A/N: Thank you as ever for the reading and reviewing and all that stuff. You are all wonderful.

Special thanks to OboeChica for coming up with a theory that was so much better than the truth that it deserved a mention in the story.

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling didn't write this or an eighth Potter book so calm yourselves

Hermione suppressed a yawn behind her hand as she turned the page of her book. She'd read it a thousand times before but she needed to something to keep her awake before she could slink off to bed at a reasonable time. She'd been dropping off since before seven but she didn't want her parents to worry about her. As it was they were always giving her concerned looks they thought she hadn't noticed. It had got a lot better now that she was able to finish standard portions at meal times but she still wasn't the same girl who had walked out of the house last June, not knowing if she would return.

Some days Hermione suspected she never would be again.

While she appreciated their concern, Hermione was so used to her independence that she found it suffocating at times. She'd been able to brush off most of their questions and hide the majority of the injuries that she had after the battle but she couldn't keep everything from them. When her dad had noticed she didn't like being left on her own, he delayed his return to work. It had led to yet another argument of course. It would be selfish of her to put her parents' lives on hold for any longer. They had done enough, sacrificed enough, for her already.

These were her problems and she was never going to go fix them if they kept mollycoddling her.

So far she had managed to convince them she was sleeping properly again. As long as she stayed in her room for the required eight hours, soundproofed her room and drank enough coffee then they would never know the truth.

She glanced over at them, sitting together on the sofa, her mum curled into her dad's side. They were happier not knowing and, after everything she had put them through, they deserved some peace.

"He did it," her dad nodded at the young mechanic on the TV. "He was having an affair with the bloke's wife and they planned the murder so they could be together."

"You think?" her mum commented sceptically.

Hermione looked over the top of her book. It felt like forever since she had witnessed them play Solve The Murder Before The TV Detectives Do together. The last time she could remember she had been fifteen when both of them had been spectacularly wrong about what had turned out to have been a tragic accident all along. They had both deemed the programme's conclusion to have been a cop out – especially when Hermione pointed out that she had suggested it was an accident before the first break.

"Definitely. If there is a ruggedly handsome mechanic in one of these shows he is usually having an affair with someone's wife."

Hermione's mum nodded. "True, but my money's on the barmaid."

"The barmaid?"

"Yep. I reckon she was the dead man's secret daughter, born out of wedlock, with his wife's sister. They planned the murder because his wife found out about her and was planning to divorce him, leaving him penniless. By killing him when they did, the daughter was still in the will and they split the money."

While her mum was still following the scene in front of her, Hermione's dad was gawping at his wife. "That's preposterous."

"My theory and I'm sticking to it," her mum sniffed.

Hermione sighed as she turned the page of her book, catching the attention of her dad.

"What do you think, Hermione?" he asked.

She glanced at her dad over the top of her book and shrugged. "I'm with Mum."

Though it was a simple statement over something as simple as a TV show, Hermione's heart sank at the look in her dad's eyes. His whole body seemed to deflate and the look of hurt on his features was undeniable, no matter how quickly he hid it.

Even after he had looked back at the TV Hermione could still hear the ghosts of Australia that haunted their home.

"Wait – you knew?"

"No – well, yes – but only just before it happened."

"Dad, she caught me putting the charm on you and wanted to know what was going on."

"So she got a choice and I didn't?"

"It wasn't like that."

"Either way, Hermione, the last memory I could have had of you was of you using your magic against me and not having a clue why."

"Dad-"

"Just leave it."

And she had. She had been so preoccupied over the past year that it hadn't occurred to her that her dad would be hurt by being left out. It wasn't like she had planned on telling her mum the plan – it had just happened. To her dad it still felt like betrayal.

"On top of that," Hermione continued, trying to keep her voice even, "I think that blonde woman who overacts will improperly proposition Troy in the next thirty seconds."

As expected, both of her parents head's whipped around to look at her. Neither the woman in question or Troy was on screen.

"How could you possibly know that?" her dad questioned, aghast.

Hermione went back to her book, trying to hide her smirk. "Because this is a repeat of Monday's episode." She snuck another look and watched her father slowly turn his attention he her mum who was watching the TV again with rapt interest.

"Is it really?" she said innocently.

Her dad's jaw dropped and he shook his head. "You are unbelievable," he sighed.

"That nightdress is unbelievable," she grimaced with a nod at the TV.

Hermione closed her book as the scantily clad middle aged woman on the telly pulled a protesting young detective into her cottage by his tie. "On that note," she said with disgust, "I'm off to bed."

"You sure, sweetheart?" her mum asked, shifting around to see her. "It's only just gone half nine."

"Yes, but I'm going to the Burrow early tomorrow so…" she trailed off with yawn. "Sorry."

