April 16, 2016 - London

Awards season was always a time of good food and drink, a time of basking in the accomplishments of the previous year - A celebration of hard work done. For the academics and the writers, the dreamers, it was a time to take stock of the imprint their words had left on the hearts and minds of the community, how far their reach had spread, and it was another end. Every year it felt like another chapter came to a pleasant close, and another year would present a new blank page to fill with more aspirations for the future. What mark did she want to leave behind? Who did she want to remain a steadfast, somewhat silent, companion? To her readers and the students that picked up her books at the beginning of the school year, Hermione had made an impact. It wasn't what she imagined she would have been doing with her time and her life, but, still, she was fulfilled and so very thankful for having the opportunity to teach in a form. She taught by way of experience through the pages of her books.

And this was enough.

Young women flocked to her signings for a chat and an autographed copy of new releases, they always had similar stories but Hermione would listen with a new ear, glad to hear it over and over again. Middle age women, like herself, wrote her mail, they thanked her for the solace she provided in her fictional series, they were always sincere and told her forthright when her chapters struck a meaningful chord. Countless tear stained letters had passed through her hands. Happy tears of revelation, tears of sadness, however, more often than not, these small splotches on parchment that caused ink to bleed were so much more than the topical; acknowledgements. And even though her life had taken a turn down the road less traveled by a person of her station, Hermione felt close to these, often, faceless women. She was one of many women who had resigned themselves to the fate destined, and who had chosen to make the best of what they had. The best, as she had discovered, still wasn't all that bad at all. If just a little empty in the quiet moments, late in the night where nothing but thoughts and dreams pranced hand in hand.

Hand in hand.

Just as she quickly strolled now down a busy London sidewalk, dressed well in a silken silver dress in the cold air, a thin emerald wrap around her shoulders, while alongside her, and holding tightly to her hand, her good friend and college roommate, Lydia grinned like a mad woman. It wasn't frequent that she brought dates along to these types of events, her dear friend had been bugging her for years to take that opportunity to be that coveted plus one spot. Anything to get away from her husband, just for night, just to miss him for a minute.

She'd discovered that was sometimes the key to a loving and honest relationship; that need to spend that little time apart to truly appreciate that person, to miss them, making that moment of coming home ever so sweet and desired. Not that the later was something she, herself, had experienced but it did make a lot of sense.

But, as it were, they were running late. Not by much. However, enough that they were striding with such long and calculated steps that Hermione almost had the fear that she could possibly roll an ankle if she didn't mind herself in her heels on the small patches of ice that lived in the dips of uneven concrete, remnants of winter that had yet to disappear. Muggles paid them no mind, aside from the occasional ogling from less than respectful men, as they raced along paved paths in the theater district. It wasn't until they saw the small crowd of men and women, witches and wizards, standing in groups outside their destination that they felt they hadn't the need to practically run. Finally their burning calves and thighs could take a small and deserved break. The women looked at each other and sighed in relief, unable to mask their clear amusement at the circumstance, the brunette moreso, as it had been Lydia and her indecision that had caused them to be tardy in the first place.

"Remind me, next time, I will just send you a dress, what you get is what you wear, no questions asked." She whispered as she leaned in.

"Deal." Lydia replied, smirking.

Magic took many forms, but to take a theater, mask its interior, create a realm all their own where, if some passersby were to walk inside, all they would see was a packed theater watching a show while, in truth, there was movement, circular tables, dinner and drinks, and no show up on stage but rather presenters and winners, was a feat. One night a year, the wizarding community invaded the West End and piggy backed a theater for the night. Just for this one small moment, to pay tribute to their own. And to show her friend, at long last, excited Hermione.

The women cued up, hello's in passing were exchanged as acquaintances and old friends briefly touched Hermione's shoulder. Her publisher was somewhere inside already, she knew it. He was a meek looking man, a man who looked like a strong wind might carry him across Europe, if it so willed, and he abhorred being tardy for anything. He was kind eyed, thin faced, always clean shaven, and she had been working with him for the majority of her career. It had been a few months since they'd sat down and considered the course of the year, knowing that awards night was approaching, and tonight, more than likely, they would find a time to convene. As always.

