I'd like to thank Balthazar23, Antar23, werewolfXZ, damadape, TheNarratingMan, WraithNX01, Vahktang, flixus, Lynix, TripsToTheRescue, fredfred, InquisitorCOC for betareading.

Chapter 20: The Observation

Godric's Hollow, Devon, Britain, July 15th, 1996

"Hello, Ron."

Ron Weasley could tell that something good had happened the moment he stepped out of the fireplace in Harry's home. Mrs Potter was smiling. It was a smile with too many teeth showing - the witch was quite scary sometimes - but it was a smile. "Did you find Harry?" he blurted out and regretted it at once.

The smile vanished. Harry's mum sighed. "No. But we knew where the Portkey came from, originally."

"Oh?" Ron's eyes widened. That was very good news. But would she tell him? He tried to smile reassuringly.

After a moment, she sighed. "Don't tell this to anyone, but it belonged to the Averys; one of their ancestors was a pirate - that's on record, actually - and it seems that they didn't quite break with that particular tradition after the Statute of Secrecy was implemented."

"The Averys?" Ron resisted the urge to whistle. That was an Old Family. Old and rich.

"Yes. One of their members made quite a profit dealing with the Barbary Coast pirates," Mrs Potter went on. "Officially, or at least that's what the current head of the family claims, it was to ransom captured British wizards and witches."

"He got a commission for freeing slaves?" Ron asked. That was… well, not very noble, but understandable.

Harry's mum looked surprised. "That's what the Averys claim, at least."

"You think they dealt with slaves," Ron said.

Mrs Potter was definitely surprised.

Ron suppressed a frown - he might not be Bill or Percy, but he wasn't stupid. "My brother's working for Gringotts in Egypt," he explained. "He told me about the pirates and how they have many more supporters than anyone wants to admit officially."

She nodded. "Right. Either way, the Portkey led to one of their hidden bases. That much we gleaned from the records they handed over."

"One of their hidden bases." Ron pressed his lips together. That meant there were several such bases. And all of them hidden.

"It fits. It explains why we can't find Harry with our spells."

"Even Dumbledore's spells?" The Headmaster had forced the Ottoman Empire to outlaw the slave raids, after all.

"Even his, yes." Mrs Potter sighed. "It must be an old base - probably an island hidden even before the Statute of Secrecy."

That would mean… Ron whistled. "The wards on it…"

"Yes." Mrs Potter frowned. "But with this information, we can search for the island."

"If Avery had a Portkey, didn't he know where the island was?" Ron wrinkled his nose. One thing Dad had taught him and his siblings was to never use a Portkey if you didn't know its destination.

"Unfortunately, he only ever used a Portkey to visit - and return. Or so the records claim." Mrs Potter waved at the door to the kitchen. "Do you want some pumpkin juice? I just made some."

"Thank you!"

They moved to the kitchen. "The others are out, looking into people who have ties to this…" She scowled fiercely as she filled a glass for Ron. "...despicable 'business'. It should've been stopped long ago, but the ICW wouldn't condone the sort of prolonged campaign it would take to wipe out the slavers. Slavery's legal in too many countries."

And now she sounded like Granger when she was about to rant about something. Ron tried to head off the rant. "So… you need to find a pirate? Or someone who deals with pirates? There are people who handle the ransom as go-betweens, right?" Ron knew that captured witches and wizards were being ransomed, so someone had to handle the negotiations.

"We need to find a trustworthy wizard or witch, and those aren't exactly common in that… trade." She spat the last word.

"And then you'll ransom Harry? And Hermione?" Ron asked.

"That's one possible plan." Mrs Potter took a sip from a cup of tea she must have prepared before Ron arrived.

He frowned but hid it with a sip from his glass. The juice was nice - fresh and cold.

"The pirates should have contacted us already if they had captured Harry and Hermione and wanted to ransom them."

Ron drew a breath through clenched teeth as he felt his stomach drop. "You don't think that they want to ransom them." Harry. And Hermione. Bloody hell!

"Harry's a little too old to be turned into a loyal Janissary. But people know that we're friends of Dumbledore, and anyone who wanted to put pressure on him - or hurt him - could do worse than using Harry. And Hermione…" She trailed off.

