A/N - Again, thank you for all the lovely feedback. After such a long hiatus, hopefully full steam ahead now! And, of course, always, would love to hear what you think. Sadly, feedback is my muse...

The glare of the streetlights pierced through her eyelids and Hermione knew that she wasn't in her bathroom any longer.

With a sigh, she saw that she had made it to her destination. Part of her wished that she would have taken a wrong turn somewhere, so to speak, and ended up in another cobbled street far away from here.

As she looked up, she noticed the light was still on in the living room of the small flat that Harry and Ginny shared. It seemed like months ago that she had last been there, but yet it was only this morning. It must have been months ago she'd Disapparated without warning to escape being seen by Harry. But it was barely hours.

But why? If Harry had seen her there, he would think she'd come to check on Ginny. Absolutely nothing more would have occurred to him. But considering the condition of the pair who had sobbed and yelled and kissed only moments earlier; surely he would have noticed something?

'No,' Hermione told herself. 'No he wouldn't of. Because it's the last thing Harry expects. It's the last thing everyone expects. And why should they? Ginny is with Harry. And I'm marrying Ron. I'm marrying Ron and I'm ha—'

She stopped her mantra midway as she felt a wrenching pain inside. She could not even bear to lie to herself anymore. What hope was there of convincing everyone else?

But she would. Because that's what everyone expects. That's what everyone wants.

Feeling utterly terrible that she'd ever considered Apparating here in the first place, Hermione prepared to return home. However, the noise of the tiny window scraping upwards in its frame stopped her immediately. Hermione's heart pounded frantically as she remained stiff, as if Petrified, waiting to see who it was.

Straining, she could not see the face of the silhouette. But a few seconds later, wisps of smoke floated from the window and Hermione felt herself soar. A few windows over light illuminated what Hermione knew to be their bedroom. Harry was home.

A thick quicksand drowned her insides and any momentarily forgotten feelings of guilt or confusion quickly returned to their rightful owner.

It would take a person with a considerably less heavy conscience than Hermione Granger to knock on their front door knowing her oblivious childhood best friend was home.

She rifled through her pockets hoping to find a spare piece of parchment. As she pulled a small, folded square out of her back pocket, she knew what it was. It wasn't exactly blank. It was a provisional guest list that Molly had suggested she and Ron look over. Hermione had placed it in her pocket as she went to fetch the tea.

Feeling even more wretched, she tore off the top piece without looking at it and replaced it in her back pocket. As she pulled out the Inkless Quill she kept on her at all times, she tried not to feel too thankfully that Molly had left them considerable space to add their own suggestions and amendments.

Trying to put that thought out of her mind, she pressed the sharp end to the parchment and wrote the words that wanted to fall from her lips.

It's been such a quiet night.

The past few hours, Harry and I have barely spoken to each other. Which - when you live together in such 'cosy' quarters - is very obvious and extremely uncomfortable.

He's in the bedroom which is usually his domain when we fight. He holes up in there because he knows I'll prefer to chain smoke out of the living room window. He's pretending that he's 'very busy' with a 'very important piece of Quidditch legislation' to draft for the morning. He's doing his very best Percy 'Stick up my arse' Weasley impression.

I know he enjoys it though. It was actually me who suggested he look for a Quidditch related job. When we met again in Diagon Alley he was training to be an Auror. What he always wanted to do and what everyone expected him to do when he left. Kingsley Shacklebolt was his personal mentor, I remember.

I remember lying with him the morning after, upstairs at the Leaky Cauldron and watching his face as he described what he was learning and all the amazing things he was seeing. He was listing them with all the excitement of telling me what he ate for dinner last week.

And I asked him the question that apparently no one else had thought to ask him – "Are you actually enjoying it or it is just because that's what everyone expects of you?"

He smiled at me, shyly, as if I'd just figured out his biggest secret. He reached over and gave my hand a tight, grateful squeeze.

"It's OK."

"Just OK?"

"Yeah… I think I don't want to be that boy anymore."

"You're not a boy at all."

"Well I'm the man who is The Boy Who Lived."

"Or the man who is The Boy With The Daft Scar On His Head."

He grinned and wrapped me up in his arms, pressing his mouth to my ear. It was this moment I thought I could maybe have something with Harry again. Wipe the slate clean of Hermione and just go back to being that girl who was saved from the Basilisk by that brave, young boy.

"If I could, I'd go do something with Quidditch. Y'know, not play professionally or anything—"

"Why not? You're good enough."

"I don't think so... I wouldn't want to anyway. Perhaps something a bit more meaningful. Like, get involved in the Quidditch league… or something."

"That's a great idea, Harry."

"Yeah. But I've only got two years to go until I'm an Auror and—"

"And what? You wanted to be an Auror when you were fourteen. That's a long time ago. A lot's happened. You've changed. And you're going to stick with that because you've started already?"

"Well. No. But—"

"Would it make you happy?"

"Well, maybe."

