December 1998

It was incredible how just a year ago they were living together in a tent, and from then until now they lived impossibly, painfully apart. For many years Harry had been a constant in her life, the kind of friend she had dreamed of having as a lonely child, perhaps the brother she as an only-child deeply craved for the company and the companionship. From the moment he and Ron saved her from that wicked troll their lives became intrinsically woven together, even if the resulting woven basket turned out less perfect than she hoped it would be. The truth was that she missed him and being away from him for months on end was like being away from a vital part of her being. It wouldn't kill her, but it wasn't exactly enough either.

It was winter break finally, which meant returning home to the gray and dreary winter of London, just as gray and dreary as the one in Scotland but considerably less cold. Her parents were at home beginning to take the boxes with Christmas decorations and the tree itself from their old attic, while she excused herself to meet her best friend for a nice and soothing cup of five o'clock tea.

They'd agreed to meet at a muggle café not too far from where she lived, nestled in the colorful and lively neighborhood of Notting Hill. She'd read about this place in the reviews section of her dad's favorite newspaper. With a hand buried deep into the pocket of her red coat for warmth and the other clutching an umbrella, she caught sight of him through the large shop window. His back was to her but she could recognize the worn, scarlet wool sweater courtesy of Molly Weasley from far away.

She felt her stomach flip and a nervous feeling overtake her body. She stopped for a moment to recapture her breath, shocked in a way because seeing him after so long was almost painful. She swallowed down all of that feeling and pushed the door open, the brass bell ringing as she entered the whimsically decorated café. She closed her umbrella and left it by the door along with several others. A kind-looking waiter greeted her discreetly offering to lead her to a table. She turned to look at the spot where Harry was already waiting for her and she found that his eyes, his impossibly green eyes had already been on her. That nervous feeling came rushing back.

"I-I'm here to meet with him actually," she explained quietly, pointing towards her best friend.

"In that case…" the waiter placed a well-designed menu in her hands and motioned for her to take her seat. Another customer waved to catch his attention. "I'll be with you in a moment." Hermione nodded her thanks, her cold and now clammy hand grasping at the strap of the purse she'd borrowed from her mum.

"'Mione…" He acknowledged her, a soft smile appearing on his face. She noticed how he didn't smile all the way and how the corners of his eyes didn't crinkle as they would when he was genuinely happy.

She smiled at him as well, hanging her purse and draping her coat on the back of a third chair next to her. She sat down, attempting to fix her hair because she didn't quite know what to do with her hands… She didn't know what came after 'hello'.

He gazed at her curiously, his fingers playing with a packet of sugar, after a long moment of increasingly awkward silence he scoffed and rolled his eyes at nothing in particular. "Why is it suddenly so difficult to talk?"

Relief washed over her as she realized she wasn't the only one to feel this way. Words had never escaped Hermione Granger but after the war there was little she felt like saying.

"I-I don't know, Harry…" she felt her breath catch in her throat once she said his name almost as if it tired her. "Perhaps because we seek to avoid talking about the heavy stuff…" He seemed to consider what she said before nodding. "I'm relieved to see you."

"Relieved? Not happy?" He watched as she rolled her eyes and made that fake-annoyed expression so typical of her. Somehow it made things better, knowing that she was still that Hermione.

"It's just weird… The two of us tete-a-tete again after all this time. A part of me worried you wouldn't want to meet, hence the relief."

"Why wouldn't I want to meet my best friend?"

She gazed up at him from under her eyelids, hands otherwise occupied with the menu. "Because you haven't written your best friend more than two lines at a time in months. Now, I know you're lazy beyond measure but laziness alone can't possibly justify half a year of mediocre 'small-talk equivalent' contents. 'Dear Hermione, I hope things are good at your end, I'm quite great myself. Is the weather this time of year at school still miserable? The Weasleys send their love. Yours, Harry.'" She recited by heart, her annoyance at him showing.

"Ah…" He nodded his head, his eyes sparkling in that way that they did when she had something on him and he knew he'd been caught. "Would I sound less like a twat if I explained to you that I was afraid of getting into the heavy stuff?" Hermione sighed heavily.

"I've missed you, you bloody wanker." She crossed her arms over her chest muttering swear words under her breath that even he at close proximity couldn't make out.

"Well, I've missed you too, you neurotic witch."

When she raised her eyes to look at him there was a tender smile on his face, sincere this time and suddenly relief gave way to a rush of happiness she could hardly measure. Hermione sprung out of her chair and caught him by surprise with the tightest and warmest of hugs. The Hermione hugs. The only hugs that really and truly mattered.

Once they parted, not caring one bit that everybody else in the small café could see them Hermione returned to her seat, much lighter than when she first arrived, hell, much lighter than she'd felt in months.

"What if we met every week for tea, Harry? I mean, nevermind studies, significant others, or business, we stop everything to meet for tea once a week to catch up. I mean, good tea, muffins and scones and the company are all less rubbish than your stupid, empty letters, right?"

Harry reacted in what she knew was a genuine delight as his cheeks turned a light pink and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "That would be perfect, actually. I've been meaning to get out of the Burrow more and you're not that bad on the eyes either, 'Mione… What have you done about your hair?" He teased, prompting her to swat his arm.

"Oh, bugger off you!" He chuckled boyishly.

"Not after my actual tea, I won't."