Note: Would you like to elope with him? I know I would!

Chapter 8: Birthday at the Burrow

Hermione sat in front of the beautiful mirror and stared unseeingly at her own reflection. She absent-mindedly arranged the two roses, which Ginny had insisted she wear, in her hair. On this day, twenty-three years ago, she was born. Fleur, Bill's wife, had presented her with a new dress that now lay on the bed. It was a knee-length garment of a lovely peach colour with lace frill sleeves and a scalloped hem.

Hermione had wanted her birthday to be celebrated at her home itself, in Lyminster, which was in the south of England, but Ron Weasley had convinced her to come to the Burrow. Hermione had not wanted to give his family any trouble. However, Molly Weasley had insisted there was nothing she would more love to do than prepare a wonderful birthday dinner party. Molly had also dropped hints about a surprise awaiting her. Therefore, together with her parents, Hermione had come to the Burrow about an hour ago. She had been given a very warm reception by the Weasleys. Harry Potter, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and even Hagrid had, likewise, greeted their friend with much enthusiasm.

Hermione was now an accomplished young woman working at the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Just a day before, she had been able to persuade the Ministry to do away with the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. She had personally drafted the paper proposing the abolition of the Committee, and it had been applauded. A new law which contained provisions concerning dangerous magical creatures was now in the process of being written. Its focus was on the special care and handling required by the so-called dangerous creatures: how they were to be looked after, rules overseeing the reinstatement of those animals in their natural environments, and how they were to be observed once released in the wild. Hagrid, known for his great love of all animals, was being of great help throughout all these undertakings.

Hermione had, evidently, been motivated to work on this particular project because of the experience she had had in her third year at Hogwarts with a Hippogriff. The magical beast, albeit innocent, had been in danger of being executed. It had been a typical case of a wizard's word - a teenage wizard at that - against a poor animal's silence, and in such a scenario, if a coin were to be flipped, very predictably, either side will show the same winner. Hermione had successfully argued that the possibility of an innocent magical creature being executed was disproportionately high. This was because the belief that wizards had absolute command over the animals - and thus could do anything to them, even inflicting the worst of cruelty over the beasts - was still widespread.

On this special day, however, strange thoughts were filling her mind. She was also feeling queasy inside. Indeed, Hermione could not understand why she felt as if something was missing in her life... She should be the happiest of girls! She loved her work. Everybody was proud of her achievements. Ron was her boyfriend; the other Weasleys were all very nice and warm. Voldemort had been destroyed six years ago, and everything was fine in the wizarding world! Then, where did the uncomfortable feeling inside her chest come from?

She could identify some of the unease as being guilt. Ron's family was always unfailingly kind to her. There was no reason for her to feel as if she was being pressed into some kind of invisible wall! Hermione sighed and got up from the little wooden stool she had been sitting on. Ginny's room still contained pictures of the Holyhead Harpies. This time one could even see the red-haired witch smiling from within the ranks of its players. Posters of the Weird Sisters were up on the walls as well. Its lead singer had bright purple-coloured hair and was bent over a guitar.

On the make-up table were numerous pictures of the Weasley family. In many of them, she could see her own happy face looking back at her. In one of them, Ron's arm was around her waist. It had been taken a year ago at the Quidditch World Cup in Australia. The Cambodian team had triumphed over the Bulgarian team, the previous Quidditch World Cup winner, and had caused a sensation in the world of Quidditch!

Indeed, the then relatively-unknown Cambodian team had deployed a vast array of amazing moves, brilliant tactics, and prodigious skill. The enormous stadium had erupted into delighted "oohs" and "aahs" during the entire length of the game. It had lasted merely an hour, though. The whole of the stadium had been disappointed when the Cambodian Seeker caught the snitch, for it symbolized the ending of a most fascinating game. "Match of the Millennium," they had called it! Hermione was not a great fan of Quidditch, but she had been enraptured by the brilliance displayed by the Cambodian team as it unfolded its pioneering arsenal of Quidditch moves.

The Cambodian team, in an interview to the Daily Prophet, had attributed their success exclusively to their mysterious coach who had not made an appearance. They confessed that their coach had been the one to devise the complete assortment of ingenious moves and strategies.

It was seeing the Cambodian team play so wonderfully that had prompted Ron to encircle Hermione's waist in sheer delight and kiss her cheek. Hermione had felt very embarrassed, though, for one of the magical big screens had temporarily diverted its attention away from the game, and had taken to showing the fans in the stadium. It had chosen that same time to zoom on them. Ron had immediately released her, turning beetroot red all over. Hermione had managed a nervous laugh. They had been endlessly teased by family and friends alike afterwards.

There were also pictures of when they had been in Dumbledore's Army on the table. Hermione bent down and scooped the picture into her hands. It had been taken when the founders of the DA had been in their fifth year. She sorely missed those times. Most of the smiling faces in there had gone on with their own lives. Hermione could see a laughing Fred Weasley standing with his arms slung across the shoulders of his twin brother George. Fred was no longer amongst them now. So many good people had died in that battle… Sighing again, Hermione gently placed the picture on the table.

