Harry anxiously picked up the old phone on its second ring, yearning to hear the voice of one of his best friends, whom he had not spoken to for some time. The destruction caused by the second Wizarding War had taken months to repair, even with the use of magic. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had volunteered to help the reformed Ministry of Magic as soon as funerals had been held for those who had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. They had been sent across Europe to aid wherever they could, with the trio quickly falling out of touch, as Ron and Hermione rounded up the last of the Dementors in southern Germany and Harry worked tirelessly to repair London.
"Hello?" Harry said eagerly, praying that, whoever it was, knew how to use a telephone. "Harry," Hermione said softly on the other line, "How have you been?" Her voice sounded odd, strained. "I've been – Hermione what's wrong?" replied Harry, concerned. She chuckled slightly. "You've always been able to see through me. I guess that comes from growing up together." Harry could hear the smile in her voice. "Come over," he commanded gently, "Apparate. I'm at Sirius' place." "Be there in a minute."
Harry hung up the phone and glanced quickly about the house. The dusty furniture and gloom, which he usually ignored, was suddenly glaringly obvious. A slight tingle of nerves formed in the pit of his stomach. Harry was confused – why should he care what it looked like anyway? It was only Hermione. She wouldn't mind. Right? He awkwardly fluffed a couch pillow and brushed off the layer of dust covering the tea table.
Just then, he heard the soft scrape of Hermione's boots at the porch. Rather than ring the bell and risk waking the screaming portrait of Sirius' mother by the door, she gave a quiet cough, knowing that Harry would be waiting. Harry's heart leapt as he nearly raced to the door. Composing himself, he smoothed his shirt and opened the heavy wooden door, running a hand through his untidy hair as he did so. "Hey," he muttered a little breathlessly. Hermione gave a weak smile and returned the greeting. "Come in! I'll have Kreacher make tea." She followed him into the house, hanging up her heavy woolen coat and red scarf on the pegs in the hallway. Her face still slightly flushed from the brisk autumn day, Hermione gave Harry a playful glare. "Kreacher? I think we should let him have his rest. You haven't been overworking him, have you?" she said teasingly, raising an eyebrow. "Rest? Continue sulking you mean," retorted Harry. Rolling her eyes, Hermione brushed past her old friend into the kitchen and waved her wand. The once-grimy and unused kettle floated onto the stove, shining as if it had just been polished. Steam began pouring from the spout, a cheery whistle filling the air. Harry laughed and the sound seemed to erase some of Hermione's awkwardness. Her face softened as she tugged the sleeves of her flannel shirt down over her hands and shivered. "Honestly, Harry. Do you forget you're a wizard? It's freezing in here." "I guess that's why I need you around," Harry grinned as she went to light the fire.
Soon enough, the formerly gloomy house was filled with warmth and light. Harry had found half-burned candle sticks under the sink and enchanted them to float a few feet above their heads in the living room. Both sat on the groaning sofa clutching mugs of strong tea as Harry rattled on about what had happened since they last spoke. Hermione sat stiffly, the sparkle in her eyes gone again. As he spoke, Harry couldn't help noticing the way a strand of Hermione's auburn hair kept falling into one of her eyes. Before he could stop himself, he brushed it aside. She looked up at him, surprised. To cover his embarrassment, he said quickly "Now why don't you tell me why you're here?"
She looked out the grimy window, seemingly lost in thought. Harry followed her gaze, watching as brightly colored leaves spun in the rapidly darkening sky. Shaking her head as if to clear it, Hermione took a deep breath and turned back to Harry. "It's Ron. We've… well I think we need some time apart." It was Harry's turn to be surprised. The last time he'd seen his two best friends, they had seemed enamored with one another. Despite the horror that they'd witnessed, both had laughed more than ever and never left the other's side. "What happened?" Harry frowned. Looking at her lap, Hermione sighed again. "I guess we just aren't right for each other. Not right now. You see, Ronald proposed. I'm not ready for that. We're just kids, Harry. Just kids. I want to go back to Hogwarts, you know. Finish seventh year. I want...I don't know what I want. I'm so confused." A single tear slid down her cheek. Harry was at a loss for what to do. He had known Ron had fancied Hermione for years, but didn't know he had been this serious. "'Mione," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder, "I'm sure everything will work out. Ron's done loads of stupid stuff before, he'll come around. Do what you need to do first. If you truly love each other, it doesn't matter." "That's just the thing Harry. I don't think I - " But at that moment a ringing was heard from the entryway. "My phone," Hermione muttered as she sprang from the couch to retrieve her coat.
Harry slumped back across the cushions, his emotions whirling. If Ron and Hermione broke up, what would happen to the trio? They would never be able to go back to the way they were. But another feeling troubled Harry – hope. Ashamed, Harry forcefully reminded himself of Ginny, who had taken off a year at Hogwarts and was staying at the Burrow, grieving her elder brother's death. Harry hadn't seen Ginny for a month, and at their last meeting he could tell their own relationship had become strained. He jumped as Hermione slipped back into the room. "I've got to go. Mum needs me to fix the washer again," she said, an exasperated smile on her lips. "A witch in the family - cheaper than a plumber!" Harry joked. He stood up to walk her to the door, regretful that their time together had to be cut short. He helped her back into her coat, inhaling the scent of her sweet perfume on the fabric. "Thank you, Harry. For everything," she murmured, her eyes scanning his face. Her gaze lingered on his scar for a moment and Harry knew she was remembering the past two years. "I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you, Hermione. You're the best friend I could have asked for," he replied. Suddenly, she threw her arms around his neck, burying her face in his sweatshirt. Harry held her close, realizing he had missed Hermione more than he had cared to admit. Too soon, she released him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "See you," she whispered. Harry silently let her out and closed the door, not leaving the entryway until he heard the soft pop that meant she was gone.