Ron nodded. Bill had told him about that as well - when he had told Ginny why she had to avoid certain locations. Witches from poor families tended to not get ransomed. "I can write to Bill and ask if he knows anyone," he offered. It was the least he could do to help his best friend. And his girlfriend's best friend. If only he could do more!

She smiled at him, genuinely now. "Thank you."

Unknown Island, July 15th, 1996

"Oh, Harry!"

"Oh, Hermione!

He was hugging her - no, this wasn't 'hugging'; he was embracing her. And they were kissing. French kissing. On a soft bed. Naked. And her hands were… and his hands were… Oh, yes!

He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of being close to her. Being with her. Doing…

Harry Potter woke up and groaned. He had dreamt of Hermione. Again. And a very vivid dream - so vivid, he could still feel her arms around him, her chest pressing into… Wait!

He looked down and froze. Even in the dim light that the air holes in the lid let through, he saw a bushy mane on his chest. Felt her head resting on his pecs. Felt and heard her breathing. Felt her moving as she shifted in his arms, moaning a little as she… was she drooling on him?

And felt something else. He had to get up - no, get out of here! Before she woke up and realised that she was rubbing herself over him. He tried to move, to slide out from beneath her, but she had an arm draped around his neck, which tightened its grip, and her legs were clamped around his left leg. Trying to move just… made things worse. Much worse.

How had this happened, anyway? They had been both in their robes-turned-sleeping bags when they had gone to bed. But during the night, they must have crawled out of them - or peeled them away. Yes, he remembered being hot, and then… cold? Before he felt warm again.

Oh, bloody hell.

Hermione didn't sleep in the nude. Fortunately not, he firmly told himself - even though a part of him was disappointed. But she obviously didn't sleep with too many clothes on, either, and he really needed to get untangled before she woke up.

"Oh, Harry!"

Her grip tightened. And she was definitely drooling on his chest.

A moan followed. The sort of moan that he only had heard in movies before.

Could he fake being asleep? Make her think she woke up first, and pull back? That might work.

Hermione shifted - and now was on top of him. Completely on top of him. Her hair was in his face. And her… He gasped. "Hermione!" he hissed.

Another groan, then her mane moved as she lifted her head and blinked at him. "Harry?"

"In the flesh," he quipped before he could control himself.

Her half-lidded eyes shot open, and he felt her take a deep breath as she gaped at him.

"And you're, ah…" He trailed off and looked down - and up at once. At her face.

She seemed frozen for another moment, then gasped once more and scrambled off him, her knee burying itself in his stomach in the process.

"Ow!" he complained, then pressed his lips together. Their hideout was very well hidden, but if anyone was nearby and heard them...

"Ow!"

She was rubbing her head - she must have hit it on the ceiling. "What did…?"

Harry quickly started talking. "I woke up with you using me as a pillow. And before I could extract myself, you latched onto me like… like a vice. And then you shifted to use me as a… mattress."

"But… we were in sleeping bags!" she protested - after pulling her bag up to wrap around herself.

"We were, yes," he said - after following her example to cover himself. "But it must have been so hot, we slipped out of them, and then when we grew cold…"

"...we latched onto each other to share the body heat." She nodded - jerkily, though.

"Yes," he agreed.

For another long moment, none of them said anything. "We should have a guard again," Harry said. "We're closer to the village." Then such a thing wouldn't happen again.

"We're also better hidden - with the bushes stuck to the lid, the entrance is perfectly covered," she protested. "And if one of us is keeping watch, we'll have less time for working on rescuing the girl and preparing our escape."

That was a good argument, but… He nodded. "Alright. But we need to…"

"Yes." She nodded again. "Now, let's check if we're safe."

She turned and crawled to the entrance, then peered outside through one of the bigger holes. "I can't see anyone."

He joined her. "I don't see anyone, either. And the traps we left are undisturbed." They would've heard if anyone stumbled into the tripwires.

"It should be safe, then," she said.

"Yes."

They still waited a few more seconds before pushing the lid open and scrambling outside.

Then they hastily dressed and ate a silent breakfast.

And Harry tried not to stare at Hermione. Or to recall his dream. And not-dream.

He wasn't particularly successful.

Dear Lord, this was the worst embarrassment of her life! Hermione Granger was certain. Not even the time when she'd been hexed to think that she had lost her clothes during dinner in the Great Hall could compare. She'd woken up straddling Harry!