Donning the beautiful dress, she walked to the window and raised the blinds. In the distance, the glorious sun was setting over the long stretch of green meadows, draping them with a fiery orange veil. A pair of robins flew to a wild cherry tree before swiftly disappearing in its dark-green, leafy foliage. Down below, in the back garden, five gnomes sat around a tiny, cosy fire. They had cleared a small area by pulling out clumps of the overlong grass. The gnomes were, at present, busy feasting on cabbages, carrots, and peas. Molly Weasley would be furious.

The flower boxes under the window contained bright yellow Leopard's bane, Hollyhocks, and Dandelion clocks that were in full bloom. The globular dandelions were particularly arresting as their fibrous centres held the dusky rays of the setting sun captive. Raising a hand to her hair to prevent the two peach roses from falling, Hermione bent herself over the window sill and softly blew over a dandelion head. She smiled as the tiny parachutes gracefully twirled down, some falling on the blades of the green grass, others mingling with the weeds and moss of the overgrown turf.

Feeling a light breeze touch her face, Hermione closed her eyes and breathed in the pure countryside air.

.

Five years had passed since Hermione Granger finished her seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She had been the only one of her friends to return to the school after the confrontation that had led to the annihilation of Voldemort. Throughout that year, she had never felt totally at ease - not because she had been a year older than the rest of the seventh-year students, but for the reason that the faces which had accompanied her from her first to sixth year were no longer there anymore.

No one had chided her or called her "Mudblood!"

"Now, where did that thought come from?" wondered Hermione. "Why am I thinking of that particular personage on this day?" Yet, as soon as the face of the boy with the sandy blond hair flashed in her mind, it obstinately refused to leave! No, Hermione had not missed that boy in her seventh year! Why in the world should she ever indeed? She should have felt relieved that the one who had constantly taunted her in the past had not been there! No one had sniggered or mimicked her behind her back.

Certainly, everybody, to Hermione's intense discomfort, had been quite in awe of her because of the role she had played in the war against Voldemort. She also happened to be one of Harry Potter's best friends! Hermione had only ever known one person at Hogwarts who had never been genuinely impressed by the Boy Who Lived.

Back in her seventh year, the students seemed to have expected her to carry Harry's autographs wherever she went! Professor McGonagall had come to her rescue then. The new Hogwarts headmistress had threatened to transfigure the students into walking autographs if they dared to bother Hermione again. The threat had kept the students away even if Hermione had known Professor McGonagall would never use transfiguration as a punishment.

Hermione had served as head girl, and it had been a rather uneventful year. The peaceful state of affairs had been quite welcomed of course, since the previous seven years had given her a dose of adventure that would last a lifetime! Besides, she had not had to be on the constant look-out for the blond boy who had, previously, made it a pastime to goad or bully others. No one had disturbed her onboard the Hogwarts Express; no one had entered her compartment without permission so as to make some contemptuous remark. And, everything had been orderly in the corridors of Hogwarts.

She did spot a cute ferret in the grounds once, though. She had left her books by the lake, where she had been sitting, and followed the furry animal. It had simply run off to its hiding place where the smaller female had been waiting. Slapping herself lightly on the head, Hermione had returned to her textbooks. She had had to read the same line five times over before being able to understand its meaning.

In fact, all of Hermione's grades had been "Outstanding" at her NEWTs that year! She had not had time to ponder over futile things! Nonetheless, if she were to be honest with herself, Hermione was sure her excellent grades betrayed how hard she had laboured so that the blond profile of a certain person did not disturb her every waking thought. Indeed, in her seventh year, a queer thing had started happening and it still did, occasionally. She had started dreaming about an abandoned tower in Hogwarts, and she had not been alone in there…

She remembered how in the middle of the night, she would wake up screaming "No!" The other girls in the dormitory would rush to her in alarm. They usually bestowed compassionate glances upon her, thinking she was having nightmares about the battle that had occurred the year before. She had felt rather guilty for she knew it had not been a cry of fright, but a cry of sheer panic that he should leave her. She had never felt as keen a sense of loss as she experienced when the dream ended, and her eyes opened onto the real world.

Yet, whenever she fully came back to herself, she tried shrugging off those dreams as inconsequential. It dismayed her not to be able to share who she saw when her eyes were closed; she certainly could not afford to confide in Ginny. Even if she and Ginny shared many of those girls' talks, Ginny was still Ron's sister. She could not disclose to Ginny that she had feelings, which seemed to run very deep in that recurring dream, for someone other than her brother, especially since that someone had never given her a second thought, had never even exchanged a kind word with her, and despised who she was - a Muggle-born.