Once the women were given entry to the theater lobby, there were only two things on Hermione's mind - the proceedings themselves, and whether or not she would leave this year with any new accolades. She wasn't a fiercely competitive person. Age had mellowed this fiery streak. Although, she couldn't deny, she would never turn down another feather in her cap. Weaving between bodies, the music from the theater hitting a crescendo to make its inhabitants aware that soon they should be seeking their tables and their seats, Hermione glanced back as she led her friend through, the awestruck look upon Lydia's dark skinned features both amusing and delighting.

For once, Hermione felt like she was sharing with someone.

The women's hands fell way from one another, although Hermione could feel her company close behind. She nodded to the curtain boys in passing as they parted fabric for them to walk through, and into the theater they strolled, to find what must have been well over three hundred in attendance. The noise of laughter, chatter, and music could be a shock to the system after enough champagne. Witches and wizards mulled around their tables, many were seated and making conversation, however, many more still were catching up with acquaintances. Some that they only saw once a year or twice a year at events such as these because work and travel obstructed their schedules too much for social gathering.

"Miss. Granger… Hermione!" Standing from his chair, a thin hand needed to take her by the elbow gently so that she didn't completely by-pass. Twisting to look back, and absently reaching to stop her own company from running on forward when she didn't know where to go, Hermione leaned down.

"AH! Franklin… Forgive me, it gets louder in here every damn year…" She smiled graciously, guiding herself and Lydia just a bit closer to clear the space between tables for people to stroll through a bit easier, and closer to the man standing in front of his chair.

"Every damn year is right," The meek man sniggered, a sound that always sounded a little nervous. "I just wanted to let you know that whatever happens doesn't matter, we've still got a year's worth of work to do and thousands of young, brilliant women to inspire! We'll have to talk later, get a time for you to come into the publishing house for a meeting, yes? Yes. Alright. Enjoy your night!" He patted her elbow and she gave a small bow, thankful for his, seemingly a little intoxicated, well-wishes. Being the father of three young daughters, her works held special meaning. For that, she was grateful. It wasn't common for a wizard to hold such a standard in a world where, even in the wizarding community - emphasis on wizarding - men of his social standing held witches in as much, or higher, regard than that of himself. Which is why they had begun working together in the first place, he saw value in her writing before she had even seen it herself.

"Thank you, dear friend… Fingers crossed." She replied in parting, guiding her date once again along the line to find their tables.

"Imagine that, Petite Granger, with her head in her books and never a spare minute to go out for a dance and a drink," Her old roommate whispered through a laugh as the women sought out their seats. "A life of the party in this atmosphere." Lydia teased her, she always teased her, but never with any true malignance. Eyeing her company, Hermione rose a brow as they weaved between two tables on the right side of the room, and found their table. Table 25.

"It's because I didn't have time for a drink and a dance while we were in college that now I can drink and dance 'til my heart's content, sweetheart." She replied with a velvety smoothness, the orchestral band cutting their song short to play a tune that she'd heard many a time before, the actual 'Please take your seats and shut up, we're going to start now' song, as she called it.

"Clearly." Hermione heard whispered beside her as they lowered into their seats, while, just like being affected by strong magic, witches and wizards became drawn to their own chairs, cutting short their own conversations, and those that needed to retreat to the other side of the grand room did so as quickly as they could manage without looking like the arse of their skirts or trousers had caught flame.

The song came to a soft and quiet end, the room fell silent, save for the sounds of some vague whispers and the occasional cough or clearing of the throat. It was then, and only when silence enveloped, that a stark looking woman in a royal blue gown and a tall, dashing wizard in rich crimson dress robes made their way onto the stage, meeting in its center and, turning there, acknowledged the room. Hermione felt her friend stiffen with excitement and her lips curled into a smirk.

"Welcome, friends…" The silky voice of the female announcer, a woman Hermione knew to be a fairly prominent journalist from Dubai relocated to the United Kingdom. "And good evening to you all."

Lydia and Hermione shared a brief glance, both women tickled by the sheer seriousness of it all, when, in fact, they were far from serious women. Their tablemates seemed unphased and listened intently.

