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With Muggle radio playing softly in the background, Hermione sang quietly to herself as she tossed her last shirt into the wardrobe in her room at 12 Grimmauld Place, London. She might've listened to a wizarding radio station, but there were some things she preferred to keep from her world, and music just happened to be one of those things.
She sighed and flipped off the stereo, sitting on the edge of the four poster bed. The love song playing had admittedly gotten a little to her head—after all, it was hard not thinking about being twenty-two years old and still being very much single. It had been easy enough at first, with all her single girlfriends in their late teens, but now in their twenties, they were either in serious relationships or, surprisingly, already married. She figured the war had had something to do with that—those who had been old enough to fight had seen a lot of loss, and that had scared them. They had wed quickly after all that.
The war. That was another beast ramming at her insides, now that her mind had wandered to it. It was hard, thinking about today, thinking about the day four years ago. She and Ron had finally let themselves be together after years of pining that day... and then had died out very quickly, within a matter of months. Part of her wondered if they had been just like everyone else, terrified to lose the people they cared about after seeing so many died, so they jumped to it. But after the war, it had been hard to be happy for a while—especially after what Bellatrix had done to Hermione. She'd struggled to open up to Ron about it, further creating a divide in their romantic relationship. She'd talked to Harry about it, but had made sure Ron never knew that; she knew it would have greatly wounded him to know she could tell Harry things she couldn't tell him. But that was simply how it was.
"Hermione?"
Her door opened slowly and Harry stepped in.
"What's up Harry?" she asked, trying to sound cheerful.
It was May 2nd, and the four-year anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts. A big feast was to happen that night. Harry had invited Ron and Hermione over to 12 Grimmauld Place the night before, and it was a nice change to living all alone in her flat. He might've invited Ginny as well, but since they were dating, he had told Hermione he had a feeling Mrs. Weasley wouldn't exactly approve. Thus, the ginger was arriving at the same time as the rest of the family today.
"Sorry to intrude—I heard you singing from outside the door, thought you might be all right to talk," he admitted. "That you'd be in better spirits than me anyway, and I... think that's what I need."
She gazed at him somberly, and he took the opportunity to sit beside her on the bed. She stole another glance in his direction, reassured by his closeness. She never would have admitted it aloud, but sometimes she missed the days and nights in the tent, forced to be around each other for weeks on end. Even if things had been scary and hard and she'd been constantly trying so hard to make everything okay, at least she'd always had her boys, had Harry near. Not so much these days, even if they saw each other often, worked in the same bloody place... they still felt so far apart sometimes.
"Are you thinking about it... about them?" she asked, not needing to go into detail. He knew what she meant.
"Yeah," he nodded, staring almost blankly through his spectacles. "I miss them, all of them. Everyone we lost. And I can't stop thinking about how much they deserved to live, more than I did. Tonks, Remus..."
"Don't say that," Hermione murmured. "No one deserved to die. There never should have been a war. But... what's done is done, even if we'll never be able to forget. But we have to be able to forgive ourselves for living when others didn't get the chance."
Harry finally looked at her, and she saw tears in his green eyes. "Oh, Harry," she sympathized, leaning in to draw him into her embrace. They hugged for a moment, and she held his hand in his lap, her heart fluttering as she did so, which made her feel selfish.
They were only torn apart by a very loud, very terrified yell. In an instant, Hermione was grabbing her wand and jumping off the bed, out the bedroom door, whizzing down the stairs to the source of Ron's scream. When she stopped in the living room, she started laughing.
"Hermione?" Harry yelled, skidding to a stop next to her. "What—" He cut himself off at the sight.
He started laughing when he saw the sight before him. Ron had been napping on the couch, and a frightened looking Dobby was standing on his chest. He'd probably apparated right on top of Ron without knowing it.
"Oh, Mister Weasley, please forgive Dobby," the little house elf pleaded. "Dobby did not see where he was going to land!"
He hopped off Ron's torso and onto the red carpet.
"What are you doing here, Dobby?" Harry asked, straightening his glasses.
The elf's face fell.
"Harry Potter does not want me here?" he replied in sadness.
Hermione's heart surged with sympathy. She rushed forward onto her knees and hugged Dobby.
"Oh, dear, not at all. Right Harry?" she turned to glare at him silently.
With Hermione looking at him in such anger and Dobby's big, sad eyes filling with tears, guilt crashed onto Harry's chest.
"No, no! It's a pleasant surprise, I was just wondering why, is all," Harry finished lamely, looking between Dobby and Hermione.
Hermione dettached herself from Dobby and sat on the couch next to a gruff looking Ron. He was a bit huffy still, mainly because they'd laughed at him.
"Oh! Dobby thought Harry Potter was surely angry at Dobby," the elf said in relief. "I came here to do something for Harry Potter and his friends!"
Harry's eyebrow rose and his features were accentuated in the golden glow of the lit fire to his right in the fireplace.
"Do what?"
Even Hermione was leaning forward in anxiety to hear what Dobby was going to do. After all, the many times he had tried doing anything for Harry or the trio, disaster had followed suit—this included him nearly being killed by Bellatrix Lestrange in Malfoy Manor, though they had Apparated away just in time.
"I'm going to cook the feast for Harry Potter and his friends!"
Dobby started jumping up and down in happiness, his big ears flopping along. Harry was relieved, and simultaneously, a smile came on his face.
"Thank you Dobby, but you really don't have to..."
Dobby stopped jumping and looked into Harry's bespectacled emerald green eyes seriously.
"Oh no, Harry Potter and his friends saved everyone on this day many years ago and Dobby is grateful. And Miss Hermione is helping free house-elves, so they can be free elves like Dobby! I must show my thanks!" he insisted.
With that he got to his knees and began to beg mercilessly.
"Alright, alright," Harry said in embarrassment, trying to stop the elf.
"What is this annoying noise in here?" a low grumble coming from the doorway said.
The four looked over and saw the house-elf of Grimmauld Place, Kreacher, standing in his old rags, his usual grimace placed upon his face.
"Kreacher..." Harry said warningly.
The elf ignored Harry. He stepped forward slowly, still arched over slightly.
"And letting Mudblood scum into Mistress Black's house, ruining her honor," he continued.
"Kreacher, SHUT UP!" Harry shouted.
Kreacher's head snapped up and he bowed hastily.
"Of course," he mumbled sarcastically," Kreacher lives to serve the house of Black..."
With that Kreacher exited the room without another word.
"I really wish you would just let him free, Harry," Hermione tsked.
"Last time I tried, he brandished a cooking knife at me," Harry scoffed. "It's not going to happen."
"What a rude elf, Kreacher is!" Dobby stated, raising his nonexistent eyebrows. "Not to worry, though, Harry Potter, Dobby will not Kreacher ruin the feast!"
The trio exchanged looks, all equal parts endeared and amused.
"Very well," Harry said. "I'll let Mrs. Weasley know she no longer needs to worry about cooking."
"Dunno how happy she'll be about that," Ron mumbled.
"We'll tell her after everyone's had a bit of Firewhiskey," Hermione said.