Why had those vivid dreams been haunting her? She had not the faintest inkling as to the reason behind that! Weren't dreams supposed to be a window to one's subconscious? Why should he be imprinted on her subconscious? Why did it always feel like her heart was breaking into a million pieces every time she woke up and found out it had all been a mere dream?

It was very disquieting that it should have come to the point where having to separate herself from the individual in her dream made her feel reluctant to wake up. She had had the same dream again, last night, and was still unable to shake off the lingering melancholy that had gripped her.

Also, whenever she was awake and happened to think about the dream, she was always filled with a strange longing. There was always something…mysterious, elusive that seemed to be at arm's length. Yet, every time she tried to grasp it, it felt as if she was trying to close her fingers around a wisp of cool cloud that suddenly sprouted small, thin legs and rushed out of her reach in fright. That image often made her laugh even if it was frustrating not knowing what it was her mind was so desperate to know about. Some invisible barrier was thwarting her every attempt at uncovering the mystery, though.

At night, she had made it a habit of putting some perfume on herself, arranging her hair properly, and doing all those little things which women did to attract men. Her purpose was not to catch the attention of someone, though; she just thought she might meet someone in an old tower again - even if that happened only after she fell asleep. Although she had long ago noticed that she always dressed in her Hogwarts robe in the dream, she still lingered a tad bit longer than was necessary in front of the mirror. She could not resist it. The prospect of an encounter with him always made her want to look good. She did not want to give him any reason to criticize her. However, in that dream, he was rarely unpleasant to her. On the contrary, he was quite perfect…

Hermione remembered when, six years ago, instead of going to Hogsmeade to have butterbeer and relax in the company of her new friends, she had preferred to make a little excursion to the towers of Hogwarts to identify the one in which she usually found herself in the dream. She had visited nearly all of them, and had begun thinking that the tower, too, did not exist. The last tower she visited dispelled that notion, though. It had the tallest spire and was located on the far south side of the castle, a mostly unused area. A set of spiral stairs made of dark granite had led upstairs. As soon as she had found herself in that abandoned tower, a very sharp sense of deja vu assailed her. She had felt faint with the jumbles of emotions that rushed towards her and pinned her in situ for a long while.

After she recovered, she had slowly walked about the place, unable to understand why her heart was beating so fast - as if she expected him to materialize from her dreams at any moment. She had known he would not, though. She had been the one going crazy with those weird dreams, not him. The floor had been strewn with old discarded books, candle stubs, and white cushions. Underneath the cushions were two half-hidden, rolled-up parchments. Normally, she would never have opened someone else's paper to read what was inside, but on that occasion, she had been unable to stifle the curiosity gripping her.

On opening the two scrolls, the very elegant penmanship had caught her eye. "Could the handwriting have been his?" she had asked herself. The parchments had not seemed very old either. She had used the Revelio Inkum Aetatis spell to find out the date on which the author had written on the parchments. The spell was designed to reveal the age of writings not more than five years old. Hermione had been in her sixth year when the first parchment was written on. The writing was about how the author had been feeling. Hermione mentally quoted it.

"I might not have tears in my eyes

I am a boy, I do not cry

But my heart is shedding tears of blood

It I stop it, I die

Life has strewn a path of hot embers for me

Barefoot I must walk

My clever Rose has been snatched away

And thorns stalk me along the way

I might not have tears in my eyes

I am a boy, I cannot cry"

The writing on the other parchment dated a year later from the first. In that one, it seemed as if the author was trying to reassure the one he loved. Hermione could, however, feel that he had been trying to reassure himself at the same time.

"Oh my heart, my love

It is just a brief parting

Bear with it bravely

Never cease smiling

Our destination is calling for us

Love is its name

Now is the Season of Separation

But it will pass away

The darkness will dissolve

The storm will abate

A path will be cleared

And we will reunite

Our destination is near

It is not an impossible dream

Oh my sweet one, don't cry

It is just a little wait…"

Underneath this particular piece was something she had been unable to read: music notes.

Hermione reminisced about how she had sat in that ancient tower as the hours stretched by, holding those parchments close to her heart. Bittersweet emotions had assailed her, and she had felt the sadness of the author acutely. "He must have been a sensitive soul," she had uttered aloud. "What could have prevented him from being with the one he loved?" she had wondered. Sitting in that tower, alone with the thrumming silence, had been a surreal experience. She had wondered whether she was dreaming or awake, but she succeeded in convincing herself to get up and leave, for it was no use sitting there and feeling dejected. Could the war with Voldemort have been the cause of their separation? Or could it be that now, the author was already reunited with the girl he loved?

She had speculated about the identity of the author at that time. She still thought about it often, but had no answer. Could the author have been the boy who had taken to haunting her dreams? It could not be him, could it? Why would he be writing things like that? It had then struck Hermione that she did not know much about the blond boy after all.