"It is our profound pleasure to be hosts this evening, at this 274th Annual Literary and Publishing Awards…"

Even though, over the course of her twelve year career, she had been in its attendance approximately eleven times, never did it lose its bit of charm. She could remember her first as though it were yesterday. She remembered what they had eaten for dinner afterward, who she danced with, and the speech she'd given for Best Upcoming Literary Debut… Regardless, it always felt like the first time.

It was 6:30 PM on a Saturday evening, they had three hours to go before all awards and speeches came to an end and made way for dinner, drinks, congratulatory conversations and dancing until the early hours of morning. And every time, just about now, when it all began that tug, that ever present hand, gripped the bottom of her stomach and held on, telling her, despite all the hard earned accolades and work…

You, my dear, are not good enough.

The night was filled with laughter and cheering as awards recipients rose from their seats and made their way to the stage to give their best speeches. Writers were rather good at these sorts of things. Perhaps not the public speaking, exactly, but to convey themselves through words once they needed to. Multiple nominations were thrown her way, however, this year seemed to be a dry one and that was honestly alright. Lydia, however, was far from pleased.

Dearest and most sincere Lydia, who believed that Hermione was due everything, clapped and cheered with her when someone else's name was called but, soon after, leaned in and whispered something along the lines of 'Seriously?! That should have been you!'. Hermione could do little but laugh as they lowered to take their seats again. She needed to remind herself frequently that even a nomination was actually worth something.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, as our evening of awards draws to a close, we do have one final statue to give out," The severe woman in blue, Rajani, advised from somewhere in the wings, her voice carrying by way of sonorus charm - as it had throughout much of the night. "Literary Lifetime Achievement Award, our next presenter will be presenting this award to a special candidate, and one who could be considered an unsung friend to us all - please welcome, Professor Neville Longbottom."

Louder than she'd intended, Hermione's voice rang much more clearly than most on that side of the room, she couldn't help herself but to rise to her feet. Although her company didn't know this man well, if much at all, the simple fact that her friend had been taken by such a jovial feeling, made her act much the same as a tall, dark haired fellow in modern black dress robes walked out on stage with confidence. He waved politely to the large group of men and women who had since rose to their feet, clapping upon his arrival until he, too, took center stage much like the presenters before him. Once the noise died down, and people once more took their seats, Hermione felt herself sitting on the edge of hers. There was no doubt in her mind that this award didn't belong to her, however, it was the fact that she hadn't seen her old friend in many months that made her wish to cling to his every word and, hopefully, have the chance to pester him later into a conversation to see how he was, how Luna was, and their four children.

"If my students were half as happy to see me, I would be tickled pink," Neville began dryly, the humor lacing his words eliciting a low rumble of reserved laughter. "But, as it would be, that is neither here nor there tonight, as this award is not about me, or my accomplishments, but the accomplishments of a dear friend of mine who has taken Brittain, and the world over, by storm with their depictions of life, love, loneliness, hunger, desire... " The man paused, his eyes searching the room. "And ultimately honesty."

Gaze eventually found gaze.

"Ah, there you are…" Neville's older, handsome features cracked into a wide and brilliant smile, a smile that reflected on Hermione's face, despite her not entirely knowing what was happening. "Hello, love… You're looking beautiful tonight. And a far cry from the girl I knew who helped me find my beloved pet toad, Trevor, on the train to Hogwarts in our First Year, remember that?" The sound of people shifting in their seats was deafening. Regardless, from her own, Hermione gave a nod as she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. From his position on stage, Neville gazed at her and gave a brief nod. "Of course you would."

"You see, Hermione Granger has always been a person unlike any other," He continued, regaining the attention of the room. "She has always looked out for those in need, put herself aside to care for others, even when… especially when, she was in no way required to. I've seen it myself, I've lived it, never a truer and more honest woman has ever been made in my eyes… Aside from my wife, of course," He paused for a bit of laughter. Lydia turned and cast a glance at Hermione, her dark features twisting in glee, she seemed to know something that, at this time, Hermione couldn't scarcely believe herself as the other brunette just sat there, staring at the man on stage, speaking of her with such clarity and immeasurable kindness. "From the minute she picked up a quill to start penning her works, she has done two things: She has made even the most complicated forms of Transfiguration magic, Charms, Ancient Magic, and Potions more accessible to young people, explaining it to them in a way that they can understand, guiding them through their years of schooling with the hand of someone whose most sincere wish is to see every single child succeed and that is why Hogwarts deems her one of the most valuable writers of today… Because she has done something to modernise the way classes are now taught, despite not being a professor herself, she lives and breathes in a classroom… Just as she lived and breathed in those very same classrooms when she, herself, was a resident of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. And for that we say a heartfelt thank you…" Applause rose and, with it, so did the people at her table, applauding her and smiling as she finally caught wind of it all and the moment finally caught up with her.

