A/N- Kindly PM pointed out a line that didn't make sense, so edit made 6/2. Sorry!

.oOo.

Summer 1999

The Ministry of Magic

.oOo.

Kingsley Shacklebolt took it upon himself, as the Minister of Magic, to keep special tabs on the welfare of all Ministry Workers. Especially if they were a part of the war efforts, Merlin knew what kinds of things they were suffering from. Even more especially, of course, if they happened to be a Miss Hermione Granger, who was currently shifting in the chair opposite his own, quite put out that she was called down to the Minister's office. She was, along with many of her year mates, a temporary Ministry employee, solving some of the problems left after the war while Hogwarts was rebuilt. The school was closed for a full year before any students could step foot into the castle again, and despite lamenting the fact that she would be the oldest student to walk the halls, Hermione was adamant that she would be returning, dragging Ron and Harry along with her.

"Minister Shacklebolt," she managed to greet finally, the formalities being pulled from her throat when Kingsley knew very well all she wanted to do was throttle him.

"I've asked you to call me Kingsley, Hermione," he drawled, trying to keep the smirk off his face when she realized he still wasn't going to tell her what this little impromptu meeting was about.

"So you have, but it's difficult to remember informalities when you have me feeling like Professor McGonagall has called me down for detention," she grit out, and Kingsley let out a booming laugh.

"I believe she's asked you to call her Minerva, too, Little One," he said, and giving up pretenses, Hermione sighed, slumping in her seat with her face behind her hands.

"Are you quite done?" she asked, sharp brown eyes glaring at him behind her fingers when he reigned in his amusement. Having decided he had pushed one of his favorite little witches enough that day—if Zabini being hexed to the ceiling by his pinky toes was any indication, he did not want to get on her bad side—he decided to get down to business.

"You're not in trouble, I have no new case for you to work on, and I'm not trying to hire you permanently again. Yet anyways," he said, trying to alleviate what would be her most immediate concerns.

It seemed to have worked, and Hermione exhaled loudly, blowing at curls of hair that escaped her usually fastidious bun.

"What do you want then," she asked, crossing her arms and glaring. "I was certain I had made a break in—"

"That's it exactly, Hermione. You just got that case, nobody is expecting you to have it solved so quickly! Hell, Bill Weasley's taken a look at it and even he doesn't know where to begin."

Hermione opened her mouth as if to reply, but then suddenly narrowed her eyes. "You think I work too much." Her voice was too calm, this time it was Kingsley's turn to be unsettled.

"It's not that, necessarily, Hermione, but nobody can deny that you've been throwing yourself into your work quite a bit more this past month. Molly said she barely sees you." Kingsley waited for a moment, waiting for the guilt of having her almost mother be worried enough to call the Minister to settle in properly. "Is it about your parents?" he asked, and Hermione sighed, deflating before his eyes.

"Among other things," she mumbled, and Kingsley nodded. Just as I thought.

"You know, the offer still stands, say the word and I'll have our best Potioneers looking for a cure," he said, offering Hermione the Ministry's help in gaining her parents memories back for at least the thousandth time.

"No!" she blurted out loudly, unable to stop herself. Kingsley looked at her in alarm, surprised by her outburst. "No," she repeated, calmer this time. "I've got them into this mess, it's my responsibility to get them out of it" Plus, I don't trust any of your shoddy Ministry employees farther than I can throw them, she left unsaid. Shacklebolt may have been one of the most competent Ministers in decades, but it was still the Ministry. "I do appreciate your support, Kingsley. But I can do this. I promise."

"Of course you can," he said, threading his fingers together before resting his chin on them, leaning forward. It was difficult to discern at first, especially if you didn't know her well, but the Minister could tell she was exhausted. The Ron situation was always on again off again, unless something terrible had torn them apart this time, it shouldn't be weighing on her this way. And although the issue with her parents' memory was rather pressing, it wasn't exactly new. Really, there was only one thing that he could think of that would send Hermione into such a tizzy, something his once-classmate-turned-colleague Remus Lupin had theorized many years before, but it certainly something he wasn't looking forward to bringing up.

