Vonne: Sorry that it's taken so long for me to upload this. Hopefully all those following it will be happy with this chapter that I've added. Thank you so very much and let me know what you think!

Chapter Two:
Hello, Hello

Hermione's thin fingers grasped the tiny little radio and, despite herself, she held her breath. On the other line, the timid one let his sound out slowly, as if each breath was her dying one. Panting, as if he'd only just run a mile or two, the voice sounded out again, "testing, testing, one, two, three." And then, as if a warning, it shot back hostilely, "if anyone's there, I want you to go away."

And then, in a meek tone, he added on to his fierce aggression, "and, I'd like to inform you that you're... you're invading my privacy. And I strongly suggest you focus your interest elsewhere." The wind around Hermione blew up her long bushy hair and around her neck, her knit scarf waved around blindly. She moved her little finger away from the speaker button. She had become so familiar with the device after years of keeping it around, for experimental purposes in truth, but never before had she expected to hear something so curious. The little radio, in fact, was something Hermione had kept hidden for a matter of months, a Muggle device she'd hoped someone in the Wizarding World would pick up and further explore. Because the Wizarding Word was transforming now, ever since the end of the war, and tolerance was become something so widely accepted. Maybe, she'd thought as she originally stuffed the thing in the bushes behind the hollowed out rock, it was the Muggle's turn.

However, whether or not the voice at the end was a Muggle's was a mystery to her. At this point, she fantasized that it could be anyone. From the Muggle toy, the male voice said with a sigh, "If there's anyone there, I don't care. At this point, I could care less about what you think of me, no matter what you hear. I need to get it all off my chest, everything. And, frankly, right now I'm a little drunk- so if you really want to pick at my brain, then you're in luck." The voice continued, sad and somewhat lonely, "it is kind of a hobby of mine, getting hammered. Completely and utterly hammered." And then with a little laugh, the disembodied voice added, "a new interest my father wouldn't be too proud of, admittedly." Even though she couldn't see the owner of the voice herself, Hermione imagined him running a hand through his hair.

"Speaking of my father," the voice continued with a tinge of resentment, "he wasn't too happy about it when I came home tonight, actually. Said he'd expected more from me, though I'm not quite sure what he meant by that, truly. Perhaps, he'd rather me have wined at some finer pub than Rosmerta's?"

There was something strange and oddly familiar about the voice that slightly haunted Hermione. While she truly wanted to continue listening in on whoever it had been, there was something screaming inside her to stop; to put the simple toy down and lea and leave. Something kept her rooted there and she held the radio to her chest, slightly leaning her head down so her ear was closest to the speakers. Why she couldn't pin point the voice was beyond her, but she felt somewhere she knew its owner, wondered as to why she couldn't place a name to it...

"I'm not a drunk," the boy slurred, as if proving quite the contrary. "I simply enjoy partaking in such activities as drinking." Unwillingly, Hermione gave a little giggle and, noting this, she bit her bottom lip. What she didn't know was that only several miles away, the owner of the voice was doing the same. Draco Malfoy bit his thin lip so hard that a trickle of scarlet red blood rolled down the corner of his face. Scolding himself, he cursed into the radio and when he heard a little gasp on the other end of disapproval, he raised a blond brow. Although, he chalked the mild sound up to being some malfunction of the radio, since he wasn't familiar to such devices in the first place.

Continuing, Draco Malfoy reported, "he sent me up to my room, my father did. Though, I'm not there." Draco's gray eyes scanned his surroundings. He wasn't about to reveal his location into the radio, just in case there was someone listening in on the other end, but he was rather fond of the scenery. He was laying down on his back, staring up at the dark gray sky. Above him, billions of sparkling stars glittered up ahead, the only source of light besides the moon. The monstrous lake twinkled out ahead of him, reflecting the sky into it like one large and liquid screen. Emerald bushes surrounded him, as if enclosing him in the marvelous space. With a small laugh, Malfoy said angrily, "what does he think I am? A child?"