"The second thing that Hermione has done, something I've heard her say myself, has taken the form of a passion project," Neville continued as those standing in front, obstructing her view, sat back down, leaving her dazed but hiding this well beneath a gracious look about face. "She has written fiction."

Lydia slightly elbowed her in the side and gained her attention, the woman's eyes were misty and she shot her a look, a look that said I have no idea what's happening as Neville's voice rang in the background to their shared glance.

"... Having three daughters who are obsessed with her novels gives me nothing but the greatest joy, as I believe my friend is doing them a service by writing books about women, for all audiences and demographics, that depict what I hope my girls will be inspired to grow into: Heroines. She writes of the living struggle that still faces us today in society, whether or not some of us have the strength of conviction and good nature to believe it, that there is still a discrepancy in law, in wage, and in the workplace. And although I would like to believe times are changing and we, as a whole, are becoming more enlightened and aware than our predecessors, it is the works of these books and stories that need to be shared for us to continue fighting those old notions and bring in a new age of equality - an equality my friend has shed light to along with many others in recent years. But this year, it has been determined that this acknowledgement and this award belongs to none other than Hermione Jean Granger for her outstanding work in her field, as well as her continued fight to raise awareness. May we welcome her up on stage to say a few words."

Everything felt like it was in slow motion. From the second she rose from her chair and turned to hug her date, her date who was whispering in her ear that she deserved it, that she had done so much good, that she needed to get up there. The orchestral music and the cheering, the clapping, it seemed to fade into the background as Lydia let her go and gave her room to pass, still, those few seconds that it would take for her to weave between tables, the hands that reached out for hers to shake, everything, seemed dialed down to the pace of something slower than a snail. It wasn't until her hands found the fabric of her own gown, lifting it ever so just above ankle as she ascended the stairs to not trip, and Neville's hand came into view for her to take, did time fall back in line and the noise… The noise… It was chaos.

"You… You couldn't warn me." Hermione mumbled as she took his hand and drew him into a tight hug in front of everyone on the floor below. They couldn't hear her whisper as she'd yet to charm herself to address the public.

"Sworn to secrecy," Was all he said against her hair before drawing back and withdrawing his wand. "Talk later, love. You've got to talk to them first." And with that, he muttered the sonorus charm, the tip of his wand aimed between them and beneath her chin. She peered into his eyes and saw his twinkling, then he turned and walked a few paces away. She inhaled, turned back toward the crowd, and adorned herself with a serene expression, even though her insides were doing the sort of acrobatics that made her feel queasy and instantly ill.

"Pardon me," She said simply, her voice filling the space like suddenly it had become a vacuum for her words alone. Hermione cleared her throat, as softly as she could, still, it was loud. "They can never wait until you're entirely prepared, forgive me for that…" The crowd seemed to chuckle, more than half of them knowing that very feeling all too well. Hermione set herself once more.

"I find this award to be… Truthfully, overwhelming," On a small podium it stood nearby on center stage - a rather interesting shape, modern looking, the gold and glass statue of something she couldn't quite make out, abstract in its construction -, she walked to it and laid her hand on it, lifting it, gauging its weight. "And very heavy, my Merlin sake…" As per usual, another little bout of laughter rose, by the sheer cliche of it all. Suddenly, Hermione sobered. Holding it in her hand, the thing that she didn't entirely know she deserved in physical form, she paused, then parted her lips to speak.

