Author's Note: The world of Harry Potter belongs solely to JK Rowling. Any characters not appearing in the books written by Ms. Rowling are of my own creation.

There's a saying in the muggle word that says blessings often come in disguises. If Hermione believed in such things then she might have thought herself incredibly blessed. But she did not believe in such idioms. After all, why would she believe in such things that also put you in between a rock and a hard place or say that two in the hand is worth one in the bush? It was nonsense and Hermione simply didn't believe in nonsense.

Her life would have been a lot easier had she simply believed.

When she was 18 the worst being in the wizarding word was vanquished. She didn't actually see it with her own eyes. She was defending those around her from that worst wizards comrades. But she heard the noises and turned just seconds after it was all over. Those who think life got back to normal quickly after the end of the war were stupid, she thought, resolute in her opinion. How could anyone look at Hogwarts, the symbol for all of wizard kind, and think that life or anything could go back to normal quickly? The old castle was in ruin, walls collapsed, stone missing, statues in rubble; there would be no quick fix, magic or otherwise, for the wizarding world or the school which stood at its center.

But they worked for years, several years, to rebuild the world. New government officials were put into place. A new headmistress, new to the position, but most certainly not new to the school, was appointed. New aurors, new professors, new stone in place of the old. But everything was coated with just a hint of the old, sparks of the good who had fallen in the quest to defeat Voldemort. Just as the new stones were made from transfiguring the dust and rubble of the old. There was one idiom Hermione could get behind: if you forget history, it is doomed to repeat itself. She personally saw to the undertaking of making sure the last two wars were remembered so that a third didn't come about.

It wasn't until nearly five years after Voldemort had been defeated that life seemed to become somewhat normal. Not that Hermione had really known normal since she had started school at Hogwarts. Every year there had been something to keep her from being able to call the school year normal, but she imagined life five years post war was the normal she had been lacking. She had returned to school, when it reopened, and finished her last year at Hogwarts, graduating when she was twenty. She had been offered plenty of positions, but she finally choose a job at the ministry where she felt she could do the most good. She was close to Harry and Ron, in the same building, and that pleased her because even five years later she couldn't stand the idea of being too far away from them. They were connected, the three of them, forever, and she might as well, she decided long ago, not try and fight that. She had a flat, a small one in Diagon Alley. It only had one bedroom, a bathroom, and an open kitchen/living space, but it suited her needs and she bought a large couch that could be suitably used for a spare sleeping spot if the occasion should arise.

And it often did. Harry visited, coming over for dinner after work or for a drink or two when neither of them could sleep, but he more often than not made his way to Ginny. An engagement, everyone suspected, was only a matter of time. Ron, on the other hand, had nightmares still, even five years after the war was over. While everyone in the wizarding world had gone through the war, the three of them were on the front lines from day one and they were the only ones who truly understood. And Ron had always had the most difficult time adjusting to what they had had to do. Even on the run his adjustment was larger than either Harry's or Hermione's, for whatever reason. So he often ended up camped out on Hermione's sofa, comforted by the mere thought of one of his best friends only being a room away. They had tried dating, while the world was rebuilding itself, but for whatever reason, no time, distractions, too good of friends, it just didn't work for the two of them. They had chemistry, but all the wrong kinds, and they agreed, mutually, that they were better off friends.

With that settled between her and Ron, Hermione's life seemed to be working it's way back to settled entirely. She had work, a home, her parents back, her Weasley family, and her friends. She didn't need much more and she was content, day to day, to go about her life. She the thought the upheaval of her life was over, that surprises would be limited to the everyday type, the run-of-the-mill ones that everyone experienced.

Hermione knew, better than most, that she never assume anything. After all, that was another idiom she despised.

It was August, just one month before her twenty-fifth birthday, that she received a ministry owl early one Saturday morning. It was her one day to sleep in—even though she had been told on many occasions that half past eight was not sleeping in—and she grumbled as she rose to open the window for the animal. It swooped in unceremoniously and dropped a scroll on her kitchen table and turned and flew out before Hermione could even offer it one of the treats she kept on her counter for just such occasions. The all business nature of the owl worried Hermione, who was a worrier even in the best of situations, instantly and she stared at the scroll for several long minutes before she even started to move toward the table. Once she had decided she had best at least move away from the window, it was still several more minutes after she had taken a seat at the table before she reached out a hand and lifted the scroll.

Before she could break the seal and read the contents her fireplace roared to life and her shadowed living room glowed green. Only a few people had access to Hermione's flop and she looked up, wondering if it would be Harry, Ron, or another of the Weasley's to come through. The scroll was not forgotten however, and she continued to work a finger at the wax seal as a figure stepped out of her hearth.

"Honey, I'm home," a very clearly two eared Weasley twin called as he walked toward the table.

Hermione wasn't sure if his words were considered an idiom or not, but she decided she didn't like that phrase anymore than all the others.

Author's Note, part II: Soit's been about five years since I've written a story on here, but I've been reading a lot recently and I've decided to make a comeback (if this can even be called a comeback; more like a return). This year is my ten year anniversary of being on and what better time than now to post a new story? If you like, please review. I'm hoping to get another chapter up soon. Thanks all!