"Maybe? Harry, honestly, do something that'll make you happy. We all know life's too short not to go after what you want."

At this point. Exactly. Hermione flitted into my head again. I forced her out. I wasn't going to be that girl anymore.

"Yeah. It is. I think I've done my fair share of Dark Wizard stuff."

"Yeah. So why don't you go talk to someone at the Magical Games and Sports department? Bet they'd be glad to have lured Harry Potter over to their side."

"Shut up." He rolled back, laughing to himself.

"I'm serious, Harry. If it's what you want to do, then do it. Don't be an Auror cause that's what everyone wants you to be. It's your life. Make your choice."

"Maybe."

"Besides, if you don't do it, I'll do it for you."

It wasn't until a month later that he actually did something about it. It disappointed Kingsley and the other Aurors; well just about everybody who was going to feel even safer that the Chosen One would be more skilled and better equipped than ever before to protect them from what may come.

He's climbed steadily in the Department since he started and mostly loving every minute. Right now he's head of a committee pioneering a new inter-school Quidditch Championship, which is a fantastic idea (and his, I could add); promoting inter-house unity and having the school united as one to support Hogwarts, as opposed to Gryffindor or Slytherin.

So he's been busy. And I understand.

And to be honest, sometimes I don't even care when he's not there.

But this, tonight, is irritating the high hell out of me. His Percy impersonation doesn't wash with me.

I know he's still pissed I won't wear a daft pastel dress, wear flowers in my hair and walk down Hermione's aisle.

I can see it from his perspective. I can. I'm not an idiot. I know it seems completely illogical to him. They're his best friends, Ron's my brother and Hermione and I got along 'so well' in Hogwarts. What possible reason would there be for me not wanting to participate in this joyous occasion? There would be no other obvious choice for bridesmaid than me.

I think that's why she asked me. She wasn't cold or thoughtless. She just knew that no one else would do in my family's mind.

Then why did she chase after me if she'd guessed my answer?

Did she ask me to hurt me? Did she want to see me walk down the aisle before her and watch her marry my brother?

And why did she kiss me this morning? Why did she tell me not to stop? Why did she tell me she had feelings for me? Was that all designed to hurt me? To have a final fling before she marries the sibling one year my senior? But I felt it. In her breath and body, I felt that she wanted—needed—me. I know it. Why—

--And here I am again. My regular state of Hermione-induced insanity.

Why do I do this to myself? The atmosphere with Harry tonight has been horrible, but at least I'm rational. And calm. But when I think of her I pull myself to pieces, thread by thread.

Why does she have the power to make me so completely lose myself?

I think this a lot. Why her? Why Hermione? Couldn't it have been someone else? How easy it would be if it was anyone else on the planet. I imagine dating Gellert Grindelwald would be easier than Hermione Granger.

It's not all because of this hideous situation. She's ridiculously difficult on so many levels. She's stubborn and bossy and righteous and a bloody perfectionist. She's hyper aware of everyone else's feelings and situations but so ignorant to her own. I would rather scream and shout about what's bothering me; she'll cover it up with pleasant smile if she can't reason it out. I don't just mean 'us' – if there ever was an 'us'. Take Divination as a prime example. She couldn't use logic or knowledge or common sense so she just dropped it. Just walked away…

And I hate that all these faults just endear her more to me.

When she digs her heels in, I find it adorable how hard she'll fight. Even if I'm the one she's fighting against. When she's bossy and tells me off using my full name, I can't help but melt. When she's righteous, lending her considerable intellect and obsession to a cause I can't help but admire her more. When she won't rest until her current task is completed to perfection it's horribly engaging to watch but then when it's finished to her satisfaction, she smiles. And that's all that's needed.

I adore that she's so in tune with everyone else's frequency; able to tell when someone is upset or happy or scared. And she'll try to help the best way she can.

But when she chooses to focus on everyone else at the expense of bottling her own problems, feelings or issues…

I hate that.

Merlin, do I hate that.

If I could hate Hermione Granger my life would be a lot easier.

As I slam down the window to shut it, I see an odd blaze of white out of the corner of my eye. It flies into the window pane and drops.

Turning back around quickly, I see the flash of white rising up to the window again. It leans forward and taps on the glass gently.

It's a bird. Crafted from paper and brought to life through magic. I thought there weren't any witches or wizards nearby. We're deep in muggle London, miles from the Leaky Cauldron, St Mungos or the MoM.

Who is floating paper birds up to my window? Harry, perhaps?

No, he would never do this.

Cautiously, I open the window and let the paper soul flutter in and onto my knees.

Stroking a finger along its makeshift wings, I feel a sharp shock of magic from the person who sent this.

Perhaps I'm getting confused as to who I want to have sent this.

As it comes to rest, nuzzling in my lap, it reverts to a simple piece of parchment which unfolds in front of my eyes.

I pick it up, annoyed that my hands are visibly trembling because I recognise the curling handwriting of the woman who sent this.

If this is the way it's supposed to be then why I do I feel like this?