snow next to her. Tonks pulled out their wand and pointed it at Hermione's soaked leg. "Can I help?"

Hermione pulled her skirt up to expose the whole leg-her specialised boot, her long grey sock, the delicate metal pieces over the sock. Tonks twirled their wand. "Abrashio."

A sweet warmth spread through Hermione's leg. Her pressure sock dried, and her muscles unknotted-the pain moved from a sharp stab to an ache. Tonks took Hermione's hand once more and then moved their wand in a complicated figure eight motion, muttering under their breath. A warm blanket appeared beneath them in the snow, thick and woolen.

"You're very… prepared." Hermione said.

Tonks shrugged. "Most aurors have basic supplies ready that are relevant to the seasons, and the charms to summon them."

Hermione fiddled with the hem of her skirt. "You probably want to know what's wrong with my leg."

Tonks rubbed the side of her hand with their thumb. Their hands were calloused, their wand covered in fingerprints and their collar accidentally popped. Hermione realized with a start that she found Tonks incredibly endearing, sitting in the moonlight in their rumpled purple suit. Hermione shook her head to clear it.

"You don't really owe me any information," said Tonks.

"It's a cursed wound," Hermione said. The information built inside her chest and then seemed to come pouring out. "A Death Eater shot a spell at me during the Battle of Hogwarts. He only hit my left leg, which is good, but it still won't ever heal all the way."

Tonks sucked in a breath. "Do the healer's know what spell the Death Eater used, exactly?"

The scene replayed in terrible detail in Hermione's head. Ron, still fifty feet away from her, watching the Death Eater level his wand at her. The Death Eater had been wearing a skull as a mask. His wand hand had been bleeding, dripping on the courtyard as he shot a spell at her. Ron's terrified scream ripped hoarsely from his throat as Hermione dodged, but not fast enough. She had fallen to the stones and scraped her hands. The spell felt like a burning snake made of glass had wedged itself in the marrow of her left leg. She had woken up in St. Mungo's in terrible pain a day later.

"No," said Hermione, "Ron ripped the Death Eater's mask off before he disapparated, though. He had a great scar running across one of his cheeks, shaped like a half moon. He wasn't found with the dead, so we… we think that…"

"You think he got away." Tonks said flatly.

"Harry has been looking for him some, and he's on the Auror lists, but of course there are still so many Death Eater's abroad that he could be anywhere… we've been calling him Half Moon, for the scar."

Tonks took Hermione's hand and placed it between their warm palms. "I'm really sorry that happened to you."

The warming charm on the blanket was starting to wear off. Hermione could feel the chill from the ground creeping up, seeping into her legs. She hadn't talked to anyone about the curse on her leg before, not at length. She couldn't decide if it was refreshing or terrifying. "I guess the scary part is, they don't really know what comes next. Will they find a way to reverse the curse? Will my leg continue to degenerate? The healers aren't sure. No one is really sure."

Tonks slowly climbed to their feet. They offered Hermione a hand up and she took it, and then they vanished the blanket. "I'm glad that you told me. I'm not sure about much either, after the war. If you want, we can be unsure together."

It was refreshing, Hermione reflected, to not be offered a solution or an improbable counter-spell, or an elaborate plan for vengeance, or even a thank you for 'her sacrifice for the cause.' Instead, Tonks offered Hermione their arm. Their eyes were silvery in the moonlight. "Do you want to go forward or walk back now?"

Hermione touched her leg gingerly. "It's not much farther?"

"Right around those trees."

"I want to see it. Let's just walk slowly."

Tonks was right; in under five minutes they stopped behind the red brick house with the chimney. The windows were dark, and smoke had stopped pouring out of the chimney top. Hermione raised an eyebrow at Tonks. "We're in someone's backyard."

"They know me," Tonks laughed. Tonks dropped Hermione's arm for a minute to root through the snow. "C'mere."

Tonks pushed back some snow to reveal what looked like half of a clear, shimmery bubble. It was five feet wide and two feet deep, still dusted with snow crystals. "Illumine!" Tonks said.

A small sun burst from the end of Tonks' wand and revealed the contents of the bubble. Hermione reached her hand out tentatively. "Is that…?"

"Lettuce," Tonks said proudly.

There were two rows of lettuce planted in the soil and what looked like the tops of carrots, all peacefully growing beneath the shimmery surface of the bubble. It was disconcerting to see the bold splash of green in the midst of the blank expanse of snow. Tonks fiddled their wand and then gently put their hand through the surface of the bubble, pulling out a tender green leaf. "Wanna try?"

The lettuce leaf was warm to the touch. It tasted sweet, like a tiny breath of summer on Hermione's tongue. "It's really good."

"I call them winter gardens," Tonks said, "When I was first learning magic, my dad didn't think it was very practical. He was a Muggle, after all. He wanted me to learn math and such, Muggle things, along with the magic. But when I got old enough I made him this spell. He loved to garden, you see, and this let him do it all year round, even in two feet of snow. It was hard for him to be skeptical about magic after that."

Hermione noticed that Tonks looked wistful. She wasn't sure what to say; what could anyone say that really mattered in the face of such grief? Hermione squeezed Tonks hand. "This is really, really good magic. I'm sure your dad was really proud of you."

"He was," Tonks said simply. "Ready for the surprise?"

Hermione blinked. "What?"

Tonks pulled out their wand. "I lied about the blanket. I have it for a specific purpose. Are you ready?"

Hermione nodded. Tonks flicked their wand. "Geminius Oculus!"

The air around them began to shimmer. A clear bubble formed around them, three feet in each direction. Tonks flicked their wand and the blanket reappeared beneath them, along with what appeared to be a picnic basket. Lastly, three clear mason jars appears. Each of them had a stubby candle in the center; Tonks lit the candles with a flick of their wand and then floated the jars to hang above them, right under the surface of the bubble.

"Please sit down, Hermione Granger." Tonks said.

Hermione obliged, accepting Tonks' hand as she eased to the ground. Tonks pulled out two bottles of butterbeer, a wedge of cheese, bread, and two ceramic plates. The air inside the bubble was cool, but still much warmer than the air outside. Tonks poured Hermione some wine into a green mug.

Hermione studied Tonks surreptitiously as they sliced the cheese and bread. She had been hesitant to come on this date, at first. In part because the war didn't seem that far behind them, and it was hard to accept that life would continue, somehow, and that something as innocent as a date could exist. In part Hermione had merely been nervous-how many dates had she been on in total in her life? Five? Maybe six?

But the third reason had been Tonks. They had always struck Hermione as good-natured, but a bit bumbling-unprepared and clumsy. They were talented, no doubt, hand-picked by Mad-Eye Moody, but Hermione hadn't been sure about them.

But the person sitting across from Hermione was kind and thoughtful, and they contained a certain gravity that maybe only a war could provide-a quiet watchfulness, a kindness forged from hardship and long nights. Hermione found herself moved, warmed, taken aback. The stars above them beamed silver light down, and the candles filled the bubble with a woodsmoke smell and a gentle glow.

"Thank you for this," Hermione said finally. "I haven't felt this safe, this good, since… since…"

Tonks finished her sentence. "...since sometime before the War started. I get it. You're welcome."

Their fingers were still intertwined on top of the soft cotton fabric of the blanket. Hermione shifted her weight towards Tonks, her heart fluttering in her throat. Tonks stroked her cheek along the length of her jawline. "Can I kiss you?"

Hermione leaned forward and kissed Tonks. Tonks tasted like red wine; their lips were soft and warm. For a few moments, Hermione swore that the whole world grew quiet and stopped-almost like magic.