"Am I free to go, Minister?" she asked heavily, and Kingsley decided that getting to the bottom of her funk would be worth whatever creative hex she'd send his way.

"Just one other thing. I, ah, assume you've heard about the upcoming engagement?"

She snorted. "Even if he hadn't asked me for advice, it's been all over the paper."

She was right, of course, Harry Potter's intimate, romantic, all around perfect proposal to his beau Ginerva Weasley was the subject of every newspaper, magazine and tabloid for days. Of course, that had ruined it entirely, because Harry hadn't ever gotten the chance to propose before somebody found out what his plans were. Hermione put her money on one of the Goblins at Gringotts who had seen herself and Harry peruse through the Potter vaults. After the whole dragon situation, the goblins were not exactly the Golden Trio's number one fans. Really, it was a wonder Ginny hadn't gotten her hands on a copy of the Daily before Hermione had bewitched anything mentioning the two to incinerate within 5 feet of her. It had given them all quite a scare when the shelf that housed Ginny's yearbooks burst into flames, but it was worth it.

"Of course, of course. How, erm, are you feeling about it?"

"Well it's a little rude I think, but not unexpected," she shrugged, and Kingsley had to restrain his eyebrows from shooting up his forehead.

"I understand he's The Boy Who Conquered, and that it really is happy news for everyone, but you'd think they'd have the sense to wait until he actually asks, you know? Graduation is still a long time away, so he can come up with some other plan, but I think we managed to keep word from reaching Gin well enough," she ambled conversationally, clearly grateful the topic of conversation had been changed from her parents.

"Not the newspapers, I mean you. How are you feeling about it?"

"How am I feeling…about him asking? I'm happy of course," she answered easily. "Why do you ask?"

"Erm…"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt, do not tell me you've started, too!"

"I don't know what you mean," he tried, wondering it if would spare him any of her wrath.

"What I mean is that at the end of this school year my best friend will get engaged to another one of my very close friends, and all anyone has been doing is giving me looks of sympathy!" Her face was flushed and her eyes flashing, and although he was worried for his safety, Kingsley found he was glad that she could still work herself up into a passion, something she seemed to be missing, as of late.

"Alright, alright," he retreated, pushing back from his desk and putting his hands up. "I believe you, I do," he said, stepping around and offering Hermione his hand to help her up, one she accepted, albeit with a scowl. "You can't blame me for worrying about you."

"Oh I can certainly blame you, Minister Shacklebolt, but your concern, however ill placed it may be, is appreciated."

"Wise as ever," Kingsley said, shaking his head. "Although, truly, if you need anyone to talk to about anything—"

"What, I'll come to you?" Hermione asked, eyebrow cocked. She did have a point. Accomplished Auror, Former Order member and now Minister of Magic, but Kingsley Shacklebolt still hadn't quite managed the delicate art of talking about feelings. "Although Miss Brown did say you were very kind to her, perhaps you'd like a repeat of that little incident."

Kingsley winced, recalling earlier in the month when Lavender Brown came into his office sobbing, he had almost had to floo Minerva before finally coaxing the situation out of her.

"I'd rather wrangle a Dementor," he confessed, earning him a slap on the arm. "What?"

"That's awful, Kingsley, she had every reason to be upset! You've seen how those terrible women treat her, did you know one of them told her she wasn't fit for a war hero like Ron anyways because she was a Were-Person? Had she forgotten how Lavender was bitten in the first place?"

This was definitely the Hermione he had come to know. It was no secret Lavender Brown was not her favorite person, but Hermione would defend her, anyways.

"The incident is being handled, I promise. Are those two alright?"

"Well, Lavender's been fine from what I've seen. I think Ron feels bad that it didn't work out, but it was amicable, certainly."

There was a lapse of silence and Hermione looked at the ground. Kingsley watched her swallow hard before pulling her into a swift hug.