And the dream she'd had… She suppressed a shudder. Or shiver. A dream straight out of those robe-ripper books. Or worse. But the dream she could've handled. Dreams were normal. People dreamt all the time, even though they didn't always remember their dreams. And carnal dreams were perfectly normal for teenagers struggling with puberty and all those hormones.

Unless they started to sleepwalk while dreaming. Or sleep… whatever you called it when you crawled out of your sleeping bag and latched onto the boy next to you while dreaming about sex. With that boy. And doing it in a less than perfectly clothed state.

Merlin's beard, she might have molested Harry! She had shown the self-control of… it was hard to find a comparison that didn't invoke sexist prejudices based on double standards of the worst sort.

Sitting cross-legged and properly dressed at the entrance of their hideout, next to Harry, she chewed on another bite of coconut meat, more to occupy her mouth than because she was hungry. Dear Lord - had she kissed him in her dream? Well, she had kissed him in her dream. Repeatedly. But had she kissed him while dreaming? She couldn't remember. And she couldn't ask him. That would be even more embarrassing. Even though the thought of kissing him was quite...

She almost shook her head. Enough of those thoughts! No, the best - or least humiliating - course of action was to put this behind her and focus on their escape plans. And not on Harry's thighs, or abs, or… She bit down on her lower lip before she lost control and snapped at him for not wearing robes.

Hermione really hated her hormones. And pointedly didn't glance at Harry. Or try to shift her position so her knee would touch his thigh. Or whatever other silly thought entered her obviously hormone-addled brain.

At least Harry wasn't making fun of her. That would've been the worst. Getting mocked for having a perfectly normal dream and some unusual, stress-induced sleepwalking. And by the apparent target of her subconsciousness. That would hurt too much.

Though his good behaviour was perplexing. And more than a little suspicious. Why wouldn't he comment on the… incident? He usually didn't shy away from teasing her. And she doubted that her lapse had embarrassed him - this was what boys dreamt of, after all: a girl throwing herself at them. Or a boy, depending on their preferences.

Well, she added, frowning, in such dreams, it was usually a very attractive girl. A movie star. Or a singer. Or, in Harry's case, probably a Quidditch star. Not a girl like herself.

This wasn't self-deprecation. Hermione knew she wasn't ugly. She was fit, and with her teeth having been corrected, calling herself pretty was merely an objective statement of fact. And the vast majority of boys weren't too picky, she added to herself, when it came to girls.

But there were prettier girls at Hogwarts. More developed girls. More attractive witches. Lavender was, Hermione had to admit, prettier. And more developed. Slightly more developed. Of course, not everyone preferred overly large… whatever. Harry might prefer more athletic girls. Not that Hermione was overly athletic, either, compared to the Quidditch players. Not that it mattered, anyway. This was merely stress. Stress, hormones, isolation. Developing a purely physical attraction was perfectly normal in such a situation.

As was, her traitorous mind added, acting on such an attraction to relieve said stress. Natural even.

She buried that thought. This wasn't the time nor place for that. Even though part of her wanted to do it. Very much. But she wouldn't do it. And she certainly wouldn't ask Harry to… do it. What if he turned her down? What if he agreed?

Hermione finished the last of her breakfast coconut slice and vanished the shell. "So."

"So," Harry quickly repeated.

She glanced at him, and he looked away. She sighed. "We need to plan our next step."

"Yes."

He wasn't looking at her, she noticed. She pressed her lips together. Was he embarrassed? And why? Apart from the obvious, of course. But Harry had never struck her as being particularly vulnerable to embarrassment. So why would he react like that?

She shook her head. This wasn't the time to ponder this… fancy.

"We need to find out if we can create a hidden observation post on the peninsula," he said.

"If they have covered the peninsula with spells, we'll alert them to our presence," she pointed out.

"We already visited the peninsula," he retorted

"We did, yes, but it was the part that's right next to the village," she countered. "It might have been inside the hypothetical wards." Hypothetical, but based on solid deductions.

"So, we need to stay close to the village, then. Yet hidden so well, they won't spot us."

"That would be ideal," she said.

And probably impossible.

More swimming. Harry Potter shouldn't have minded - it was the only way to safely enter the village that they had discovered so far, and it wasn't too far to swim - but swimming meant they would have to strip down to their underwear.