"Do you want me to make sure you're up before I go to work?" her dad offered. Hermione looked at him for a moment. She had seen his jaw tense at the mention of the Wealseys' home but otherwise he seemed to be genuinely helpful.

"Um… I should be okay. Thanks, Dad," she added with a smile.

He nodded shortly. "'Night then, love."

"Yeah," her mum frowned as Hermione made her way out of the room, "sweet dreams, traitor."

"It's your own fault for cheating," she replied haughtily.

Once upstairs, Hermione slotted her book back into its correct place on her book shelf, withdrew her wand and transfigured her desk chair into a camp bed. Her parents knew how lightly she slept nowadays and had long since stopped checking on her in the night in case they woke her. She quickly got into her pyjamas and crawled into bed. Even though her eyes were starting to burn from tiredness, she cast a muffliato on her room, turned the light off and waited.

At ten PM on the dot, there was a loud crack and a teenage boy appeared from nowhere with his back to her.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm fully dressed, Harry."

The boy turned around and shuffled towards the camp bed. "I'm not taking any chances."

As he had done nearly every night for past few weeks, Harry got into his makeshift bed and, placed his glasses carefully on her desk and rolled onto his side to face her. "How're you?"

"Fine. Spent most of the day cleaning the house," she shrugged. "You?"

"I'm all right. Played Quidditch. Fed chickens. Ignored owls from the press."

"If only they could get a photo of you and the chickens together…"

Harry laughed. It was still a rare sound even now and Hermione was pleased to hear it.

"And Ron?"

"Ron? Oh, he spent the day in the village, chatting up that girl who works at-" Harry blanched at the sight of Hermione wielding a cushion at him. "He's good. Bit tired, but otherwise okay."

"Well, serves him right for going out and drinking until dawn," she huffed, putting the pillow back down. "It's his own fault."

Harry looked over at her, his expression one far older than any seventeen year old should ever be able to pull off. "You know he only stayed out after the others had gone home to look after George," he said quietly.

"I guessed as much from what he told me," she replied. That morning she had woken early to get Ron up and out of her house before her dad found out about him being there. After he had drank the potion she had prepared for him, he had sheepishly explained how George had convinced him to stay with him. Ron was hardly a seasoned drinker, but at the minute Hermione doubted even Hagrid would be able to keep up with George. "How was he today?" she asked again, her voice softer this time.

Harry was silent for a moment but she understood. It was difficult to gage Ron's mood nowadays, especially when it changed so frequently and with him trying to cover it all with smiles.

"He wasn't great this morning," he finally told her, his gaze on her ceiling, "but then he spent a few hours with Ginny and he seemed better."

"Good."

"How'd your parents take him showing up?" Harry asked, folding his hands behind his head.

Hermione exhaled heavily. "Dad doesn't know about it – slept through the whole thing, thank Merlin – and Mum was okay with it."

"Really?"

"She was already awake." Hermione rolled over to look at Harry properly. "She's a lot more laid back about these kinds of things. Although she handled it better than I thought she would have."

"Right," said Harry. "Maybe it's her new job or something? Not yanking people's teeth out has had a calming effect on her?"

"Maybe." Hermione replied vaguely, avoiding Harry's eye.

"What?"

Of course, even without his glasses he wouldn't miss her suspicious behaviour.

"It's just…" Hermione tried to marshal her thoughts. "She loved being a dentist and she won't give me a straight answer as to why she stopped. I thought maybe – maybe I'd made a mistake? Maybe she had forgotten it?"

Harry propped himself up on his elbow and frowned. "Has she?"

"No."

"How do you know?"

"I mentioned having toothache in front of her," Hermione said distractedly. For as long as she could remember, the mere hint of dental pain led to one or both of her parents giving her an impromptu check-up. When she found out in school that most of the other children only saw a dentist every six months she had been stunned.

"So… why else would she change jobs?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I don't know."

The two friends fell silent again and shifted into more comfortable positions in their respective beds.

Since the battle Hermione found she couldn't sleep without Harry or Ron nearby. While staying at the Burrow she spent most nights sleeping in Ron's room with both of them but when she moved back home it became a real issue. Despite everything that had happened, Ron was still managing to get a full night's sleep without much difficulty, while Harry was suffering with nightmares and restless sleep as he always had. Admittedly the dreams were no longer influenced by Voldemort, but they were still far from pleasant.

They quickly realised the best fix for all of them was for Harry to stay around Hermione's. This way Ron could have enough sleep without Harry waking him and whenever Hermione woke up, she would see Harry was okay and not start panicking. Harry, slightly red-faced at the time, had pointed out the other benefit of this was at least if they were caught, the adults would believe their story. If Ron was found in Hermione's room it would be a very different story.