And it was a pity she could not identify the handwriting! She had never seen the handwriting of the former Slytherin prefect either! It was a shame. They had attended the same classes so many times before. It was also true, however, that he had never cared to be her friend; she had not cared about him either! Hating her for being a Muggle-born, he had always kept his distance from her. If he had been the author, for whom could he have written such things? And why did she feel something faintly, only very faintly, akin to jealousy whenever she thought about that? Emotions could not be that irrational! Besides, they had to originate from some kind of legitimate source - such as shared past experiences; feelings stemming from the legendary Fountain of Dreams did not exist!

In that seventh year, Hermione had often caught herself looking at the Slytherin table, many times expecting to find the one who had been the Slytherin prefect seated over there, making some kind of joke at her expense. She had been unable to understand the slight, very slight tug at her heart when she found someone else seated in his place. The Slytherin common room must have been singularly dull without the blond prefect to animate discussions!

Without doubt, Hermione Granger had not missed Draco Malfoy; but, inexplicably, his absence had not left her indifferent.

.

Hermione opened her eyes and sighed deeply again. The stars were coming out. Several bright ones twinkled in the distance. Big puffs of cloud lazily navigated across the night sky.

"Where was the Slytherin spoiled brat now?" she wondered. It was a real mystery. The feelings she had for the blond boy confused her, she having never felt those when the Slytherin brat prince had studied alongside her. It could not be romantic feelings. That was unthinkable! Could it be care then? She was curious as to what happened to him, but she was not concerned about him! No, she was honestly not! But now that he was gone, she felt queer and somewhat ill at ease.

She loved Ron, didn't she? But above all, didn't she deeply dislike the blond boy with the cold grey eyes? She had been together with Ron for six years now, and Ron had, understandably, been pressing her for them to get married. She always refused, telling him she did not feel ready yet. But she should have been, shouldn't she? They had been best friends, a friendship bond that had transformed into love. They should have been a very happy couple. Their relationship had suffered some strain lately, though.

Whenever she was with Ron, she felt as if she was being unfaithful. Indeed, it queerly felt as if she was betraying the boy in her dreams.

It was utterly unreasonable and unspeakably silly!

"I must contemplate a visit to St. Mungo's soon if this continues," thought Hermione.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Hermione, have you finished? Come quick, we're starving!" came Ginny's voice.

"Oh, I'm sorry to keep you all waiting. I'm coming in a moment!" replied Hermione.

"Don't worry, Hermione, I'm sure you look divine, as always! You don't want to give my brother a heart attack, do you?" joked Ginny. Hermione heard Ginny descending the creaky stairs two steps at a time.

"Ginny!" chuckled Hermione to herself. A swift glance at the mirror told her she had stood by the window far too long as the wind had ruffled her hair. She set about arranging it properly.

Meanwhile downstairs, Molly Weasley was busy setting the table. They were going to dine outside, in the garden, as the kitchen was too small and crammed to accommodate all the guests present. Mrs. Granger, Hermione's mother, was trying her best to help even if the moving kettles and pans, levitating jugs and plates, and gnomes that had to be constantly chased away puzzled and distracted her.

Penelope, Percy's fiancee, was helping Fleur and Angelina put the final touches to the garden. Soon, glittering golden and blue stars streamed from the sky, stopping only a few metres above their heads. A beautifully decorated banner saying 'Happy Birthday Hermione' hovered over the table. Small red and white hearts with flapping wings wafted from the leaves of the trees, and paper lanterns, in the form of lotuses opening and closing their large petals, hung from the branches.

"Stop there! Stop there, you naughty brats!" George entreated as he chased after the four-year-old Luke, who was Bill and Fleur's son. Luke, in turn, chased after the two-year-old, Kathy, who was George and Angelina's daughter. Kathy, on her part, ran after Chase, her three-month-old Labrador Retriever, who had stolen a lilac tinsel garland and was running away with its prize in its mouth. None of them paid the least attention to George.

Inside the house, Arthur Weasley was engaged in a lively chat with Hagrid, Mr. Granger, Percy, and Bill. Charlie, who was still in Romania, had sent an owl saying that he would be unable to come as he had to look after an injured baby dragon. Hagrid had greatly praised Charlie after hearing this.

Some distance away Harry, Ron, Luna, and Neville sat together, engaged in an animated conversation of their own. Presently, Ginny came down and joined them.

"Where has she been all this time?" asked Ron, annoyed. "Why do girls take so much time to get ready?" observed Ron, turning to Harry and Neville.

"Who knows!" replied Harry. Neville shrugged.

"You guys wouldn't understand!" replied Ginny. "Anyway, Hermione is coming right away."

"Oh, didn't you know, Ron," Luna intervened, "it is because of dreetles. They are miniature pixie-like creatures. They live in bedrooms and love to tie knots in well-combed hair. It takes time to talk to them. Often, to persuade them to go away, you have to sing a song to them."

"Ah, right," muttered Ron.

Harry, Ron, Neville, and Ginny eyed each other surreptitiously. In all those years, Luna had not changed! She still talked about invisible creatures nobody had ever heard of, except maybe her father, Xenophilius Lovegood.

