A/N: /Hides and begs for forgiveness for being such a negligent writer/ Sorry for the wait, but I hit a little writer's block and yet more PC problems. Hope that this makes up for it. Thank you for the reviews- reading them over again made me get back to work with a smile on my face. Thanks go to the alpha beta Angel!

Also, if you haven't already, check out potterpuppetpals . com. Thanks for the Ronnicus Explodicus tip, C.O /grins/ And congrats to JK, who's expecting her third child next year.

Jojo- Sorry if I irritated you, but you'll see I amended that little problem soon enough. When I have time I'll go back and reload the chapters that have a full stop. A lot of this does have to do with Hermione because a big majority of this story is about what happens to her during seventh year. SS/HG romance will be eventual but you'll have to do a 'little' waiting first I'm afraid. If you're looking for immediate proclamations from Sevvie, this isn't the story you'll find it in. Thanks for reading.

25. Lone Soul

Hermione clutched desperately at the nearest pole as the bus lurched to a stop. Crookshanks gave a plaintive cry from his basket. He seemed to have given up expressing angrier complaints out of sheer fear.

"Leaky Cauldron!" announced Stan.

As Hermione gathered her belongings and rolled up the abandoned newspaper she'd been reading, an elderly witch with grey curls came shakily down the stairs clutching an overflowing shopping bag and an umbrella. She smiled weakly at Stan as she stepped off the bus. Hermione followed her.

Madame Foggerty was checking through her bag to make sure she had left nothing on the bus. Hermione looked hesitantly upwards at the sign above the inn's door, which was swaying slightly in the breeze. Remembering she was a Gryffindor, she put a hand on the doorknob and slowly pulled it open. She looked questioningly at the elderly witch, meaning to hold the door for her.

The woman shook her head with a smile. "Oh no, sweetheart. I'm staying down the street."

"Oh. Well, goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, dear."

She returned the smile before stepping into the pub and closing the door behind her. The low buzz of chatter and the warm glow of many lamps filled her senses. The many patrons of the friendly tavern were scattered about; some perched on barstools talking animatedly to a smiling barmaid, others huddled around tables sipping at various drinks and a group of raucous men playing darts in the corner. A cheer erupted as one scored a bulls-eye, grinning triumphantly at his companions. Nobody seemed to notice the quiet girl clutching a heavy bag and a cat carrier. Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

"Lookin' for a room, miss?"

Hermione whirled around, only to find a girl just a little older than her, standing behind her, cleaning a glass with a white cloth.

"Yes…I…"

"I'll find Tom for you then," the girl answered, setting the glass on the bar and walking into the back room. Shortly after, the small, round-shouldered man emerged, a toothless grin upon his face when he saw her. He looked her up and down for a minute before saying, "Miss Granger, isn't it? Friend of Harry Potter's?"

Hermione nodded. "How did you-?"

"You were in the Prophet a fair bit before the summer, after that nasty business with You-Know-Who."

"Oh, right." Hermione forced herself to smile. That wasn't something she particularly wanted to be reminded of right now.

"You were wanting a room?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I'll be giving you Room Eleven, then. Would you like something to eat before I take you up?"

She shook her head. "I ate a little while ago. I'm fine. I'd just like to get some sleep."

The old innkeeper nodded. "Follow me, then." He set off towards the stairs. "Watch the roof- it's a little low for some. Wouldn't want you to bang your head now, would we?"

It was a short journey to Room 11. Ensuring warmth, and that she had plenty of light, Tom bowed himself out of the room, wishing her a good night's sleep, leaving Hermione to thankfully sit down on the creaky old four-poster, a liberated Crookshanks prowling about the room suspiciously.

Alone now, the brunette wrapped her arms around herself, resting her chin on her knees and stared at the bland wallpaper before her. Eventually, her eyes drifted to the window and she gazed out into the unresponsive dark. Her sigh went unheard by everybody except herself and the feline at her side.

-

Harry bit the head off a Chocolate Frog and munched thoughtfully, staring into the flames that flickered within the fireplace. He was sprawled across the large rug in the spacious living room, which was littered with shiny wrappers from various edible Christmas gifts.

Grimmauld Place still didn't exactly make him feel at home, but as it gradually changed around him, Harry began to accept that it actually belonged to him. It was his. The appeal he should have always felt at 'going home for Christmas' was starting to make sense to him now.

Harry stretched and sat up as he heard footsteps on the stairs. The door to the room soon opened and Ginny padded in, clad in a long red dressing gown and slippers. She smiled and took a seat on the rug, cross-legged.

"Feels weird with just you, me and Ron here," she commented, helping herself to a Fizzing Whizbee.

"Well, they'll all be back by New Years," Harry said. "And maybe Hermione will drop in soon too."

"I sent her an owl before," Ginny informed him. "No reply yet, but the weather's getting up- Pig takes ages when it's raining."

Harry nodded. "Where's Ron?"

