AN: HI YOU GUYS OMG sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I've been busy, as always. I hope you enjoy the chapter, though. And if it makes you feel any better (which it probably won't, because this is what I said last time and I was lying), I'm trying to get back into writing and I hope to continue this all the way through to the end. Okay? I love you guys. Enjoy.

Chapter Ten

The moment Harry woke up on 31 July, someone's hands swooped down on him and tied a blindfold over his eyes.

"What the—?" He panicked, sitting bolt upright. "Who are you? What are you doing?"

"Relax," Hermione's voice said. "It's just me."

Harry calmed down a bit, but he was still confused. "What are you doing, Mione?" he asked, reaching over to the nightstand for his glasses. However, before he could find them, she stopped his hand.

"I've got your glasses," she informed him. "Now, get up. I have something to show you."

"And the blindfold is necessary?"

"Yes."

"Okay, whatever."

"Just follow me downstairs."

Hermione helped him off the bed and out of the room. They'd been staying at her parents' house for the past month, and it practically felt like Harry's home now; it was easy for him to find the kitchen even though he couldn't see.

He felt his glasses slide into his hand, and Hermione untied the blindfold. When he put his glasses on, his jaw dropped.

The floral wallpaper and wooden cabinets of the kitchen were entirely invisible, due to the red and gold hangings draped over everything. On the table was a huge rectangular cake with chocolate icing. But Harry couldn't see the chairs or anything, because the table was surrounded by brightly-wrapped presents.

"Happy birthday, Harry!" the Grangers shouted. His face broke into a huge smile. Hermione kissed his cheek, then grabbed his hand and pulled him to the table.

He looked around at all the presents. "You didn't buy all these...?" There had to be at least thirty boxes.

"Oh, shut up, it's your birthday," Hermione said.

Mrs. Granger smiled at him. "Of course not, dear," she assured him. "Some of them are from the Weasleys, and some of them are from your other friends. They've been arriving all week, but we've hidden them in the closet under the stairs."

Harry smacked his forehead playfully. "Why didn't I think to look there?"

Everyone laughed, and Hermione hugged him. "Because now you sleep in a comfortable bedroom with me," she answered. Mr. and Mrs. Granger came forward and wrapped their arms around Harry and Hermione. Harry grinned, feeling safe and surrounded by love.

"Harry, you have to open mine first," Hermione said, her eyes shining like a little kid's on Christmas morning.

"Of course."

She thrust a long, rectangular box into his arms. He looked up at her questioningly, but she just smiled and nodded toward the package. Once he'd torn the wrapping paper open and yanked the gift out of its box, he found himself totally speechless.

"Hermione, how much money did you spend on this?" he asked, pointing to the Firebolt in his lap.

"I didn't," she replied simply.

Tears immediately came to his eyes. "This isn't... mine?" he whispered.

"Check the bottom."

He pushed the bristles aside, and sure enough, there was his name, Harry James Potter, written in his own thirteen-year-old handwriting.

"How did you get this?" He'd meant to shout, but he was so overcome with emotion that he could barely choke out the words. This broom was from Sirius. It was one of the last things he'd owned from his godfather, and it meant so much more to him than just something he used to play Quidditch.

Hermione shrugged. "I just went back to the place you dropped it."

"But I dropped it over two years ago."

"I didn't say it was easy to find."

At this, Harry stood up and took Hermione in his arms, the broomstick still in his hand. "I love you. I love you so much. You don't know what this means to me. I... thank you. I love you." Then he kissed her, right there in front of her parents.

"Well, I don't know how we're going to top that, Emily," Hermione's dad said to her mum.

Mrs. Granger laughed. "I don't know if we can."

Harry and Hermione broke apart. "Here, let me take that so you can open your other presents," Hermione said, but Harry knew she just wanted an excuse to turn around and hide her red cheeks from her parents.

Before the morning was half over, Harry could easily say it was the best birthday he'd ever had.

His life was about to get even more exciting, because the day after his birthday, he and Hermione went looking for a house of their own. They eventually found a little one-bedroom flat not too far away from her parents' house, except this time the previous owners had been wizards. They spent most of August moving in and getting settled... and they spent most of their savings on furniture. But it would be okay, because Harry was due to start work as an Auror, and Hermione—although she had no clue where she wanted to work yet—was making money off of her cell phones. In fact, she told him she almost considered it a full-time job, perfecting computers and even television sets for Wizarding consumers. Harry was in no place to argue, since this was bringing in so much money.

Even after Hermione had created marketable, magic-proof versions of all practical household electronics, she still wasn't satisfied with her accomplishments. By October, she'd written a nonfiction novel about the brainwashing of house-elves by Wizarding society, which got her noticed by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. She was offered one of their top positions, and she accepted, vowing to bring reform to the way wizards think.

"It's all stems from convention, Harry," she told him over a bottle of wine, the night she'd gotten the call from the Ministry. "We've been taught to believe that they are beneath us for so long that it's difficult for us to think anything different. If we start at the root—say, education: this should be part of a class at Hogwarts. They should teach us how all magical creatures are equal. And then, of course, there should be a law, that families with house-elves have to treat them right..."

Harry could barely listen to what she was saying, because he was so blown away by all she had done. She'd really made a name for herself. Whenever they went out in public together, people didn't see them as "Harry Potter and his smart friend." They saw Harry Potter and Hermione Granger: two people who changed the Wizarding world. Except, Harry hadn't done anything but been born in late July. The prophecy was the real reason he'd defeated Voldemort. Hermione had done all of this stuff on her own.

On Halloween, they wanted to visit Godric's Hollow, but there was just too much to do. The past few months of their life had been crazy. They both had off work on the actual Halloween Sunday; however, Harry had a project he was working on, and Hermione had a big press event in the evening, so they agreed that it was best to go another time. Instead they stayed home.