And Harry really could do without yet another reminder of how Hermione looked without most of her clothes on. Especially if he was only wearing his pants. He thought about wearing his slacks, but… Not only would they slow him down in the water, but Hermione would wonder why he suddenly wanted to wear long trousers, and the last thing Harry wanted was to draw attention to the reason he wanted to wear trousers in the first place.

Hermione would never let him forget it. He could explain away the morning as the result of some dream, but twice? She'd notice. She'd rub it into his face. Taunt him. Lord it over him. Wouldn't that be her ultimate triumph? Harry being attracted to her? She would be able to make him look like a little boy who was teasing a girl he had a crush on because he couldn't handle his feelings. It would be the worst.

Though the other possible outcomes wouldn't be much better. He could hear her explain, in that lecturing voice of hers, that this was just stress. And hormones. Nothing serious. Just biology in action or something. Like she had before, when they had kissed in the heat of the moment after the wyvern's death. Only this time, it wouldn't be a mutual lapse - it would be his alone.

Damn, just imagining this made him angry. He could deal with a needling Hermione, he could deal with her slinging hexes his way, but… condescending? Dismissing him like that?

He clenched his teeth. He didn't want this... either of this.

He kicked his shoes off and shrunk them. After casting a Mending Charm, of course - they had to take care of their shoes; wandering around barefoot on the island wouldn't be nice.

He glanced at her, to check if she was ready to swim, and had to stifle a gasp. While he had been… thinking, she had stripped down to her underwear already and was leaning against the closest palm tree, looking at the sea. And doing some stretching exercises or whatever. He stared at her legs as she bent and stretched, and at her back and... She had to be aware of his reaction to her! There was no way this wasn't deliberate! She was posing. Like in some swimwear catalogue or something.

And… Damn. He turned away and pretended to rearrange the foliage stuck to the lid concealing their hideout. What was her game? Was she trying to… tease him? Or was he reading too much into this? But this wasn't a Slytherin girl always smiling at him when she saw him; this was Hermione Granger.

If he misinterpreted her actions, the consequences would be much worse than simply being turned down when asking for a date.

Although being turned down by her wouldn't be nice either. Not at all. The thought of it made him angry again. And slightly anxious.

Well, it wasn't as if he could ask her for a date, anyway. 'Hey, Hermione! Want to go to the pirate village together? Have tea at the tavern before we take a boat out for a spin?' He snorted at the stupid fantasy.

"Is something wrong?"

He looked over his shoulder. She was standing by the palm tree, hands on her hip, frowning at him.

He forced himself to look at her face and shook his head. "No, just checking the lid. We don't want a snake or scorpion to sneak in while we're off to spy on the pirates, do we?"

She grimaced. "I don't want a snake or a scorpion - or any potential venomous animal - to sneak into our hideout even when we're present. Especially if we're present."

That was a safe topic. He nodded. "You wouldn't know an anti-vermin charm?" Asking her about spells was a good idea.

But she scowled. "No. I didn't see the need for one."

"I should've pranked you with a couple of animated cockroach clusters," he said, chuckling. "Then you'd have all those spells."

She frowned for a moment longer, then nodded with a chuckle of her own. "Probably yes. But don't take that as an invitation to try it."

He put his hand on his chest. "Perish the thought!" Of course he wouldn't try such a stunt.

That would make her hate him again.

He blinked. Oh, damn. That was it.

He had fallen for her.

Harry was acting oddly, Hermione Granger noted. One moment, he was joking and chuckling. The next moment, he looked like he had suddenly remembered something awful. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head. "I'm just sick of coconut meat." He grimaced. "We should summon some fish on the way back. Or before we go."

"And have them spoil while we're away? Or attract scavengers? Or both?" She rolled her eyes. "If you're so desperate for fish, then we should capture some now, then cook and eat them before we head out."

"No, no, let's go explore the peninsula now."

"We won't make landfall, anyway. Not during the day; we're just studying the peninsula from afar," she pointed out.

"Still, let's go." He stood and marched towards the beach.

For a moment, she thought he'd walk straight into the surf, but he stopped at the treeline and eyed the ridge hiding the village from view. Good.

She moved up to him and looked at the sky, then at the jungle at the base of the ridge. "I don't see anyone," she said.

"I don't see anyone either."

Of course, that didn't mean anything. A wizard could have disillusioned himself and be standing on top of the ridge, and they wouldn't see him. And the Human-presence-revealing Charm wouldn't reach that far either.