"I mean it, Little One, if you need anything from me," he said sternly, hands still on her shoulder.

"You're just the wizard to cry to, I know. Thanks, Kings," she replied, hands coming up to squeeze the ones he put on her shoulder before gently removing them and walking off, leaving Kingsley to shake his head after her.

.oOo.

Hermione stomped out of her temporary office, her demure heels slamming against the floor like firecrackers and she swiped away the angry tears she had managed to contain until the end of her workday.

Despite her undying adoration for the Minister, she was furious. Furious at him for suggesting what she knew everyone else was thinking-"Lost Boy Wonder to the Weaslette, did you? Hope it wasn't because Potter's trying to clean up his family line. She might be a Pureblood but in terms of politics, a Blood Traitor won't help much" earned Zabini a particularly nasty hex, even though she knew he was trying to offer her some sort of bizarre comfort (one that she did not need, thank you very much)—and furious at herself for not being more adamant in denying his accusations. Harry was her best friend, nothing more! Sure, she could defend Lavender Brown, but when it came to speaking up for herself, Hermione was suddenly rendered mute.

She was beginning to think she was a masochist. To be looked and pitied as the girl who had given everything up for the Chosen One for nothing in return was something that brought bile to her throat, but wasn't that true, on some level? It was a little part of her that felt this way, but she suspected it was the very same part that wanted nothing more to reject helping Harry find the perfect ring for his perfect girl and his perfect wedding. Maybe masochist wasn't quite the word, but she certainly felt like she deserved this terrible feeling whenever she thought of how, in comparison to the utter joy that should be radiating out of her very core at the happy news, she could hardly muster a smile.

After landing in her flat through the floo, Hermione kicked off her shoes with a vengeance. She'd change, look over her project and then polish off the bottle of elven wine Harry had brought over to celebrate when he first told her of his plans.

Yes, if all went well, she'd hardly remember what a shite night it had been in the morning.

.oOo.

August 31st 1999

Hermione's Flat

.oOo.

"Her-mione, come on!" Harry exclaimed, trying to yank the book Hermione had tented on her head, hoping he would get the message. He sat on top of her desk—carefully situated around her work—trying to drag her out to The Leaky for one last night of freedom before they returned to school.

"Going back was your idea, anyways, how are you still possibly working on Ministry projects? Didn't Kings fire you ages ago?" He asked with a cheeky grin, earning him a swift swat with the tome Hermione was reading.

"Excuse you, I was not fired—Harry, stop!" she exclaimed, wriggling away from him as he attempted to tickle her out of her chair.

"Is that so? Because I think being told to get the hell out of your office and into the sun sounds a bit like getting fired." Harry was clearly in a teasing mood, and despite how unappealing a round with the gang sounded, she didn't have the heart to turn him down. Harry was, like they all were, particularly haunted after everything, but with Ginny and the prospects of returning to his childhood home, he was in an infectiously good mood.

"You are such a prat, Potter. We had better not be late for our first day back." As expected, Harry ignored her warnings and instead whooped in delight, throwing himself off her desk.

"You'd better get ready, then, everyone's already there and when I left Ron was one poor joke from taking your Zabini's head off."

"And you're telling me this now?" Hermione threw her arms up in exasperation, rushing into her room to find something to wear. "Besides, he's not my Zabini. If anything, he's yours. Don't think I didn't hear about the fiasco at George's." Although Hermione had been the one to introduce Blaise to George for a business venture, he was quickly taken in as a reluctant friend of sorts.

"He's a right prat, but he sure knows how to party," Harry acquiesced, ambling around Hermione's study while he waited for her to get dressed.

"Good?" she asked, emerging fifteen minutes later in Muggle jeans and a flowy black top.

Harry grinned. "Because I can tell? You always look gorgeous to me."

"Harry James Potter, you've gotten me to come, there's no need to continue to flatter me," she scolded, taking his arm and allowing him to Apparate the both of them.

.oOo.

September 2nd, 1999

Hogwarts

.oOo.