Around midday, Harry came out of the study. He needed a break from filing criminals' names, and anyway, he'd smelled something baking. When he walked into the kitchen, he burst out laughing. There was Hermione, covered in flour, surrounded by trays and trays of cupcakes.

"What's going on in here?"

Hermione sighed. "Fiona, the Department Chair, asked that we all bring a dessert to the press conference tonight. The last thing left on the list was cupcakes."

"So why didn't you go down to the bakery and buy some?" Harry asked, although one appraising look from Hermione made it obvious why. She didn't do anything halfway, so if she had to bring cupcakes, she was bringing the prettiest, most delicious homemade cupcakes they'd ever seen, damn it.

"Don't just stand there gawking; grab an oven mitt and help me."

"Why don't you just use magic?"

"I don't believe in using magic to shirk household chores."

"Baking shouldn't be a chore, Cupcake. It should be something you do for fun."

Hermione put down the tray she was holding. "Please don't call me Cupcake. Heaven forbid that awful nickname should stick."

Harry knelt down in front of her and threw his arms out dramatically. "Oh Cupcake, oh Cupcake, wherefore art the sprinkles on thy cupcakes?" He picked up a container of decorative sprinkles and continued his monologue. "A cupcake without sprinkles would be just as sweet, but would look bland and boring compared to Charlotte's colorful cookies—"

"Oh, shut up, Sprinkles. I didn't know you read Shakespeare in Auror training. And anyway, Charlotte's cookies are always pretty because she's the receptionist. Some of us don't have time to go home and bake after work."

"May I help decorate your cupcakes, Cupcake?" Harry said over his laughter.

"Of course, my dear Sprinkles."

And as much as Hermione didn't want the names to stick, they addressed each other as nothing but Cupcake and Sprinkles for the rest of the day.

That night at the department press conference, Hermione would be giving an interview about her "rise to fame" (she'd used air quotes when explaining it to Harry).

"Why are you being sarcastic, Hermione?" he'd asked. "You really are famous."

"No I'm not. You are. I didn't do anything except perform an Impervious Charm that happened to change the future of magical communication. Anyone could have done it," she'd insisted.

"Yes, but no one else did."

Even though Harry had failed to convince her of her worth as a public figure, she'd agreed to the televised interview, provided she'd be allowed to say a few words on house-elves. (Harry had seen her notes and knew that to say her speech was "a few words" was a colossal understatement.)

But it was too late to change anything now. The cameras were set and ready to roll. The whole Wizarding world was about to hear Hermione's story.

Even the Weasleys.

Ginny and Molly Weasley were sitting in their living room just minutes before Hermione's interview. They had just purchased their television this week, with Ginny's very first Quidditch paycheck, and they hadn't yet managed to use it properly. Mrs. Weasley sat in her armchair while Ginny sat on the floor in front of the TV, moving the antenna and flipping through the channels, hoping to find something.

And what she did find was not something she'd expected.

"Hello witches and wizards, I'm Brooke Waverly, and tonight I'm talking to Hermione Granger, the brilliant young woman who brought us the television sets you are looking at right now."

The first thing she thought to do when she saw Hermione's face on the screen was to yell "RON! COME DOWN HERE!" at the top of her lungs.

Her brother came thundering down the stairs. "What is it?" he asked, once he was within Ginny's earshot.

She beckoned wildly with her hand "Come here! Look!"

He sat down on the floor next to her. "Oh my God. Is that... Hermione?"

"No, idiot, it's Auntie Muriel—of course it's Hermione!"

Ron was too busy staring open-mouthed at the television to pick up on Ginny's insult. Hermione looked pretty as ever—even in her sensible dress and blazer. She had a microphone clipped to her lapel... what was going on?

An off-screen voice began to speak. "So, Miss Granger, these past few months have been a massive success for you. How did you go from inventor to author to politician, all in under a year?"

Hermione smiled modestly. "Well, Brooke, I'd hardly call myself a politician. Nor an inventor, even. I just took some things that Muggles have been using for decades and made them compatible with magic."

"And where did you get this idea?"

"Well, I'm Muggle-born, see, and it's just frustrating to not be able to call my mum and dad on their cell phones."

"How did you do it? I think we're all dying to know..."

Hermione laughed. "I obviously can't say, because it would be very bad for business. But I will tell you that I couldn't have done it without the help of Arthur Weasley."

Instinctively, Ron looked around for his dad. He was nowhere to be found, but Mrs. Weasley was smiling proudly.

Someone else familiar walked into the frame, then, holding two plastic cups. "Hey, I brought you some punch—oh, sorry." Harry's face turned red, and he tried to walk away, but—

"Harry Potter! How nice of you to join us!" Brooke Waverly sounded very excited to see her new guest. "Are you accompanying Miss Granger here tonight?"

"Oh, Hermione and I go way back, Brooke," Harry answered—successfully evading the question, Ron noticed. But the distraction worked, and they talked about their days at Hogwarts for a while. (Ron couldn't help but scowl when Harry said Hermione was the most brilliant person he knew.)

After the interview was over, Ron went back up to his room. He wished he'd been invited to the event Harry and Hermione had attended, but he was only in Auror training, so of course he couldn't go to the parties yet. He was kind of jealous, actually. He was jealous that Hermione and Harry were both doing so well, while he was a step behind them. It seemed like that's how it always was. Hell, even Ginny was playing for a professional Quidditch team.

If he was ever going to get Hermione to notice him, he needed to step it up. And not even just for Hermione. He definitely hadn't been realizing his full potential, and it was about time he started doing that.