Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. I'm merely playing in Rowling's sandbox.

The Undesirables

They hadn't been prepared. Their notions of war had been idealistic, chimerical little concepts pieced together with the scraps Dumbledore and the surrounding adults had offered them. They had believed so naively, so whole-heartedly that it would all be over after the Light won. Voldemort would fail, his followers would be killed or captured, and all those who opposed him would live happily, free of fear and without the oppression of blood status hanging over them. They should've paid more attention, should've taken note of Sirius and Remus' jaded ways, their nervous and, in Sirius' case, drunken habits and realized that winning a war doesn't necessarily mean its over. But they hadn't been prepared, and now here they were. One year after Harry Potter had cast the curse that ended Voldemort's life and his reign of terror and the wizarding world was still at war.

"Hermione, what're you doing out here at this hour?" Harry's light footsteps, the result of years spent sneaking around a castle and dodging his abusive relatives, broke the silence. He crossed the small space between them and lowered himself to sit beside her on the stoop of their house, taking note of the sheet of parchment that was clasped in her hand.

"Just reflecting on everything that's happened this past year, Harry. You have to admit, this isn't where we thought we'd be." Hermione gestured to the space around them and Harry gathered that she was talking about more than the house they shared with Ron and Luna Lovegood, soon to be Weasley.

Of course, if she was talking about the house then she was correct on that front, too. He certainly hadn't ever imagined that he'd be sharing one of the many Black properties left to him in Sirius' will with his best friends and Luna. He had been fairly certain he'd marry Ginny and Hermione and Ron would find partners of their own, if not each other, but life hadn't worked out that way. Instead, Ron had grown closer to Luna after they escaped from Malfoy Manor and by the time the war came to a crescendo, they were a nearly inseparable couple. That hadn't been the only thing that didn't go according to plan when the war ended. Ron was going to be an auror, but he ended up signing a contract to play as a beater for the Chudley Cannons. It was a dream he had never thought would come true, but he had jumped at the opportunity to play for the team he adored since childhood. The fame and popularity that came with such a position were merely a bonus, and if he ever grew tired of constantly being the focus of the press as the only approachable member of the Golden Trio, he had the substantial amount of galleons in his Gringotts vault to comfort him. Harry and Hermione were happy for him. One of the Trio should get to live out their dream, especially since two thirds of the group were failing miserably at getting what they wanted out of life.

Harry had wanted to be out of the public eye. He wanted to do something nondescript, something that would be peaceful. No more fighting evil wizards, no more action or drama, he just wanted to be himself. He just wanted to be Harry. So, he had decided to work as a professor at Hogwarts teaching DADA. It was as close to a home as he ever had and he thought retuning to his roots might help him move past everything.

Unfortunately, he had barely accepted the position McGonagall had offered when frantic letters began arriving from concerned parents. Someone on the School Board had caught wind of the offer and the information had been leaked. Harry Potter was respected for defeating Voldemort and the wizarding public was grateful that he had, but that meant he was powerful and power was something to be feared. Rita Skeeter's article that detailed Voldemort's tragic life and his descent into madness (perhaps the only honest thing she'd ever written) didn't make matters any better for Harry. After all, Voldemort had applied for the DADA position at Hogwarts in his youth, too. It was just one more thing Harry had in common with the madman in the public's opinion.

Things had unfolded in a similar fashion for Hermione. Everyone knew she was the brain behind Voldemort's defeat. Everyone knew she had sacrificed her family, health, and to some degree, sanity, for the greater good, but people are often uncomfortable with sacrifice. Especially when they know they could have done more, should have done more so that an eighteen-year-old witch didn't have to sacrifice almost everything she had to bring down a megalomaniac. People were as uncomfortable with Hermione as they were with the rest of the witches and wizards that had been forced to do terrible things to win the war. In Harry's opinion, more than fear, people stayed away because they were ashamed. They were ashamed they hadn't done more, that they had put the burden of winning a war on the frail shoulders of adolescents and now that it was all over and they realized they had been wrong, they couldn't face their shame. This resulted in the population largely keeping its distance, which is why the brightest witch of her age was turned away when she applied for her dream job as an Unspeakable and every other job she tried to put in for afterwards.

Luna was in a similar position. She had been a prisoner of war and the only thing that had spared her being tortured was her blood status. That wasn't to say she was unharmed during her captivity, but she was certainly treated better than any of the magical creatures, half bloods, and muggleborns that were unfortunate enough to be caught by Snatchers. She had also lost her father in the Final Battle. Xenophilius Lovegood was struck down in front of his daughter with a slicing hex to the throat and Luna was never quite the same. She was still otherworldly and flighty; she still made nonsensical statements, but her silver-blue eyes had a faint glimmer of sorrow that hadn't been there before. She had gone into a rage when her father had fallen before her and turned on the Death Eater that had been taken his life. Rabastan Lestrange never had a chance, and neither did any of the other Death Eater's that crossed her path after him. She had emerged from her momentary insanity sometime later with a serene smile on her face, her tattered shirt stained crimson with blood that wasn't hers, and a pile of black clad bodies at her feet. Needless to say, those who hadn't gotten their hands dirty or lost anyone significant during the war found it difficult to be around Luna. It had become a running joke between the small group that they were the undesirables of wizarding society and they often referred to themselves as such. They had fought and won a war in order to make the world a better place, but they had reaped none of the benefits.