Despite his muted views on blood purity, nobody could ever accuse Blaise Zabini of being anything but a Slytherin, so when The-Boy-Who-Draco-Never-Shut-Up-About approached him about a send off party for those going back to school, he was going to do it right. And by right, he meant dragging those idiots along to only the best bars in Wizarding and Muggle Britain before port keying them all to his Italian Villa. Sure, when they came to their senses, he'd probably receive a Howler or two, but even Granger wouldn't be able to stay mad when she remembered what a time he had treated them to. After all, the yacht was all her idea. The past 24 hours alone, along with the embarrassing photos he had collected and the look on Professor McGonagall's face when he deposited her six favorite students at the gates of Hogwarts pissed out of their minds was worth all of the vomit he had to clean up post-portkey.

"Minnie!" Ron had exclaimed, galloping towards the headmistress and throwing his arms around the aging Scot. "I've missed you!" he announced with a sloppy kiss to her cheek.

"Mr. Zabini, what is the meaning of this!?" McGonagall asked, trying not to fall over with Ron's weight while separating Harry and Ginny from each other. Blaise carefully hefted Luna off his side, sheparding them all inside the gates.

"Well, we were celebrating and things got a little out of hand," he grinned.

"Don't be mad, Minerva," Hermione slurred, smiling widely. "We've had the best time, really."

"I can see that," the Headmistress replied, her lips pressed together sternly. Blaise suspected she was trying to reign in a smirk.

"Well, help me get them to bed, will you? I don't want to wake anyone else. Really, what were you thinking? It's almost two in the morning!"

"Gladly. And to be honest, I'd planned to have them back this morning with a killer headache at most, but your lions are quite the party animals."

"I don't know how well Miss Lovegood would take to being called a lion," she said, but as if to prove a point, Hermione jumped onto Neville's shoulders while Harry and Ron hit them with their wands.

"What are they even—" Minerva began to ask, cut off when Luna ran to her, yelling about a troll in the dungeon.

"They do that one a lot, actually. Considering all the shite they got into, you think they'd have a better bit to reenact."

From behind, Ginny hollered her agreement. "I like the dragon one, do we have any of those this year, Minnie? We had a Basilisk that almost killed me, you know, why can't we have a dragon?"

"When you and Potter get married, he'll buy you all the dragons you could ever want," Blaise soothed, hoisting her into a piggy back up the path to the castle.

"D'ya hear that Harry, we're getting married! You had better propose to me with a dragon!"

In the end, they needed Hagrid to help get them all to their assorted dorms, and it took another ten minutes to convince a very tearful Ron to let Blaise go.

"What in Merlin's name did you even give them?" Minerva asked when they were all finally settled.

"Something George has been working on. They'll be fine when they wake up. Little cranky, but nothing lasting. Why, shall I put you down for a pre order?"

"You shall do nothing of the sort! If you weren't leaving the country at the end of the week, I would have your head for this little stunt."

"That's what I've been banking on, Headmistress," he said with a false politeness. Blaise had been given the option of returning to Hogwarts for his final year or serving his magical probation, which he had managed to weasel out of thus far. It wasn't anything terrible, just a year without magic, but it certainly wasn't something he intended to carry out on the Isles.

"For your own sake, I can only hope you have a most uneventful year, Mr. Zabini."

"I'd return the sentiment, Headmistress, but I wouldn't want to give you any false hope. Not with those idiots returning, anyways."

With one last flash of a handsome grin, Blaise disappeared into the green flames in the Headmistress' office, leaving a very tired Minerva McGonagall to agree with him privately.

Upstairs, Hermione Granger, still rather out of her wits, pulled out her notes on her latest project. In her sleep-depravation-induced-high, she was absolutely certain she knew what was wrong with her last attempt, so she pulled out her wand, silently casting the intricate spell.

.oOo.

A/N-There's chapter one! Please leave a review, it's what sustains us writers, since y'all know (disclaimer) HP isn't mine and I'm not getting paid for this