"In his room. He's trying to get that picture off the wall. You know, the one of the landscape and that woman in the crinoline who sings at all hours of the night and wakes him up. Looks like another Permanent Sticking Charm."

Harry grinned. "I guess I should do some things around this place before we go back to school."

"We'll help," promised the redhead. "And no pink walls, I promise."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Ginny spoke. "Does it feel strange?"

Harry frowned. "Does what feel strange?"

"You know," Ginny gestured to the room. "All of this. That it's yours. One minute you're staying at Hogwarts for Christmas, and the next you're told you have your own home to celebrate it in."

Harry looked at her, considering. "Honestly? I don't know. It hasn't…quite sunk in yet. I keep remembering it being Sirius's." He smiled. "He loved that Christmas we all spent here…for a while, anyway."

Ginny nodded. "A little too much…I couldn't get that Hippogriff carol out of my head for weeks."

Harry laughed as he watched the flames jumping in the fireplace before him. He turned to smile at the redhead and was strangely startled to see her eyes still trained on him. She returned his smile, the skin at the corner of her eyes crinkling slightly as she did so. When neither looked away, Harry cleared his throat awkwardly.

"So…er…talked to Dean lately?"

Ginny looked confused at his change of conversation. "No? Should I have?"

"Aren't you going out with him?"

She shook her head, amused. "We only went out on and off last year. I stopped seeing him by the end of the summer. He never seemed to do anything else than talk about football and that player he's so obsessed with…Peckham or something. Drove me nuts. I mean, I like Quidditch more than the average girl, but that Muggle game…makes no sense at all. Why would they just play with one ball?"

Harry shrugged. "Could ask Dean," he suggested.

Ginny grimaced. "And get another lecture about scoring techniques? No, thanks."

They were both grinning at each other again.

"So…" (Harry was beginning to hate the word now.) "…Who are you going out with now?" he asked, in a would-be casual tone, reaching for another sweet.

"No-one."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"No reason. I guess I'm just surprised that, well…no-one?"

Ginny shrugged. "Maybe I don't seem interesting anymore." She pushed back a lock of wayward hair. It caught the light as she did so and appeared to be a more intense shade of red in the glow of the fire. Unconsciously, she'd shifted a bit closer to him.

Harry shook his head. "Rubbish." She raised her eyebrows in question. "Well… you're-"

The door flying open disturbed them. Ron stomped in, a large ball of screwed up coloured paper in his hands. With a victorious grin on his face, he threw it into the fire. The paper fizzled and crackled loudly and began to break apart under the heat. Ron dusted his hands off before sinking into an armchair, looking tired. He suddenly realised that his sister and best friend were staring at him from the floor, obviously wanting an explanation.

He looked at them triumphantly. "Managed to get that awful landscape off the wall."

Ginny had a hand over her mouth as she stared between her brother and the fire. "You…that poor woman! How could you?"

Ron was puzzled. "What- Oh, you mean Prunella? She fled to the dining room when I made it clear where the painting- and her if she wasn't careful- was heading. I just couldn't take one more minute of 'Morning Has Broken…'"

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Bit extreme, mate," commented Harry.

Ron shrugged. "So what have you two been up to?"

"Nothing," two voices responded at once, automatically.

-

Dumbledore sat at his desk, reading a few belated Christmas Cards. Fawkes perched on the end, nibbling on the remains of a mince pie. There was an unexpected rapping on the window, and Dumbledore smiled pleasantly when he saw a familiar owl struggling to keep afloat in the battering rain outside. He rose from his seat and went to let the owl –which could now settle for a drowned rat- in. The short-eared owl flew in gratefully and settled by Fawkes, shaking its feathers to get dry. The phoenix edged away from the wet bird.

Once dry, the owl held out its foot and Dumbledore removed the paper tied to it. He read the contents before nodding to himself and using the back of the parchment to write his own note to the sender.

Tom,

This was not entirely unanticipated news. Thank you for informing me,

Albus.

He paused when handing the rolled up note to the owl, which looked at him pleadingly. He smiled at the bird.

"Why don't you stay here until the rain stops?"

The owl visibly relaxed.

"Ah, before I forget." Dumbledore got up again and went to the fireplace. Taking down a small dish, he threw a handful of powder into the fire that was blazing there. As green flames shot up, licking the bricks, the Headmaster crouched down onto the hearthrug.

"Severus!"

A few moments later, Severus's head materialised in the fire. His hair was wet and roughly combed, having just stepped out of the shower."Yes?" he said slowly, weary of what was coming next. It never surprised him that the headmaster would come calling during the most inconvenient of times. Unconsciously, he narrowed his eyes at the wizened wizard. His eyes are twinkling more then usual, that's not a good sign.

"I just received an interesting letter. I need a favour…"

Not being a big football fan myself, (and a Liverpool one, not a ManU fan when I am), I have no idea when 'Peckham' (also not a fan) began professional football, so I may be taking liberties with the time frame.