Malfoy bit his lower lip and said with something that sounded oddly enough like a boyish pout, "I'm not eleven years old anymore... I'm twenty-two years old." Miles away, Hermione tilted her head. Twenty-two, huh, the same age as she was. What an odd coincidence.

Laying on the green grass, Malfoy took a large swig of beer, not particularly his drink of choice but one he'd have to settle with at the moment. He'd kept a secret stash of it hidden away so his father couldn't find it and still he insisted that he was not an alcoholic. In fact, he addressed the radio as he wiped his lips free of the drink with the sleeve of his white shirt, "I'm not addicted. Trust me, if I had anything better to do, I wouldn't be wasting my time with drinking." Shaking his head, he continued, "besides, this drinking thing, it's a temporary thing, really. It's not a serious thing- it just manages to pass the time."

"I never was addicted to anything. In fact, the only addiction that runs in my family is the addiction to power. But ever since the battle ended, there was nothing much I could do besides drink. It's not so bad, once you get used to it." Hiccuping, Draco proved that he was almost pretty much completely used to it. "Then again, after the battle, I couldn't do much anyway." Battle? At the very word, Hermione stiffened. Could it be that he was speaking of the Hogwarts Battle? At twenty-two years old, it was probably the only major battle that he'd lived to know. Hermione's index finger hovered over the speaker button. She ached for something to say. He was there- there at the Battle. Perhaps she'd known him- and if she didn't, she couldn't deny the urge that she wanted to.

In her mind, she mentally put together a situation where she did have the courage to blurt out, "who is this?" but when she could not do such a thing, she cursed herself silently. It almost seemed cruel to interrupt his rant, as if her input was completely unwelcome to him. Even in her anomy she couldn't disrupt him and so, almost practically too timid for her own good, she sat there listening to him carry on in all his drunkenness. Continuing with sheer disgrace, Malfoy finished off with a slur, "but like I said, it's only temporary."

Hermione opened her mouth, only just daring to ask him his identity. However, something sudden started up behind her and just as her finger pressed the speaker button, she let out a little yelp. The Muggle toy fluttered out from her loose fingers and flopped on the grass with a little thud. Hermione's hands flew to her chest and, panting, she reeled around. Harry Potter stood across from her, looking equally alarmed. His own hand whizzed up to his chest and, with a timid yelp of his own, he stumbled over backwards just as she had.

"Hermione?" He managed to call out when he regained himself and his sweaty hands pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "Ron and I didn't even notice you'd gone. You've been out here for hours." At once Harry grew rather sheepish and he plummeted his hands into his pants pocket, "maybe Ron and I were getting a little too excited over the Malfoy article, huh?"

Hermione glanced back at him, lowering an eyebrow. She wasn't sore at them, but merely disappointed. Although, she only said, "maybe," about the subject and let her eyes fly to the ground in search of the two-way radio. When she finally located it, she pushed it back away into the bushes with her left foot, thankful that the voice didn't speak up into it again. It wasn't that she didn't want Harry to find out about her toy, but there was a slight thrill in it being her little secret, anyway. However, despite her thrill of keeping it hidden from Harry, a new horror overtook her. She'd screamed into the radio- gave herself away. Her heaving chest sunk and she couldn't help but break a sweat.

Harry raised his own brow. "Are you okay." Slowly, he managed to inch forward. He said slowly, "you look a little uneasy."

Instantly, Hermione quivered. A small shiver went up her spine. She wasn't okay, in truth. She had ruined her chances of hearing the voice again. Violently she swore to herself and then tried to regain her posture in front of Harry. Straightening her back, Hermione stiffened and tried to mask the disappointment that lined her voice. However, she was in truth, quite the actress. "Yeah, Harry," she said with a faux smile, "I'm fine. Just tired of hearing the same thing in the news over and over and over again, you know? I'd like to hear about something new, perhaps. You know Neville won Hogwarts teacher of the year this year! Why can't we hear about that?"

Harry smiled weakly and offered her his hand. However, instead of taking it, Hermione looped her arm through his and pressed her head against his shoulder. "Are you still mad at Ron and me?" he asked innocently, "we're still kids, really. Still stuck in the Hogwarts days?"