"How was your last paper for the Auror Qualifying Exams, Ron?" asked Neville.

"It was okay, Neville. I might have messed up over the last question, though. Couldn't make the distinction between Bullswort Disguise and Bullswart Disguise. It fails me how knowing that could ever be of any use to an Auror! Even Harry here, who passed the Qualifying Exams two years ago, doesn't know the difference!"

"He is right!" replied Harry.

"I suppose Hermione would know the answer. Haven't you asked her?" Luna questioned.

"Oh, no need to bother her over this!" Ron brushed off the question, suddenly very interested in garlands decorating the ceiling.

"What about you, Neville? How does being a professor of Herbology at Hogwarts feel?" asked Ginny.

"I love it!" he answered. "Oh, the students are very naughty, and they answer back a lot. Not at all how we were like when we were students! But there are always some who are very interested in magical plants. We have been able to breed some Bombardier Anthora successfully! It is a cross between Yellow Monkshood and Indian Aconite. Very deadly, but extremely efficient to treat all kinds of poisonings. Its leaves are crushed to obtain the juice. A tiny drop of it diluted with healing moon tonic water will suffice."

"That's great, Neville! Have you already obtained a wizard patent for its use, though?" asked Harry. "I am sure it would be very useful in our tasks as Aurors."

"That's right," Ginny joined in. "It won't be of much use in Quidditch when I play with Holyhead Harpies, but Harry is always telling me about highly-venomous magical fauna and flora he comes across!"

"I have already filed a patent application with the Ministry. I hope it will be approved soon," beamed Neville. "I'm not the sole inventor of this, though."

"Who else helped you, Neville?" asked Luna.

"The Passion Serpent!" replied Neville, excited.

"Really! How is that?" shrieked Ron, Ginny, Harry, and Luna at the same time.

"As you all know, The Passion Serpent's editor-in-chief hardly ever answers the millions of fan letters he receives," Neville stated.

"Yea, that is indeed very true!" replied Ginny. "I have written to him many times before! He never answers."

"He is amazing!" continued Neville. "You remember how three years ago, he published an extraordinary potion that could be used to heal those debilitated by the repeated use of the Cruciatus curse upon them. Thanks to that, my parents have been able to leave that ward at St Mungo's. They are still weak, but they can talk and use their limbs properly now. They'll be completely healed soon!" Neville wiped at his eyes. Happy tears had welled up in Ginny and Luna's eyes too.

"You are right, Neville. The Passion Serpent's editor is bloody brilliant," said Ron.

"Yes. Well, I wrote to him many times before thanking him for the potion. He never replied. However, I was having a difficult time trying to find a way to use the juice of the Bombardier Anthora. I tried diluting it with many mixtures but they all failed. You know I have never been good at potions! I then decided to write to him, and he replied suggesting I use moon tonic water to dilute the dosage. And it worked!" laughed Neville.

"What is moon tonic water?" asked Harry, turning to his friends. "Sounds like I've heard about it somewhere!"

"I dunno, mate!" Ron shrugged. "You are right. It does sound familiar!"

"It sounds familiar because it featured in an old edition of The Passion Serpent. Two years back, to be exact," replied Luna.

"True!" exclaimed Ginny. "It is water that has been collected on a moonless night and kept in the dark, covered by a black scarf, until the next full moon. It is then taken out and placed outside, in a rose quartz bowl, during the whole duration of the full moon. Three different healing crystals are placed in the water. Muggles know about moon tonic water, but they don't know how to make it properly," she explained.

"Also, after placing the healing crystals in the water, you have cast the spell 'Sanare Aqua' to it," added Luna.

"Exactly!" agreed Neville. "Moon tonic water, as the name suggests, has very strong healing properties."

"I wonder what this crazy guy, Ladon Hydras, has been up to this time!" Harry said. "I suppose we'll find out tomorrow, in the next issue of The Passion Serpent. He seems to have a knack for tracking down dark wizards. It is almost as if he can read their minds! The Passion Serpent is becoming something of an indispensable tool for Aurors."

"You are right, Harry! He has a flair for them. And he is always experimenting and inventing all kinds of spells and potions! He has got to be one of the most powerful wizards of our age!" added Ron.

"He sure seems brilliant. He is always solving countless mysteries, making new discoveries, and that column of his entitled 'Insight into the fascinating minds of witches' should be read by all men on Earth! I wonder how old he is!" sighed Ginny dreamily.

"Why do you want to know his age?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows.

"Don't be jealous, Harry!" Ginny chided teasingly.

"What? I'm not! For all the things he knows and has experienced, he must surely be an old wizard with white hair and a long floor-length beard!" exclaimed Harry.

"That can't be true, Harry," Luna joined in. "If he were really that old, he would not have been able to describe views of sunsets and sunrises on tops of mountains such as Kilimanjaro or Everest, or find out about rare magical animals and plants in the heart of dark impenetrable jungles. You cannot Apparate in those areas as they house powerful magic."

