There was a point in time where she hadn't minded thunderstorms all that much.

Sure, sure, she was never fond of them, per say, but what was there to be afraid of when she was in the company of others? For the most part, the Grangers never left her by herself if they could help it; even a trip to the market for a few items, she was taken along, ripped away from her books with the promise that they'd be right back.

Hermione had nothing to fear.

That is, until she did.

Even nine years later, she could recall it well, with horridly vivid details. It seemed dramatic, childish to come to think of the day that she regarded as shaping her life-no matter how silly of a shaping it was.

She was nine years old at the time; it was during the springtime, that had been a particularly nasty week. The rain came pelting down for a week straight and the weatherman had indicated on the radar that a storm was possible to pop up. It certainly looked possible; the sky seemed to be a permanent shade of gray and the air was filled with a smell that could only be attributed to that of incoming rain.

Her parents detested such weather.

It was on a Saturday and while the dentist office was still open, her parents typically took the weekend off to spend time with Hermione and to relax before another exhausting work week came forth. They'd just finished up a deliciously heart dinner prepared by her Mum: a casserole of meat, cheese and broccoli that her Mum was famous for making. It was one of Hermione's favorite dishes.

Since it was the weekend, it meant that the Granger's schedule was slightly more lax; dishes were rinsed off in the sink and left there for now as her Dad headed toward the broom closet for a board game. It was their weekly ritual until the phone that was hanging on the wall rang obnoxiously, interrupting everything.

As it turned out, one of the dentists that was supposed to show, never did. Consequently, that meant both her Mum and Dad were required to come in to assist in a procedure. They'd wanted to protest, to decline because they were fiercely adamant about work never intruding on their family time, but it wasn't their decision to make.

And so they were at a loss at what to do with Hermione. It wasn't that they worried for what she would do, no; they were worried for her. Hermione was a rather mature child compared to her peers. Her teachers during which she attended primary school praised her again and again for her ability to listen, never having to be instructed twice and never succumbing to the urge to get into any mischief like her classmates.

Her parents were confident that should a situation ever arise in which they needed to leave her alone, surely she could handle. But still, the Grangers didn't make it a habit of leaving their only daughter alone. Her Mum fretted over the what if's, imagining all sorts of horrible scenarios of Hermione getting hurt or worse. Even after finding out about her magic, her parents were still wary.

Being that it was last minute, it was doubtful that her parents would've found someone to care for her at seven-thirty in the evening. Her two most trusted babysitters, the only two people prior to becoming acquainted with Ron and Harry, who could tolerate Hermione's presence, were unavailable and had given the Grangers that notice during the start of the week.

Mrs. Forsheen was one of their elderly neighbor; she was on a nice trip somewhere else in London, visiting her sister for nearly two weeks. There was also Robert, a shy but responsible sixteen year old who bonded with Hermione over their fondness for reading. He, however, had been admitted to the hospital after sustaining a nasty concussion that Hermione hadn't understood how he'd managed to get. Robert was hardly a sports enthusiasts and she had never seen him pick up a ball before but it hadn't mattered, she heard from her Mum that Robert had to stay for a few days to be observed.

It left her parents a bit panicky, wondering if they could just whisk her along, leaving her in the breakroom with a book or two but alas, that wouldn't have worked. Their boss wouldn't have appreciated that one bit.

It was with great reluctance that her parents came to the decision of allowing her to stay at the house by herself. Hermione, even at her tender age, knew that it was a great honor and she should do her very best not to make her parents regret it. She stayed quiet as her Mum grasped her shoulders, instructing her on what she should and should not do, promising that she or her Dad would call to check up on her.

It hadn't been that difficult to see the blatant fear hiding behind her Mum's eyes. Hermione absorbed everything she was told, nodding at the appropriate times and giving her parents a hug before they departed.

Hermione didn't imagine anything going wrong but she also hadn't anticipated on the eerinessthat was to come once the front door was shut and her parents drove away, leaving Hermione all alone. A few lights were left on: the one hanging above the kitchen table, a lamp in the living room, a nightlight in the hallway. The curtains were kept closed as well.

