Chapter 3: Together

Ron and Harry stayed with Hermione that night, and into the next day. Their sleeping arrangements had not changed over the four days, and the Trio had found themselves during that time living in an easy familiarity, finishing each other's sentences, and making plans seemingly telepathically. But with the arrival of Globo, the boys' reason for staying with Hermione was no longer applicable. After lunch, with heavy hearts, Harry and Ron each came to the conclusion that it was time to go home.

"So, you're doing well then, Hermione?" Ron asked. "I mean, you've got Globo here, and you're starting to get the hang of the extra magic boost there..."

"Of course, Ron," Hermione answered. "You're welcome to stay, of course, but I believe everything here is under control. Tell your mum I said hello, will you?"

Ron gave Hermione a fond kiss on the cheek, and went to pack his things.

"Well then, I -" Harry stammered.

Hermione smiled. "It's OK, Harry. Really. I'm sure Kreacher misses having someone to tidy up after."

Harry nodded, gave Hermione the same fond kiss on the cheek, and joined Ron in gathering his belongings. When they were done, hugs were exchanged, promises were made to contact each other if anyone needed anything, and Harry and Ron popped away to their respective homes.

Kreacher greeted Harry in the foyer with a low bow, and brought Harry's belongings to the master bedroom. Harry climbed the stairs to the sitting room, and grabbed the latest edition of Quidditch Quarterly up off of the coffee table. Unbidden, Kreacher put a pot of tea on the table and poured Harry a cup. There were no stories in the magazine that interested Harry, so he asked Kreacher to bring him that day's Daily Prophet. He reflexively checked the scores in the Quidditch section, only to remember that it was summertime, and the season had been cancelled the year prior, thanks to the war. In the main section of the paper, there were the usual stories of the heroic rebuilding effort, which bored him to tears, but a human interest piece on Goblin-Wizard relations after the restoration of Gringotts caught his eye. Hermione, of course, had always had an interest in bringing equality to the various magical species, and Harry began to wonder why she wasn't leading this effort. She'd be brilliant at this, as much as she was at anything she set her mind to. But that was the only such article in the paper, and he quickly grew bored of the rest of it.

Harry walked over to the wireless, thinking perhaps a radio show would give him something to do. Alas, there were no dramas, only a Celestina Warbeck biopic on one station, a Weird Sisters discography discussion on the second, and the third station was entirely devoted to Centaur love songs, which usually were absolutely maddening, but suddenly made sense to Harry. The way he and Ron had known exactly when to find Hermione, after all, seemed as though it were written in the stars, and while the three of them were together in Cheltenham, it did seem as though there was an impenetrable forest separating them from the rest of the world. And, though he'd rather he hadn't made this particular connection, to Harry it did seem as though looking in her eyes he saw the Heavens themselves, and lying in her arms felt like a peaceful glade in Summer.

"This is ridiculous," Harry mused aloud. "I've never thought about Hermione this way." He thought about making a list of all of the various ways that thinking about Hermione in even the vaguest romantic way was a dreadful idea, but then realized that that was precisely what she would do.

"Right," Harry said aloud, "a trip to the cinema should clear my head." He apparated over to the trees behind the parking lot at the Guildford 8; a theater that had become his favorite for many reasons, not the least of which was that his Aunt and Uncle would go there regularly with Dudley and without him.

"Armageddon," Harry said, looking at his options on the ticket board, "Saving the world - been there, done that. Saving Private Ryan? I think I've had enough war for a while. Truman Report - about a man whose life is actually a TV show. Cuts a bit close, actually. Huh. Something about Mary. Looks like a broad farce, slapstick, juvenile comedy. Probably just what I need."

About 45 minutes into the film about three men all trying to date the same woman, Harry began to feel as though he couldn't sit there one more moment. He popped over to the center of Guildford, thinking he might get himself a drink to calm his nerves. He considered a cider, but that just made him think about the West Country, which made him think about Hermione, so he had a lager instead. As he drank his beer, however, he noticed all of the couples without much of a thought. But when he saw a woman surrounded by three of her male friends, his mind went back to that halcyon time in Cheltenham, and he gave up on trying to put his childhood friend out of his mind. Gulping down the rest of his drink, he walked into an alley behind the pub and apparated straight into Hermione's sitting room.