However, Ron had stayed over a couple of times, but only when he was a having a tough time and asked Harry if they could switch places. Thankfully they hadn't been caught either time.

As much as she liked Ron staying over, Hermione found it was better for her when it was Harry. After all, she had spent weeks dreaming of Ron being there only for her to awake to the crushing heartache of him being gone. She was still finding it suspicious to wake up next to him, fearing this was just a cruel trick being played on her. Waking from a nightmare to see Harry's sleeping form in the next bed was oddly comforting.

Smoke was everywhere.

She could hear screams but couldn't for the life of her work out where they were coming from. The air was opaque and her hair kept falling in her eyes. If she could just see then she could help. She could do something.

There was an almighty crash and chunks of rock and debris came flying out of nowhere. The screaming had stopped now and Hermione found herself wishing it would start again. At least then she knew she wasn't alone. Even the smoke seemed to be leaving her.

It was odd how she was almost gliding along the passage that was forming around her…

Dream. It's a dream. Wake up.

She wasn't alone. In the distance she could make out a figure on the floor. Maybe they knew where she was?

No. It's a dream. Wake up, Hermione! Come on, just wake up!

Her vision wasn't impaired anymore, but her heart was racing. She needed to get to the person at the end of the corridor.

No! You need to wake up!

They had red hair. She was running now. Time was running out. It was all falling apart. She needed to reach them. Something terrible was going to happen. Where had the screaming come from? Why wasn't the person moving?

Wake up. Just wake up. Please wake up. Please!

Something was wrong. There was blood. The person still hadn't moved. Their maroon jumper was ripped and dirty. Something was horribly wrong.

WAKE UP!

With a jolt, Hermione opened her eyes and she was back in her room. She was shaking so much she couldn't move her limbs. Fortunately she could make out Harry's outline, sat up in bed. She was okay. It was just a nightmare.

"S-sorry, Harry. I didn't wake you up, did I?"

He didn't move.

"Harry?"

Eerily slowly, he turned his head to look at her, his eyes glowing red. A smile crossed his face as he spoke in a chilling voice she had only heard him use once before…

"Stand aside, you sill girl… Stand aside now…"

Hermione felt the ground give beneath her and she came to once more. Scrambling up against her headboard, she saw she was in her room again, but wasn't stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice.

"Hermione?" Harry was reaching for his glasses, groggily. By the time he had clumsily put them on Hermione realised how badly she was trembling and tried to control her erratic breathing.

"Am – am I awake?" she asked, knowing she wouldn't trust any answer she was given. It all felt real but it had last time as well.

Harry held his hands up. "You're awake. I promise. Just breathe, Hermione. It's okay."

Panting, she tore her eyes from Harry and found her clock. She watched the second hand for a full ten seconds. As well as helping her calm down, it meant time was passing normally, unlike it did in dreams. Next she searched her room for tiny details – book titles, the folds in her duvet, the smell of fabric softener. Finally, she looked back at Harry. He was still green eyed, wild haired and making a point of not looking threatening in any way. This sort of thing had happened enough times for him to know to leave her alone until she knew for certain she was awake.

"Oh, thank goodness." Hermione buried her head in her hands and took a deep breath. Now she knew this was reality, she felt safe again. The mattress dipped as Harry sat next to her. She only flinched a little when he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"What was it?" he asked, his voice rough from sleep. "It might help to talk about it?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Bit rich coming from you."

"Fair point," he conceded with a slight smile. "Still – you okay?"

Hermione considered opening up to him for a moment. He was her best friend, after all, and who knew more about nightmares than he did? Then the images of Ron's battered corpse and Harry, possessed by the locket, flashed through her mind and she shivered.

"The usual," she whispered. She tried to smile but couldn't manage it. "Bellatrix. Greyback."

Harry nodded and gave her shoulder a squeeze. She winced at the pressure. Tensing up while asleep left her muscles aching and she wanted nothing more than to get back to lie down. Harry understood, went back to his own bed and soon his deep breathing signalled he had gone to sleep.

For the rest of the night Hermione watched the steady rise and fall of chest, trying not to remember the few minutes she had spent convinced she would never see it again. She wondered if she had done the right thing in lying to him. He still didn't know the full story of what had happened to him on Christmas Day and Hermione doubted she would ever tell him.

Eventually tiredness got the better of her and she fell into a restless sleep, wondering just how many secrets she could keep from the people that she loved.

Trial new policy: if you are a guest reviewer and make a good point, tell a funny joke, ask a question or insult me with colourful language then I'm going to start responding via a combined post on tumblr. It's frustrating for me being unable to answer stuff like that so I guess it's the same for you guys. The link to my blog is on my profile and it'll be tagged 'halfaslug' so you can find it.