Normally about this time, if she wasn't still helping out with the dishes or participating in playing a board game, she would have been up in her room, sitting Indian-style on her bed, engrossed in a thick book that would occupy her time well until it was time for bed.

However, it would have been far more creepy to do so, so instead she perched herself in the corner of the couch to read with the radio turned up so as to give her some background noise, to cut through the unnerving silence.

For the first twenty minutes, it went alright. The lull of the radio soothed her and she was able to quickly progress through three chapters. She thought it wouldn't be so bad, until, anyway, the first rumble was heard.

She'd promptly stiffened, gripping the sides of her book until her knuckles went a sickly white. Her insides churned and the casserole that she'd eaten was in danger of coming back up.

It was...it was like a growl. Low like her stomach after not having eaten much. Oh, how she wanted to ignore it and focus on her book; how she wanted to curl up in her Dad's arms, to feel protected in some slightest hint.

But that wouldn't come.

Unfortunately for her, it was a very nasty storm. One of those severe springtime storms that had the house absolutely shaking. The roar of the thunder pounded in her ears, the flashes of lightning so bright that the darkly shaded curtains didn't soften. The rain was coming down harder than she'd ever remembered it doing and, with a tentative peek out the window, she saw that it was in the beginning stages of a flood.

Worst of all, as if all of that wasn't terrible enough, the lights had gone out rather abruptly. As if a candle was blown out with one, quick breath of air. She'd reacted poorly-sobbing with her face buried into the back of the couch and that was exactly how her parents found her.

Needlessly to say, she hadn't been left at home for quite some time and it left a sour impression of thunderstorms after that.

It was nightfall, nearly midnight. The sky had been rather dreary all day, keeping her on edge, a touch cranky although no one pointed that out.

It started to rain while everyone was eating dinner and all of the quidditch enthusiasts were deeply disappointed, as they had been meaning to start a game afterwards. No one reacted much beyond that, nonplussed to how hard it was coming down, so much so that their voices had to be elevated in order to be heard.

Hermione did what she could to distract herself, engage in small talk with the Weasleys and Harry, hoping that she hid her subtle flinches well. She hadn't. Harry and Ron knew how she felt and they offered her encouraging smiles, which she reciprocated.

After the table was cleared, stomachs filled to the brim, everyone got up to do their own thing. George and Charlie, much to their Mum's irritation, made a beeline for the outside and were laughing quite loudly as she screeched at them to get back inside this instant.

Mrs. Weasley threatened them with with her wand when the thunder began, ushering two still giggling men into the house, muttering honestly repeatedly under her breath.

Hermione didn't want to be the only one affected by the storm and she most certainly didn't want anyone to know that she was. Harry and Ron weren't going to say anything-she would've cursed them for the rest of their days if they did-but she didn't want to think about how everyone else would react.

She was probably overreacting...The Weasley's weren't going to make fun of her...

But it was so embarrassing. It was silly, foolish. Thoroughly un-gryffindor like behavior. She'd gone up against so much-she'd gone on to help Harry defeat one of the most darkest wizards of all time without a second though because Harry needed her.

And now, there she was, petrified lik a small child. Oh, she dreaded to think what everyone would say if they knew. Half hearted attempts at hiding their laughter, thinking she was merely joking only for them to back away, awkwardness filling room when they found out she had, indeed, not been.

In a burst of frustration, she tossed the book she'd been attempting to read, but only skimming over the same paragraph for the past few minutes, to the other side of the couch where it almost bounced off onto the floor.

The rambunctious household had come to a standstill around half past ten-Mrs. Weasley's orders. She insisted they needed their sleep, her eyes had darted over to Charlie and George, warning them not to even think about going outside again. Charlie just laughed, kissing his mum on the cheek. He, George and Bill had stopped by for the day but were going to be disapparating back to their respective homes. Fleur couldn't make it, Bill mentioned at dinner that she flooed to her parents' house since both of them were ill and Gabrielle was having difficulty taking care of them both. Apparently, Bill had wanted to come as well but she wouldn't hear of it.