"You see, my most esteemed colleagues and friends," Her eyes lifted from it to scan the room, taking in the hundreds of faces there. "I've never set out to do anything that I deemed courageous, or worthy of this award, my only and most earnest aim was to speak to students, students who have struggled like I have seen, and young women who reflect the values of myself and other women who wish to achieve great things in their time. When I was much younger than today, there wasn't much literature to sink my teeth into that reflected me, or others like me - girls who struggled with identity or girls who didn't, who chose not to, take the backseat to a man… I want nothing more than to speak to those girls and those women, show them that possibility is endless, just like the strongest women in my life have guided me to do so over the years…" There was a quiet, an interesting and strange quiet in the room. "This award has my name on it, but if given the chance I would change this award so that it doesn't only bare my name, but the name of my mother, my aunts, my college roommate, Lydia, who is my date tonight, my closest friends, my most revered professors, and, above all, my closest confident and the woman who has forever changed my course of life - Minerva McGonagall. Thank you for this award, I share this with all of you. Enjoy your evening."

With that, Hermione turned from the raging applause and strolled to the outstretched hand of Neville, she took it, and the pair left the stage, leaving a roar of cheering and well wishes in their wake.

"Good speech, love… As always." He said softly, quietly, once they were out of eyesight, and as he rose his wand cut off the charm he'd placed on her mouth.

"And here I thought it was going to be a dry season…" They met one another's gaze and he found himself smirking. There was a vague look about her that told him that her absolute disbelief outweighed her excitement.

"I guess, not so after all."

They turned into the Green Room where others sat and sipped their drinks, chatted, and held on to their own trophies. A short round of applause for her upon entry caused her to resume the outward exterior of calm serenity that she had adopted on stage before their colleagues. Still, the hand in hers remained present, and once a drink of champagne was brought to them, Neville turned to her briefly, his eyes dimming despite a light look of casual confidence splashed across his handsome features.

"She's here tonight, you know." He said simply, quietly.

At first Hermione's tanned features bore signs of slight confusion before the she, to which her friend was undoubtedly referring, sunk in.

"She is? As per her most recent letter I thought she would be staying at the castle tonight, I'd heard there were some shenanigans that needed sorting…"

"Ah, yes, well… With a school full of hormone ridden teenagers, there will always be shenanigans, but, no… Once I told her that you were selected by the Board of Trustees and the Ministry to be handed the award, she insisted she be here to see you receive it." As idle chit chat surrounded them, and people other than themselves, far too enthralled with their own back and forth of words to really care about the conversation shared between the two most recent to enter, Hermione and Neville lifted their glasses to their lips in tandem and took large gulps from their champagne flutes. Uncouth as it may have appeared, the topic of conversation after the nerves of public speaking warranted a drink of some kind.

"She's seeing somebody." He blurted as their emptied glass fell from their lips, his eyes never leaving those of chocolate brown.

"What?" Hermione asked, deadpan, as her own glass fell much the same, to be held tightly, emptied, whilst her hand in his squeezing for more information.

"She's seeing somebody, almost a year now, I just wanted to warn you."

For a moment, Hermione stood dumbly peering back at the man in such close proximity. Breathing deeply, after a moment, she looked past him and at an aimlessly circling waiter and caught his gaze, she lifted her empty champagne flute and gave it a wave.

"How's Luna, my dear… And the children? It's been so long since I've been by, I've been meaning to, we should figure out a time that works so that I can swing over and see them all." She regained some of her confidence and, as the young man with the bottle tipped more drink into her awaiting glass, Neville gazed at her quizzically for a moment and offered his own empty vessel to the waiter.

"Luna is lovely, working hard at keeping her father's work alive, and the children… They are growing. Fast. Too fast. I'm afraid my boy is feeling rather outnumbered at the moment with his three sisters and his mother ruling the roost, they would be glad to see you," He replied, eyeing her as she lifted her glass to her lips and drained it. "But, Hermione, as much as we are all well and fine, to what I told you before…"

"Neville," Hermione interjected once her champagne was, again, finished. Her body felt the fuel she desired to continue having a lovely night, with Lydia, who she'd almost forgotten was sitting alone at the table where she was left and dinner was most likely about to be served. "There has never once been anything I've wanted more for my friend… Than to have some love in her life, she deserves it, and whatever it is you think you know, you don't know, no one does, but everyone assumes because that is what we do, it's human nature to assume." A bright smile cracked Hermione's features and she leaned in to place a kiss on his cheek, ignoring the fact that he showed concern on his features.