Hermione swished him away with a flick of her wrist. "Oh, nonsense," Hermione insisted, because Harry's claim really wasn't entirely true. "Boys will be boys, I guess. Everyone always says it and Lord knows after being around you two I've come to realize how true that saying really is."

"So," Harry asked mischievously, "you'll permit us to bag on Malfoy?"

Hermione lifted her head, mulling the thought over. "Does such a thing truly make you and Ron happy?"

Instantly Harry's face brightened. He said down at her as if pleading, "oh, Hermione, very much so."

And, even though she really didn't condone it, she said with a smile that was truly unwilling, "okay. Knock yourselves out then." Next to her, Harry laughed and he swung his body to the side, only to come colliding with her friendlily. Despite herself, she tossed him a smile; it was something both he and Ron had a way of doing, they could always make her smile. "You know," she said after they had walked several feet back up to the house, "I didn't think I'd been gone that long. What's it been? A half an hour?"

Harry shrugged, "eh, about an hour or so." Hermione's heart skipped a beat. Had it really been that long? She hadn't noticed. "Ron fell asleep after a while, to be honest. He'd figured you'd went off to bed."

Hermione huffed, unimpressed, "he would figure such a thing. Why didn't I go out with you?" Hermione was only joking, but Harry seemed a little disheartened by her friendly mocking. "You at least came looking for me."

But Harry shook his head. He looked back down at her and then up at their cosy house, where the orange light still glowed. Slumped in the large seat across from the fireplace, Ron sat slumped. Even from their view far away, they could see his mouth hanging open and even the glistening droll that tumbled down his left jaw. "You know, he really does care about you, Hermione. He just doesn't know how to say it now, after the two of you... broke it off." Shrugging, Harry continued, "he's never been good at those type of things, Hermione. You know that." Away from them, Ron shifted in the sofa and even outside they heard him give a tiny little snore. "In his own way, he's trying."

Pushing herself away, Hermione's joking visage seemed to practically melt away. She regained herself and gazed back into the window, "yeah," she said with a nod, "I know." At that, she stuffed her hands into her trouser pockets, too, and continued up the hill to the front door alongside Harry in silence. "I'm not trying to be difficult."

Harry tossed his head to one side, "Hermione, you've always been difficult." But before Hermione could take his comment offensively, Harry pushed open the door and turned back to her, adding with a smile, "I think that's what Ron loved about you." A slight tinge of loss hit Hermione in the chest. It was rather hard, but she swallowed whatever the feeling had been quickly. She had loved Ron, truly had, but even then she wasn't sure he had felt the same way about her now, wasn't sure she did either. In the midst of her thoughts, Harry pushed open the door and didn't bother tip-toeing across the wooden floor. In fact, he walked rather loudly, as if his intent were to surely wake Ron from his deep sleep. "Oy," Harry said, when Ron didn't move a muscle, "wake up, Ron. You can sleep through anything, I swear!"

With a little shake of his head, Ron jumped up from the cozy sofa, his fingers dug into the arm rest of the whole thing. From his mouth, he emitted a sound that sounded like nothing particular. Hermione raised an eyebrow at his jumbled speech and, as she passed the couch smoothly, she uttered, "Lord knows Ron can sleep through anything." She even managed to throw in a small smile in there for him, because she held no bitter resentment towards Ron. Noting this, Ron's sleepy face perked up and he tried at a smirk of his own, only to fall back into the sofa and slap a hand over his freckled face tiredly.

"How long have I been out?" He asked Harry, who had strode to the kitchen and poured himself another cup of tea. Biting back the urge to tell him that he probably didn't need anymore caffeine, Hermione watched him lean back. He pushed himself to the counter of the kitchen and shifted his weight, eying both Ron and Hermione with some hidden smile. He brought the steaming cup of to his lips and shrugged.

Hermione huffed. Answering for Harry, she gave Ron a tiny shrug of her own. "I don't know. It's been long enough, that's for sure, Ron." Tossing her long and thick hair over one shoulder, she let herself sink backwards and watch Ron's eyes close again.