Once they'd left, Mrs. Weasley was again gesturing for everyone to get a move on it. There was some moaning and grumbling from Ron, whom complained that it was still early and we're all of age, Mum but she wouldn't hear of it. And so, they all trailed up the stairs-save for her, she made the excuse that she needed some pumpkin juice, but she'd come right up after.

She didn't take any.

Ginny's room had a large window for the lightening to illuminate the entire room, it gave a horrible temptation for Hermione, almost yearning for her to take a peep at the outside; the likes of which would send her back under the covers like a small child.

Ginny, she knew, was unbothered by such. It hardly took much, seconds at the most, for her to fall asleep, dead to the world until the afternoon-or whenever Mrs. Weasley deemed an appropriate time to wake up; which was never in Ginny's favor.

Hermione pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around herself. She inhaled, exhaled, trying to calm her erratically beating heart.

The thunder boomed again.

Emitting a bit of a yelp, she jerked so bad she almost fell off the couch. Biting down on her lip, she turned her head in the direction of the stairs, stiffening in fear that she'd woken someone up. To her great relief, she hadn't. Really, she should have known, the Weasleys (and Harry) could sleep through a bomb, should one be detonated.

She sighed, tensing up further at another bright flash.

She wished he was there.

As silly as it was, he made her feel protected. His mere presence was comforting and she cursed Kingsley for needing him to work a few more hours for some project that needed his expertise on.

He'd most likely be there until morning-or just prior to dawn.

Get it together, Granger, she told herself. You've faced a three-headed dog, Voldemort and more. You can handle a little storm.

She'd confided to Percy about that day, bracing herself for a snort or some remark about how she needed to get over it by now or something.

But he'd completely understood.

He just got her, didn't poke fun at her or her worries and listened attentively to her when she spoke, especially about important matters. It was thoroughly refreshing, a vast contrast to when she'd gone to the dance with Cormac McLaggen where majority of their conversation revolved around himself and quidditch.

Percy liked quidditch, too, but he didn't drone on and on about it. She did, though, make a point to discuss his favorite teams and such, returning his favor of listening to her when she was sure that most would have tuned her out.

Percy, he was different.

He didn't get bored of hearing her talk about her passions, her favorite books and any knowledge that she'd gained from said books. Rather, he was intrigued to hear it; even initiating the conversation himself. It was nice, nice to have someone that was genuinely interested in her and not absurd reason like her looks.

Hermione was brought of her thoughts by the front door opening up and flashbacks from the war had her jumping to her feet, brandishing her wand and pointing it straight at the figure

"Percy," she breathed, her arm dropping limply to her side.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed. With a flick of his wand, the door shut behind him and he made his way over to the couch, his face scrunched up with concern, not caring of the state in which he was in.

He was sopping wet, still dripping droplets of water that slid down from him and onto Mrs. Weasley's carpet. He was still wearing his Ministry robes, but they were hardly in the same pristine condition they had been when he'd left earlier that day, as if he had been running around in a hurry; they were clinging to him, which might have been a very nice sight if not for the circumstances.

Then there was his hair; before and during his betrayal, she remembered him styling his curls back for a more professional look, finally allowing them to be loose after the war when he went to work with Kingsley. Now, however, they were flat again, with the occasional piece sticking straight up.

His glasses were smudged, a few dots of water on the lens. She imagined he couldn't see very well out of them.

He looked so far out of his usual state of upkeep and strangely, he didn't seem to mind.

He performed a quick drying spell, then gave her a once over. "Are you alright?" he asked, sounding like he was out of breath, somewhat.

"What? she flinched at the thunder again, desperately trying to keep the shakiness out of her voice.

Boom!

"Are you alright?" he repeated, anxiously. "I was in a meeting when I heard the thunder. Oh, sweetheart, I'm sorry I couldn't be here sooner."