"That's true, man!" Ron said. "That guy is no Gilderoy Lockhart! He doesn't brag. He gets straight to action! You guys know what I have managed to get for Hermione's birthday?" asked Ron, looking very proud of himself.

"Ladon Hydras's autograph?" suggested Ginny offhandedly.

"How the hell did you know that?" Ron asked, stumped.

"YOU GOT LADON'S AUTOGRAPH?" shrieked Ginny. "How did you? I was just naming the present you would be least capable of getting for Hermione!" Ginny confessed.

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you? It was very easy!" Ron beamed.

"But how did you?" Harry and Neville asked together, as utterly astonished as Ginny and Luna were.

"Well, I simply wrote a message to The Passion Serpent's Headquarters requesting an autograph. I said that my girlfriend greatly admired the editor-in-chief and that since her birthday was in a week's time, whether it would be possible to have Ladon's autograph!" Ron answered. "You won't believe it! I received a small velvet box from The Passion Serpent in less than an hour! It probably contains the autograph; I haven't opened it. It is best if Hermione opens it herself, first!"

"Wow! That's amazing! Ladon Hydras hardly ever gives any autographs! Hermione would be thrilled! I'm not going to bed until I have a look at it!" declared Ginny.

"I wonder why The Passion Serpent came into existence only four years ago. Its very first edition was literally snatched by millions across the world! What could Ladon Hydras have been up to before that?" Harry reflected aloud.

"Nobody knows!" Ron answered.

"Yes, he is a very mysterious man!" Neville acknowledged.

"The Passion Serpent, although being a quarterly, has nearly put the Quibbler out of business," Luna confessed. "Thankfully we still have a very loyal, like-minded reader base! Father has always refused to read The Passion Serpent. However, I have found him secretly reading the magazine when he thinks I'm busy counting Jumping Scrumptraphs."

"What are Jumping Scrump-?" Ron started asking, but was interrupted by Molly Weasley who came in and announced that dinner was ready.

"Great!" shouted Arthur. "I'm starving. I tell you, Hagrid, the lunch at the Ministry of-" Arthur Weasley abruptly stopped in his sentence; his eyes, like those of everyone present in the room, had turned to the light steps descending the staircase. It was Hermione. She looked resplendent.

"Who would have believed kids, and a puppy, could be such mischievous imps?" George entered the room and broke the silence. He held a wriggling Kathy in his arms. Luke stood by his side with the tinsel garland around his neck, and Chase sat near him, his tongue rolling out in exhaustion.

"Wow! You look great, Hermione!" Ron said. Harry, Luna, and Neville nodded in approval.

"Good gracious, Hermione. Yer look more beautiful than a fairy, I tell yer!" Hagrid said.

"Yes, she looks very pretty in that dress!" Fleur reluctantly agreed.

"Thank- you!" Hermione replied, feeling her cheeks heating up.

"Such a beautiful daughter you have, Jenny!" Molly Weasley said, turning to Mrs. Granger.

"I'm proud of her!" returned Mr. Granger.

"Now, will you all stop embarrassing the girl?" Ginny asked, laughing.

"Yes. Yes. Let's go outside; dinner is waiting and so is our dear Hermione's cake!" Molly informed them warmly.

Hermione mouthed a silent 'thank-you' to Ginny.

As they walked to the garden, somebody else Apparated at the Burrow: Lavender Brown.

"Good evening, everyone! I hope I'm not late! Happy Birthday, Hermione!" Lavender said, walking to Hermione and handing a present to her.

"Oh thank you, Lavender!" replied Hermione in a falsely cheery tone. She glanced at Ron. She was not the only one to do so; the others were all looking at him a little frowningly. Ron stared at the ground, shuffling his feet.

"You people were expecting me, weren't you?" Lavender asked, wondering why everybody looked so wary.

"Of course we were, Lavender! Come, let's sit." Molly Weasley entreated. "Get another chair from inside, Arthur!" she whispered to her husband.

Other than this unexpected arrival, the evening unfolded smoothly. Everybody complimented Molly upon her excellent cooking skills. They had multiple toasts to Hermione's health and sang birthday songs for her. Near the end of the celebration, everyone felt quite tipsy. Hermione's heart overflowed with gratitude and love. She adored Ron's family, and she held all those gathered there dear.

Ron pushed his chair back and got up. He banged his half-emptied glass of mead on the table. "Listen to me, everyone. Listen to me. I have something to say!"

"What is it, Ron?" George enquired.

"I have something to say to Hermione," he replied. Ron drained the remaining mead. Hermione's heart was beating so fast by now that she gripped the edge of the chair and sat very rigidly. She had an idea of what Ron might say, but sincerely hoped he would not and would instead see the distress in her eyes.

"Her-mione, I will g-get straight to the p-point!" hiccupped Ron. Molly and Arthur Weasley were smiling brightly now and so were Hermione's parents. The rest seemed genuinely puzzled about what Ron was going to say.