The war was over, but the nightmares and the pain and suffering left in its wake were still very much alive and thriving in the magical world. It left behind festering wounds that worsened with time. People were afraid to trust those with power. They were afraid to trust anyone who was different, anyone who had been tainted by the atrocities of war. Perhaps the matter of blood status was less of an issue than it had been, perhaps they had achieved some semblance of equality, but a phobia of another Voldemort rose up in its place.

"Harry, are you alright?" Hermione's voice pulled him from his disjointed musings.

"Yeah, I was just thinking. You're right. I never thought this is how it'd be. I thought we'd have our lives together. Everything figured out, you know? Instead we're holed up in this house because the very people we fought for are too afraid or ashamed to face us. This isn't the life I had in mind. It was supposed to get better after Voldemort. We were supposed to be happy," Harry said. His words didn't contain any heat. He had moved past anger and depression months ago. He was mostly numb these days to anyone who wasn't a Weasley, Luna, or Hermione.

Hermione laid her head on his shoulder and sighed, "Life's never that black and white, Harry. There are shades of gray. I wish it had been that simple, though. At least we have each other. And hey, it worked out for Ron."

"Yeah, and I'm glad it did. I envy him a bit sometimes. He has a family, no one he cared about died, and people don't shy away from him. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy for him and I don't begrudge him that…" He trailed off and Hermione reached down to give his hand a comforting squeeze.

"You just wish things were that simple for those of us who got the short end of the stick during the war. I understand," she barely spoke above a whisper but Harry heard her anyway. He nodded, "Yeah."

Hermione fiddled with the letter in her free hand, her whiskey colored eyes tracing the official Ministry sigil emblazoned on the heading. "What do you suppose they want with us?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know, but I'm willing to hear them out if only because I trust Kingsley. He' a decent enough minister, I think."

"Don't you think it's a bit strange? I mean, why would we be summoned to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? We haven't done anything." For what must have been the twenty-seventh time since she received the letter that evening she smoothed out the creases and read it for any clues she might have missed.

Dear Ms. Granger:

You are hereby summoned to a meeting with Minister Shacklebolt, the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, and the Head Auror on September 7th at 9 a.m. For your safety and the safety of others, we ask that you check your wand in with the department secretary upon your arrival. You may reclaim your wand at the conclusion of your audience.

Thank you,

Audrey Vescovi

Executive Assistant Secretary

Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Harry tightened his fingers around her much smaller hand. "No matter how many times you read it you're not going to gain any more clarity. Believe me, I've tried. There's no use worrying about it, 'Mione."

"I know. I just hate not having an answer," she muttered, her tone almost petulant.

Harry snorted in amusement, "The great Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age, renowned genius, and overachiever extraordinaire doesn't have an answer for something? Hold on just a second." Harry scrambled to his feet and peered over the edge of the stoop, staring intensely at the ground below and then he turned his face towards the sky and squinted. His emerald eyes became little more than coin slots in his face as he stared up at the stars.

"What're you doing?"

Without tearing his gaze from the sky he answered, "Well, despite being a wizard, I can't see through the ground to see if Hell is freezing over, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that the sky isn't falling. I was pretty sure some catastrophic thing would happen if the day ever came when you were wrong. It has to, like, upset the balance of the universe or something."

Hermione reached out and swatted at his leg. "Harry! I hate to burst your bubble, but I'm not so important that the natural order of things will come unhinged just because I make a mistake or don't know something." Laughter bubbled up in her throat and spilled past her lips. It had been a while since she'd laughed and she was grateful Harry knew how to draw her out of her contemplative and melancholy moods. It was easy to get trapped in such a state once she delved into her mind or fixated on something. The worry still lingered in the back of her mind, a proverbial ghost in her cerebral cortex, but for the night she would try to put it behind her. She allowed Harry to pull her into the house and into the kitchen for a cup of tea. She perched on the counter and swung her legs back and forth like she had as a child while watching her mother cook dinner in the evenings. She wished things were as simple as they had been when she was little. She wished her parents were still alive. She wished for a lot of things.

She hastily pushed that line of thought away and accepted the cup of vanilla tea Harry offered her. The warmth bled through the porcelain and into her skin, warming her clammy hands.

"I happen to think you're that important, Hermione." Harry said.