He'd left, it took a moment for her brain to register his words but when she did, a sense of warmth spread from her chest down to her toes. He'd left early without a second thought, without regard to anything else. It was nearly hard to believe that Percy, who was usually so devoted to his work, especially during the years they'd gone to school together, would just shove it to the side.

For her.

Percy cupped her cheek, stroking it with his thumb. He was doing it again, studying her face, searching for something. His eyebrows were furrowing, creating wrinkles on his forehead. She felt his lips press a kiss to her own forehead, insides churning delightfully.

"I'm sorry," he murmured apologetically. "Meant to come sooner. Kingsley needed me and I couldn't get away."

Boom!

"It's alright," she smiled weakly. "Really, I under-" but her words trailed off after a particularly loud boom that left their eardrums ringing, causing her to emit a shriek and leap into his arms.

Percy barely caught her but managed to keep both of them upright and not topple over. Maneuvering her slightly, he pulled her down with him to the couch, where he held her into his lap, his arms wrapped around her in a tight grasp. Hermione's face was in his neck and he could feel her short, warm breath being blown on his skin. "It's alright," he reassured her. "I've got you. It can't hurt you."

But Hermione was beyond reason at the moment. The rational side of her was drowned out by the fear that was creeping up, bringing her back to that day when she was nine years old. Tears welled up in the corner of her eyes, she let out a pathetic sob.

"Everything's okay, Love," Percy told her, making circles on her back.

Boom!

"We'll get through this. Just like the last one."

He'd been there last time, the time before that and many times before that. There were a couple times, before they'd taken a fancy to each other, where he'd helped her as well.

Godric, she was lucky.

She shifted, leaning her head against his chest, tucked underneath his chin. That earthy scent, of which could only be of Percy, floated to her nose. It was comforting, like a warm hug. She didn't want to sound like one of those girls, the kind that were ridiculously infatuated with their boyfriend and clingy, but she didn't want to leave his arms. Not right now.

"Do you remember our first date?" Percy murmured, his fingers threading through her hair.

"I remember embarrassing myself," she grumbled as he chuckled.

"It wasn't that bad," he assured her.

"Says you. You weren't the one that kept dropping things."

Hermione and Percy had been equally shocked to find each other at the Leaky Cauldron that night alone, not to mention how attractive they found the other. He'd just finished a rough day trying, along side Kingsley and his dad, to rebuild the Wizarding World one step at a time. As for herself, she succumbed to Ginny's persistence on the topic of her dating life, or lack there of. She'd been slowly coaxed by the red-head into going out and mingling now that the war was over. For the longest time, Hermione had refused, coming up with the excuse that it wasn't safe yet or she couldn't possibly think of trying to get a man at a time like this-

But as always, Ginny got her way and that night, Hermione had waited in the Leaky for nearly an hour, sipping on a butterbeer until she almost called it quits. The bloke that Ginny had recruited, announcing that Hermione was simply going to love him because he was just like her-she ignored the way her friend's nose wrinkled as she said it-didn't end up showing up. It didn't bother Hermione in the slightest; really, she was glad. By him not showing up, she didn't have to go through the awkward stages of trying to talk to him or letting their would be relationship fizzle out with Ginny on her back, telling her to give him another chance. Or worse, she would try to convince her to give it another go with some other bloke.

No, thank you.

Just as she rose to her feet, intending on waiting to inform Ginny of her failed plan after she spent a night to herself, she saw Percy coming inside. He looked exhausted, but greeted Tom with a warm smile, causing her knees to feel weak like some silly teenage girl. She decided to approach him, figuring she might as well have a somewhat decent evening. At least she could talk to Percy and they could be on the same level.

Things just blossomed from there on.

"I happened to find that rather endearing."

"You're lying," she accused, mildly. "It was hardly so. I dropped tea all over your robes-"

"And I fixed it."

"Oh, you're being impossible," but it was said without much irritation, more so fond.

"Only for you, love," he said in a teasing tone. "There, see. You're better already, not even thinking about that storm anymore, are you?"

"No," she had to admit. Percy was good at that, distracting her by talking.

He squeezed her. "Still scared?"

"Not anymore," she whispered.