Ron arrived in front of the Burrow, about halfway between the orchard and the house. He walked up to the kitchen door, thinking he was happy that his parents had never installed one of those light things that had nearly blinded him at Hermione's. Walking in the door, he acknowledged his mother's quizzical look with both a kiss and a promise to be thoroughly debriefed after he'd put his things away. He got to his room, laid down, and his mind immediately drifted to the nights he, Hermione and Harry had spent sharing a bed. Even though he'd been one of seven children, he'd never had to share a bed before. Waking up next to Hermione – her hair in his face, the vaguely astringent smell of her face soap, the warm feeling of her arm around him before she woke up – was one of the most pleasant experiences in his life. Sure, he'd thought of her often at Hogwarts, but nothing could compare him for the sense of peace and comfort he experienced every morning.

Ron jumped up from his bed. "No," he said aloud, surprising himself. "This has been dealt with already. She said she wasn't interested in pursuing a relationship, and that's that." He reckoned that the talk he needed to have with his mother would quench any of the less than platonic thoughts he was having about his life-long friend, and walked back downstairs to the kitchen.

"Ronald," Molly said, "how have you been? There have been rumors about some very upset people in the Department of Mysteries, and your three names are part of those rumors."

"I'm fine, really, mum," he replied. "And I don't know anything about upset Unspeakables. And if I did, well, that's why they call them Unspeakables, what?"

"Well, be that as it may, I want you to be careful, understand? War heroes or no, you don't want to go about making enemies in the Ministry. They can make your life very uncomfortable. Enough about that, though. How is dear Hermione? How is she coping with her parents staying in Australia?"

"Oh, she's fine," Ron replied. "She's not crying at night so much – even sleeping right through now – er, um. Not that I'd know, or anything."

"Of course not, dear," Molly said with a wry smirk. "Wherever would I get such an idea? You just watch that she doesn't break your heart again. We love her to death here, she's nearly one of the family, after all, but the way you looked after she ended things with you before she left, well, I don't want to see a look like that on any of my children."

"It's not like that, Mum, really," Ron said. "It's – well, it's different. I can't really explain it, but it's different. We're friends again, the way we used to be when we were kids, but somehow it's more. It's deeper, like. I can't really – I just don't know how or why, but it's different. And better. It's…"

The more Ron tried to explain what his relationship with Hermione was like, the more he struggled to do so. It was almost as if he'd been hit by a tongue-tying curse, except that he was able to talk about the subject generally. Finally, after two or three minutes of stumbling through his words, Ron got up from the table.

"You know what, mum? I'm going to go have a fly, maybe that'll clear my head."

And for a while, it did. Ron flew over the trees, getting a good look at the Burrow's roof – something that the reward money had been able to fix. He zoomed around the orchard, dodging trees as if they were bludgers, pretending he was Galvin Gudgeon on the Snitch's tail. Then he reminisced back to his days on the Gryffindor team; how much Hermione had cheered for him to win the starting Keeper spot, how horrible he'd been to her with Lavender at the party after the opening match of 6th year, how she'd forgiven him and they moved on. The trees had nests, tucked high away from predators and prying eyes, and Ron felt as though he recognized that place at Hermione's in Cheltenham. He mused on this for a moment, before grunting in frustration and flying back down.

"Not. Working," he grumbled, putting his broom in the shed and stomping back inside.

Ginny found him steaming by himself in the sitting room, and was worried. Certainly, Ron was no stranger to mood swings, but she thought that living without having to stop a mad dark wizard that's trying to kill everyone for the first time in four years might have lightened him up some.

"Hey there," she said, softly as she took a seat opposite him on the sofa.