"Thank you for the most lovely introduction tonight, I hope you'll stay around a while and give me a dance later, but if you do need to get back home, please let your family know that I have missed them, and we will get together soon," She told him, clearing her visage of any discomfort the revelation of Minerva's new improvements might have caused. "I have company waiting for me, I should return to them and make sure they aren't hiding beneath a table somewhere surrounded by empty bottles."

The professor sighed deeply but smiled none the less, schooling himself as his friend had done, and gave a nod.

"Of course, I will try my best to stay for the dance, but if I need to leave early I will find you and give you a kiss goodbye before I do." He told her, giving her hand a final squeeze.

"Perfectly splendid, love." She replied, turning away and further masking the feeling that she didn't wish to put a name to, all she knew was, it was something beyond discomfort. A tightness. A constriction. Regardless, there was a party to attend, and she left the Green Room with her statue in hand and made her way back to the theater and her friend, her friend who practically raced to her and hugged her when she came into view with such fierceness that she thought her back might crack beneath the pressure. Lydia was good at that. Giving a real hug. The kind of hug that made you feel like family - which was funny, because they were like sisters now after 17 years.

"I am so proud of you, gal." Lydia said behind her shoulder, her chin tucked tightly. In her arms, Hermione felt that safety net return and it gave her comfort, the pressure of the embrace, encasing her form.

"I had no idea what was happening." She replied, laughing.

On the other side of the room, a woman in a floor length tartan gown slid her thumb and index idly up and down the stem of her champagne flute. She chatted amongst those seated at her table over dinner with ease, sitting there, herself, as a perfect specimen of a woman who could easily compartmentalize conversation and inward contemplation.

There was no room to doubt in her mind that the words the last woman to don the stage said filled her with immense pleasure, as did every time Hermione received an award. Minerva's name always passed her lips in acknowledgements, always did she read her name when cracking open one of her books under the dedications - there she was. Reflected in Hermione's hard work. Even after all the time that had passed between them, the monthly letters that they wrote back and forth, they remained constantly just out of arm's reach, forever circling, however, rarely meeting in between.

As it would be, Hermione was off somewhere else in the room packed with people, celebrating her newest achievement, and Minerva was also there, proud to have been a witness. But, and like many nights previous, Hermione always stayed her distance. She had for quite a few years now. Their only solace was that of letters and the private conversation within pages. It was better this way, Minerva thought. She assumed Hermione did as well. For what had been shouldn't be rehashed, and what could have been never did pan out the way they'd, the way she, had wanted.

Unknown to one another, the suffering was shared. Two good women, two deeply connected friends, were far too good to misstep and cause pain after nearly 18 years. One suffered in silence, the other suffered knowing her creations had lived far more fully than she had ever done. And neither found it within themselves to rectify the proclaimed nonissue.

It would continue.

At least, it did continue until the dessert course when a young, slightly frazzled waiter appeared at Minerva's side with an oddly stark plate and with a single morsel a few seconds after a clean slice of cheesecake had been placed before her, untouched.

"Delivery, Miss." The waiter mumbled as he delicately used a small pair of silver tongs and leaned over her shoulder to place a second gingered blackberry to nestle in with the one already there atop her dessert. There was some confusion written across her features although those around her own table seemed only a bit amused by it.

"Only the best for the Headmistress, I guess." A gruff man stated across the way, chuckling, warranting a pointed glance from the slender woman to which he was referring.

She leaned into the waiter as he began to pull back to continue his service and halted him with a hand atop his arm.

"What is the meaning of this?" She asked lowly, quietly, with aim not to cause a spectacle or distraction for the other guests. His young face bore grimness.

"Miss. Granger, ma'am - she believes these are one of your favorites, she offered you her own gingered blackberry." And with that, he removed himself and left her to sit there peering after him for a moment. For one, yes… They were one of her favorites.

Minerva turned back to her dessert and looked down at it for a moment; where there had been one blackberry, now were two. Such a display for such a simple little thing. A simple little thing with an even more complicated meaning. A meaning that Minerva couldn't quite grasp but, despite herself, she did find that a slight curl of lips took place upon her features. And so, she consumed her dessert with satisfaction, relishing in the doubly tart and candied berries she'd been given with silent pleasure.

To be continued.