"Hermione," he said from across the table, "marry me!" The table erupted in an uproar of cheers, claps, and congratulatory messages. Hagrid got up from his enormous chair and crushed Ron in a big hug. Only Lavender seemed somewhat crestfallen.

"Silence, silence everyone!" Ginny requested. "We haven't heard Hermione's answer yet!"

Feeling all eyes turning to her, Hermione stood up. "Thank you everyone for this wonderful, wonderful time. I will always remember it. I can't say how very touched I am. You are all so very important to me. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley—I mean Molly, for the dinner, and thank you all for the great presents!" Hermione said, her eyes sparkling with grateful tears. Everybody clapped and cheered again.

Hermione walked to the other side of the table and touched Ron's elbow. "Ron, can we talk for a moment in private, please?" she whispered.

"Hermione, I want to know your answer!" Ron said a little too loudly.

The table went silent.

"Oh go on, Ron!" Molly Weasley urged a short moment later.

"Excuse us, we'll be back soon!" promised Hermione. She walked inside with Ron, keeping a hand at his elbow to prevent him from stumbling on the stairs. Ron brushed her hand away, disgruntled.

They walked to Ginny's room, and Hermione closed the door.

"What is this, Hermione?" asked Ron, irritated. "Couldn't you give me an answer back there?"

"Why did you do that, Ron? I told you I'm not ready for marriage yet, you know I-"

"Why the hell are you not ready? Why is it taking you so much time?" Ron asked, adding an expletive after his question. "Look at Fleur, she married Bill when she was about twenty two years of age! Angelina and-"

"Ron, just because Fleur was ready to get married at that age, it doesn't mean that I'll be ready! I told you two weeks before that as long as-"

"I'm fed up with your excuses, Hermione! I have enough of waiting! Either you say you are going to marry me or get the hell out of my life! I want an answer now!"

"Ron, don't be so childish, giving me an ultimatum won't-"

"I SAID I WANT AN ANSWER NOW, HERMIONE!" bellowed Ron.

"Stop shouting, Ron, they will hear us downstairs!" a distressed Hermione urged. She drew out her wand from one of the drawers and pointed it at the door.

"Muffliato," whispered Hermione.

"Listen to me, please," beseeched Hermione. "I need time. Besides, we've been having fights several times these past months. The last one was only two weeks back. We cannot get married if we don't solve all this strain between us."

"Another pathetic excuse again! Lavender is so much better than you, Hermione!"

"What do you mean, Ron?" Hermione asked, frowning deeply, trying to hide her hurt.

"You heard right! Lavender is way better than you! She isn't a know-it-all who is always trying to show that she is more intelligent than her boyfriend in front of everyone else!" Ron continued ruthlessly.

"Ron! That isn't fair at all! I've never, never tried to-" Hermione started to say, tears freely falling from her eyes now.

"I won't feel sorry for you, Hermione! You think you are so above everyone else when in fact you're just a Mud-" Ron abruptly broke off.

"Finish that sentence, Ron!" Hermione said sternly. She angrily wiped at her tears. "I asked you to finish that sentence!"

For the first time since they had come into the room, Ron looked worried and utterly abashed. The effect of the mead he had been drinking evaporated at once.

"I—I didn't mean that. I'm—I'm truly sorry, Hermione. It's your birthday and—"

"It is only now you remember it is my birthday, after having said these hurtful words?" Hermione asked shrilly. "Couldn't you remember that before behaving in this foul way?" she reproached in a lower tone, feeling utterly drained.

"I should have—I—you are right, Hermione. Things aren't going all that well between us. I've hurt you." Ron paused. "I think it is better if we give each other some breathing space for a little while," suggested Ron half-heartedly.

"You might be right," Hermione slowly acknowledged, seating herself on the edge of the bed and burying her face in her hands.

Ron had not expected her ready acceptance of his suggestion. "I-I got this for you." He placed the small velvet box he had received from The Passion Serpent on Ginny's table.

"Er…should I explain to the others that you are tired and have gone to bed?" Ron asked.

"Yes, thank you," Hermione said quietly, without looking up.

"Er…Everybody will be staying the night, as planned. Some of us will be camping in the garden. Only Hagrid and Lavender will be going back. Hagrid has to go to Hogwarts. And about Lavender, I invited her after our fight two weeks ago. It was in a fit of anger. Um…I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you." Ron said, attempting to engage Hermione into a conversation. Seeing that she was not paying him any attention, he walked out of the room still feeling deeply ashamed of what he had very nearly called her.

.

As soon as Ron had closed the door, Hermione uncovered her face and reclined back on the bed. She stretched out her hand for a pillow and brought it close to her heart. After that beautiful evening, the short altercation with Ron made her feel quite vulnerable. The words he had thrown at her face were hurting her. But, strangely, only the words hurt - not the fact that she and Ron had temporarily split up. Their separation filled her with something oddly like relief; she couldn't be sure, though. It felt as if a stone pressed onto her heart. She did not want to examine her feelings. She just wanted to drift away.