Ron jumped, startled, but composed himself. "Hey yourself."

"Why are you so mopey?" Ginny asked. "Cannons sign another 45-year-old?"

"No, it's just – I don't know why I came back here, Gin," Ron replied.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it was just so nice being over at Hermione's, you know? She has a place of her own, now that her parents decided to stay in Australia, and when all three of us were there, it was kinda like our little secluded holiday spot. It was just us. And now I'm back, and it's like, why am I here?"

Ginny chuckled softly, and let out a low whistle. "You've got it bad, brother."

"Huh?"

"Oh, come on," Ginny scoffed. "You've been crazy about Hermione since at least your fourth year, you finally get a chance with her and it blows up, and you see a bit of a window here, and now you want to start playing house? That would be a little creepy if it weren't so bloody adorable. But if Harry's in on this, too, you'd better get over there before he steals your girl."

"Wait, no, Gin. It's not like that at all. I mean, if Hermione wanted to start dating Harry, it'd be fine by me, as long as I'd still get to be there, and - wow, that came out wrong, didn't it?"

Ginny sat there, looking at her brother, eyes wide with shock.

"You get your mind out of the gutter. That's not what I mean, either. It's just – you know, I can't even describe it." Ginny still sat there, looking at him mutely, trying to form words to ask him exactlt what he did mean.

Ron then sighed loudly. "Right. I'm off, then."

"Where are you going?" asked Ginny.

"Where do you think? This is mad, just moping about in the house like this. Let mum know, will you? I've got to go." And with that, Ron walked out of the Burrow, past the wards, and apparated right into Hermione's sitting room.

After the boys had apparated away, Hermione let go a melancholy sigh. The house – her house, now – hadn't been this empty since she'd first set down her bags coming back from Australia. Suddenly, the house that had seemed so stifling when she was unable to legally use magic there seemed cavernous. She felt as if she were to make a noise, it would echo for days. So, with another ponderous sigh, she got up from the table, grabbed the book she'd been reading on the airplane, and took a seat on the couch. Unfortunately for her, she only had thirty five pages of that book left, which managed to take up an entire eighteen minutes. After sitting for a moment or two, pondering the clumsy ending the author left her with, she decided to turn on the television. Alas, it being Saturday in England…

"Football. Football. Football. Why am I being made to care about the bloody football? England aren't going to win the World Cup this year, either. Oh, here's a change. Cricket. Honestly. You'd think Ron was the one to select the programming. I imagine he'd feel right at home on a Saturday, watching the football. I wonder if Dean ever taught him the game. He'd be mad for it, of course. Harry, too, if his horrid family had ever let him watch a match."

Hermione switched off the television and slumped on the couch.

"Globo?" she called after a few moments.

"Yes, Mistress?" he replied, appearing by her side.

"Globo, could you be a dear and make us a pot of tea? I'd like to ask you something."

Seven seconds later, a pot of perfectly-steeped tea and two cups sat on the coffee table, along with an overly-efficient house elf.

"Why don't you have a seat, Globo?" Hermione asked. "There are a few things I'd like to ask you."

"If Mistress wants to ask Globo why her magic is funny, Globo will tell her, but then Globo will die again. Globo did not like dying the first time, Mistress."

Hermione grumbled and put her face in her hands.

"If that is being all, Mistress, Globo gets back to polishing attic floor. Very dusty and scratchy. Last house elf was bad, lazy house elf, Mistress. Glad yous has me."

Hermione nodded her head with her hands still over her face and sighed.

After a cup of remarkably good tea, Hermione decided to go for a walk down to the church. After the third well-meaning neighbor stopped to offer their condolences (Hermione's backstory was that her parents were killed in an auto accident while on an extended tour of India), she decided that apparition would be a better way to travel. So she popped over to All Saints, thinking that if anything could get her mind off of her loneliness, it would be the large church that inspired so much awe as a little girl. Quietly and reverently, she walked through the Nave and up to the Sanctuary, admiring the Rood screen and the statuary. Unfortunately, a 130-year-old church doesn't change all that often, and Hermione wound up visiting a few favorite statues, running her fingers along the wooden pews, and walking right back out, apparating home from the loo off the side of the Narthex.