Hermione's eyes softened and a slight blush rose up in her cheeks, "You're a good friend, Harry. I'm glad I have you here, although, I do think your opinion is biased."

"Agree to disagree then. Anyway, I meant to ask if there was anything in particular you wanted for dinner on your birthday. Mrs. Weasley asked me to ask you when I stopped by the Burrow. She's trying to get everything sorted out for your party."

"Isn't it a bit early for all that?" Hermione inquired with wide eyes.

"We're talking about Molly Weasley," Harry retorted as if that one sentence was explanation enough. Hermione groaned, "Fair point. I just hope she doesn't go overboard."

Whatever response Harry might have had was cut off by the sound of the floo activating in the front parlor. A moment later Ron and Luna stumbled into the kitchen, arms linked and a little tipsy, or at least, Ron was. It was hard to tell with Luna since she was never really altogether there.

"Oi, you guys should've come out with us. Missed out on an amazing night. I ran into Wood down at this club we went to. Can you believe he had the nerve to tell me Puddlemere was gonna wipe the quidditch pitch with the Cannons? As if that could seriously happen. He's mental I tell you. Anyway, best part is Luna charmed his hair so it's Cannon colors. Course, we didn't tell him. Just pretended not to see it, but it was bloody brilliant!" Ron spoke in a rush, his words blending into one another until they didn't sound anything like the English language. Fortunately, Harry and Hermione had extensive practice translating Ron's exuberant ranting.

"Sounds great, mate. Wish we could've seen it." Harry said and Hermione nodded her insincere agreement.

Luna smiled dreamily, "Oh, you can. It'll last until they play against the Cannons this weekend. Although, I was surprised. Did you know orange hair strangely suits him? It must be because of all the snorkaks."

Hermione wasn't sure how snorkaks connected to looking good with orange hair, so she just smiled and said, "Of course. That would make sense."

She slid off the counter and wandered over to the fridge for a snack, suddenly feeling the effects of having skipped dinner in favor of studying the letters she, Harry, and Luna had received. She pulled the leftovers out and cast a quick warming charm on them. She began pulling down plates for everyone, knowing that they hadn't gotten around to eating much either, except for Ron. Nothing ever kept him from eating.

"Don't worry about me, 'Mione. I don't want anything. I think I'll just turn in for the night. We've got a busy morning ahead of us," Luna said.

Ron nodded, "Yeah. Count me out too. I'm just gonna turn in for the night, too."

The sound of glass shattering echoed through the room. Harry had dropped the plate Hermione handed him and it lay scattered in jagged pieces across the polished wood flooring. Everyone fixed their eyes on the boy who lived and he in turn pointed at Hermione. "See? I told you if you were ever wrong the natural balance would be disturbed! Ron turned down food! That's the first omen of bad things to come. It's unnatural!"

Hermione cast a repairing spell and levitated the mended plate onto the counter. A small smirk pulled at the corner of her lips, "Well, I suppose I can't really dispute it whenever there's evidence like this."

"Oi! It's not that big of a deal. I've refused food before!" Ron huffed.

Luna smiled tranquilly and comfortingly patted his arm, "One shouldn't tell lies, Ronald. That's how you attract korbanixs." Without waiting for him to reply she latched onto his arm and drug him from the room. Hermione and Harry watched them go with thinly concealed amusement. "I can't decide if they're a match made in Heaven or Hell." Hermione murmured.

Harry raked a hand through his perpetually messy hair, "Depends on the day."

They settled into a comfortable silence and ate their meals, each lost in their own thoughts. Sometime later, long after the clock had struck midnight, they began their trek up the stairs and to their respective rooms. Hermione's room was a small suite tucked away at the end of the hall on the second floor. Harry's was two doors down. They preferred to be close to each other at night so that if one of them had night terrors the other could get to them quickly. It was a common occurrence unfortunately.

Hermione stopped at her door, her hand wrapped around the polished crystal knob. "Harry…"

He smiled at her from across the hall. Though she hadn't finished her sentence he knew her well enough to guess at her thoughts. "It'll be okay. I honestly doubt it's anything bad and if it is, well, we'll get through it like we always have. Together."

That said he pushed his door open and called out a quiet "good night."

Hermione mulled over his words and felt a small amount of comfort wash over her. She was worried about more than the summons and what it meant. She was worried about leaving the house; anxious about the stares she knew would follow them and the whispers that would nip at their heels. The outside world was only separated from them by wards and a few inches of wood they called a front door, but those few layers kept them safe from the ugliness that waited for them on the other side. Tomorrow they would be exposed to that ugliness again and she wasn't quite ready to deal with it, but she would have two of her closest friends with her and so she would walk in with her head held high and act as though she was unbothered by the whispers and blatant gawking. Harry was right. Whatever happened they would be okay because they had each other to fall back on.