Behind his shut eyes, Ron's tired mouth said, "alright, we'll I'm going back to bed." However, he managed to lift a thin little finger, adding back up to Harry, who he couldn't see, "wake me if there's some more news about the Malfoys, would you?" Finishing off, he added as he drifted back to sleep, "wouldn't want to miss that."

"Going to bed, then, too?" Harry asked Hermione with a raised eyebrow. He tilted his chin up at her and stared back into his tea cup. Inquiring as to why he'd poured himself a second cup of tea in the first place, he poured the remainder of it back in to the kitchen sink. "It's pretty late, actually."

Hermione took one more look at Ron. Even slumped so low in the couch, he looked as peaceful as ever. His red hair, long and somewhat shaggy, had fallen over his freckled forehead. He gave a little snore and Hermione shook her own head, which felt massive in its headache. All she could think about was how she'd given herself away over the radio and the gruesome fact haunted her deeply. Even if she wanted to, Hermione doubted she could manage to get to sleep. However, despite herself, she said to Harry without shifting her eyes away from the window, "Uh, yea." Raising her half empty tea cup, "I kind of want to finish this first, okay?"

Nodding, Harry pulled himself away from the counter and strode away from the two of them. "Okay," he said giving her a little wink of his own, as if he'd figured it was thinking she'd really wished to continue. As he vanished behind the corner, Hermione finally let her breath release. When she heard the door to his bedroom shut quietly, she put the tea cup down and tiptoed across the living room and through the kitchen, trying with anxiety to pace past Ron without being detected. When she made it to the door, she whisked it open with fast relief and turned to shut it slowly. Though once her feet hit the outside grass, her pattern of quietness quickly ended.

She fled across the backyard grass with only one thing on her mind. The light of the kitchen shrunk quickly behind her, placing both Harry and Ron in the distance. When she came to the bushes, she silently knelt down and searched behind the green bush for the radio that she'd hidden before. Then, once her hands found it underneath all the brush, she whisked the little thing up to her face. Breathing heavily, she let her finger press down on the speaker button. "Hello?" she finally managed to whisper, "hello? Are you still there?"

But when no answer came, Hermione finally let her shoulders sink down. She'd scared him off and a flood of disappointment surged through her like a wave. Seething violently, Hermione breathed out loud, "damn!" and tossed the radio down beside her as if scolding it. She intertwined her fingers into the locks of her hair that met her skull and said again, "dammit!" Pathetically, she flopped down at the dewy grass on her back and let out one big breath. She may have scared him off for now, but maybe she should hold on to the little thing... just in case.

Miles away, however, Draco Malfoy wasn't quite sure. He had, in fact, heard Hermione's timid squeal and, at the sound of it, he himself tossed the small black radio across the grass if it had just caught fire. He and the radio managed a staring contest that had lasted admittedly too long before Draco blinked back at it. Malfoy crawled back over to it slowly and then, when he wrapped his fingers around it, gave it one more look over with sheer interest. Through clenched teeth, Draco sneered, "I knew it. I knew it!"

Though, something made him want to hold on to the radio, something Draco couldn't quite put his finger on. Lodged into his sweaty palm, he thrust the Muggle toy into his black trouser pocket, ignoring the meek, "hello? Hello?" that sounded off from his pants around the time of night when he'd started heading home. The voice was rather sweet, despite the obvious desperation that it gave off. Malfoy's resentment throbbed through him mercilessly. The voice hadn't spoken up when he'd warned it to but, while he hated the person on the other end for it, he found it awfully difficult to remain mad. The person on the other end, the sweet voice that had probably belonged to a female noting its tone, was a form of his own therapy. Free sessions via toy radio. And, even while still pulsating with anger, he felt the odd need to thank whoever it was that had been listening in on him.

So, he'd keep the thing. But, then again, his father surely didn't have to find out about it.

Vonne: So, let me know what you think. I really love hearing from you all, anyways. You all know that by now, I think. Reviews make me :)