Returning home, Hermione decided that the best thing to do would be to start trying to figure out how her magical core got so enlarged. She pulled out a pad of paper and began to write.

"When: Right after returning home from Australia. Where: In my parents' old bedroom. What: Sleeping," she sketched, and put down her pen.

"Sleeping," she thought. "The most restful night's sleep of my life. Nestled between my two favorite people on earth. Actually, I think that's the first time we've done that. Why did they have to leave? This house felt like a home while my boys were here, now it's just so empty. Ugh."

Hermione sat on the sofa, head in hands, and her elbows on her knees. She was short of breath, wasn't sure whether to cry or scream; all she knew was that she needed her boys to return. Suddenly, a soft "pop" sounded in the sitting room, and before he had a chance to say hello, Hermione rushed onto Harry, clutching onto his face, kissing him passionately and with such force that Harry's head would have snapped backwards had Hermione not had a firm grasp of him. After taking a moment to get his bearing, Harry returned the kiss with equal fervor, running his fingers through her hair and pulling her closer to him. After a minute or two, there was another soft "pop," and Ron appeared about four feet from his friends. Hermione broke away from Harry, and greeted Ron the same way, attacking his mouth and face with hunger and need.

Slowly, Hermione broke away from Ron as well, and collected herself. Ron and Harry looked at each other quizzically a moment, and then shook their heads with a chuckle.

"Pity," Hermione said, after watching the unspoken conversation between the two boys. "Still, what in Merlin's name was that? One moment I'm thinking how I can't go another second without my boys here, the next moment you're here, and I'm attacking the both of you. This is odd, very odd. Not unpleasant, mind. No, far from unpleasant," she added, blushing slightly, "but still odd."

"Right. That's who we are, then, I suppose," Ron said, softly. "Your boys, I mean. I could barely sit still once I got home. Tried flying to clear my head, but I couldn't think about anything but wanting to be back here, with you. It was – yeah, odd's the best word for it, I reckon. Different than when we were together, you know. I mean, I thought about you all the time then, too, but this is… different. Stronger, but different."

"I had the same thing," Harry added. "Everything I did reminded me of you, Hermione. I tried going to the cinema, but everything they had playing made me think of our time fighting Voldemort or just of you. Reading the Prophet gave me the same thing. And the Wireless was just hopeless. Hell, I couldn't even go to the pub without thinking about you, which is when I came back. Kreacher's probably wondering where the hell I am."

"Kreacher is wondering nothing, Master Harry," Globo said, appearing out of thin air and startling all three. "Kreacher is knowing, as is Globo. As is all the house elfs. We is all knowing."

"Wait – 'Master' Harry? Why did you just call me that?" Harry asked. Globo put a long pointer finger up to his lips and popped away again.

"Right," Hermione said. "We know a couple of things, I gather. First, this thing with my Magical Core started happening around the time I got back from Australia, but not until the three of us began sharing a bed, which, incidentally, was the first time we'd done that. Secondly, the house elves are acting very strange indeed around us with all this cloak and dagger nonsense. Thirdly, this – this bond, I guess you could call it, seems to be related to both of these things. I suggest we begin researching just what in the hell has happened to us, and how we stop it."

There was some uncomfortable silence among the three of them before Ron spoke up.

"Do you really want to?" Ron asked, grabbing Hermione's hand. "I mean, I rather like the idea of being yours, you know? Not like it was before, just, well, I can't explain it. But it seems right, somehow, being yours."

Hermione looked over at Harry, who was biting his quivering lower lip and nodding gently. "Is that true then, boys?" she asked. "I couldn't help but dream that – oh, boys!" she exclaimed, tears flowing from her eyes. She pulled Harry and Ron to her, each with one arm, and the trio stood there for what seemed both like hours and moments, just holding each other.