"But I can't!" Hermione thought, bolting upright in the bed. The black cloud hovering over her disintegrated. She glanced at her watch. It was twenty-five minutes to eleven. The stone temporarily freed her heart. Indeed, Hermione was born at exactly twenty minutes to eleven at night! "Only five minutes left," she thought, "what will he send tonight?" Hermione jumped from the bed and started to-ing and fro-ing across the room. She spotted the little black box Ron had left on the table. She placed it in her handbag; she would look at it later.

She was not normally impatient, but she was now glancing at her watch at unreasonably short intervals. "This has to be the longest five minutes I've ever experienced!" she murmured to herself. As the first three minutes slowly stretched by, her enthusiasm started ebbing away. "Why am I so excited over this mysterious individual who waits for my birth time to send me flowers!" she wondered.

"It is as if he waits after everyone else has given me presents and wished me happy birthday! That makes no sense! Does he think his flowers unimportant? Is that why he sends them last, or does he think they are important because he always sends them on my birth time?" Hermione muttered to herself. "Why doesn't he ever reveal who he is? I've had enough of it! I'll try to send him a message back and ask him about his identity!"

Just then, Hermione heard pecking sounds on her window. She couldn't stop the bubble of sheer joy that burst inside of her on seeing the two familiar parrots flapping their wings outside. Kiki and Bobo! Kiki was a female macaw, and she had bright yellow and blue feathers with a band of red on her head. Bobo was a blue-eyed male cockatoo. He had white plumage and a bright orange crest. They were both magnificent.

Hermione rushed to open the window. Kiki and Bobo flew in. Each held the handles of a flax bag, which contained beautiful flowers, in their strong curved beaks. They deposited the bag in Hermione's outstretched hands.

"Crazy gal talkin to herself, crazy gal talkin to herself!" Kiki cried as soon as her beak was freed. She flew onto the bed and started pecking at her feathers.

"Aww, dear Kiki, I'm not! I was just wondering why you both were taking so much time!"Hermione giggled.

Bobo, too, flew onto the bed. He stretched his white wings and bobbing his head eagerly, started singing. "Happy birthday to oo, happy birthday to oo, happy birthday, happy birthday, happy birthday to oo!"

"Wow! That was amazing! Thank you so much, my sweet Bobo!" Hermione laughed, clapping her hands. "Thank you for not saying I'm crazy!" she joked, moved and overjoyed on beholding the two birds who had always visited her on her birthday for six years now. Hermione fetched a packet of bird seeds. She put Kiki's food in a small plate. Kiki, unlike Bobo, didn't like eating from her hands. Bobo was always very affectionate, but Kiki did not like to be touched.

"Bobo," said Hermione as she fed the cockatoo, "can you tell me you master's name? Who is the marvellous person who sends you?"

"Noo, noo, noo!" came the shrill warning from Kiki. "Noo, noo!"

"Oh Kiki, can you at least tell me from where you have come from?"

"Kat…Kat…Katmandooo," answered Bobo, bobbing his head. Kiki moved next to Bobo and nipped at Bobo's wings disapprovingly. Bobo just went closer to Kiki and affectionately brought his head next to Kiki's. The macaw gruffly moved away.

"So your master is so far away, in Kathmandu…" Hermione reflected slowly.

Kiki suddenly deployed her bright wings and flew out of the window. Bobo seemed more reluctant to follow suit but, gently pecking at Hermione's hand, he too flew away!

"Wait, wait!" cried Hermione after them. "Tell your master I said thank-you!" she shouted.

It was a pity she could not extract any information from them! Such intelligent birds! Hermione's disappointment faded as her eyes fell onto the flowers. Instead, a radiant smile lit her face. The mysterious sender always sent her flowers. They had not been chosen at random, though. The flowers, she had discovered, always contained meanings. They were also a means through which he conveyed secret messages to her.

Six years ago, he had sent her Witch-hazels and Forget-me-nots. The first signifies 'spell' and the second stands for 'true love.' Then, on her nineteenth birthday, he sent her Gardenias and Viscarias; the one represents secret love, and the other encloses the request 'will you dance with me?'

On her twentieth birthday, she received Sacred Daturas – it was a way to tell her he had dreamt about her – and Primroses, which bear the confession 'I cannot live without you.' The following year, she received Red Tulips and Coral Honeysuckle. The combined message conveyed by those two flowers is: 'trust me, I love you.' A year ago, on her twenty-second birthday, she received Globe Amaranths, which profess unfading love, and Peach Blossoms, which aver 'I am your captive.'

This year, Kiki and Bobo had brought her a beautiful bunch of Claret Roses. They symbolize deep love. In their midst, she found a single Spider Flower. A thrill ran down Hermione's spine. This particular flower holds a very romantic plea: 'elope with me…'