On the other hand, as long as the pirates didn't suspect that they weren't alone on the island any more, they shouldn't post such guards.

She still picked a spot where they could enter the water behind a big rock - and they took care to dash across the open beach as quickly as possible. Sure, human eyes reacted to movement - but they also reacted to human figures on the beach.

After catching their breaths and erasing their tracks, they slipped into the surf and quickly swam closer to the ridge, so they could look for a good spot to land. It was harder than she had thought - this side of the peninsula was covered with large rocks. With sharp edges, too - she almost cut herself when she tried to climb one.

"So much for wind and water wearing the rocks down," she muttered.

"Well, if we want to use this route, we'll have to use a broom," Harry said. "A levitated plank," he added before she could correct him. "But I don't see a good hiding spot, anyway. We'd be exposed on the ridge."

Which meant they had to enter the port now, to check the other side. "Alright."

They swam quickly around the tip of the peninsula, then dived and entered the cove proper underwater. Resurfacing in the middle of the port - although far from the ship - was still nerve-wracking. If anyone spotted them… But it seemed that no one paid attention to the sea. Not in the middle of the day - she could see several people resting in the shade.

"What are they doing?" Harry asked.

"Probably chatting. Playing games. Smoking," she replied. "I don't see anyone on this side, either."

"Yes. But I also can't see any good hiding spots," Harry said in a low voice. "It's all bare rocks and earth, and a few palm trees lower down."

She had expected that - she had taken a look when they had first entered the port - but it had been a quick one, and she hadn't trusted her own memory. "So… we'll need to be closer, then. Or in the jungle."

"Which is probably better defended."

"Yes." She sighed. "We should…"

"Shh!" he snapped.

"What?" What was he doing?

"Someone's at the middle fishing boat."

"Oh." She narrowed her eyes but could only make out a figure working on one of the smaller boats. "Perhaps our luck finally changed, and we can see if they use the boats outside the cove right now?"

"Perhaps." Harry's voice was barely above a whisper.

"Yes." She smiled - the figure was floating the boat into the water! "This is…" she gasped. "...awful! He'll sail straight towards us!" And with the water being as crystal-clear as in the worst tourist advertising shots, the man in the boat could see down to the ground here.

"Move!" Harry snapped. "We need to swim back to the tip!"

Hermione was already diving. And swimming as fast as she could. Damn! She should've realised that this was a problem much sooner!

Harry tailed her, she saw when she caught a glimpse of the water behind her. If he tried to act all noble and self-sacrificing, she'd hex him herself!

She reached the shore - but she didn't leave the water or go too close, of course - and resurfaced to take a look. The boat was already in the middle of the port and didn't seem to be slowing down. She couldn't see oars or a sail, either - so it would be moved by magic. Which would be a problem for them if they stole the boat. Although muggle methods should work, still - at least the boat had a mast.

"Let's move behind the peninsula," Harry said.

"But we can observe the boat from here!" she protested. That was why they had come here in the first place!

"And we can't let anyone spot us!" he retorted. "Move!"

"It's a calculated risk." Behind the peninsula, they would be too far away.

"No. Let's go." After a moment, he added. "It might sail our way."

She looked at him, then at the boat. Was it angled towards them? Cursing, she dived again.

Harry Potter clenched his teeth as he followed Hermione down to the seabed. At least she had finally seen reason - he had been about to stun her and drag her down, and damn the consequences! After all her lectures about being cautious, she suddenly acted like this?

He scoffed at the thought. Next time she complained about a little risk, he'd remind her of this.

Then he had to focus on swimming underwater - he'd almost lost sight of her. The water was clear, but the seabed was covered with plants. Kelp, He thought - it looked like a forest up close.

A dense forest - as he swam after Hermione, the plants brushing over his legs reminded him of that incident with Devil's Snare in second year.

Where was Hermione going - swimming? That wasn't the direction of the peninsula's tip - she was headed straight out to sea. Just as he was about to speed up and grab her leg, she veered off and turned back towards their goal. Good.

And she was swimming towards the surface. Not so good. Still, they should be far enough now…

He resurfaced next to her and looked towards the coven. The fishing boat was just leaving the port. Too close for his comfort, but with the waves, they wouldn't be spotted easily. Still...

He grabbed Hermione's shoulder and pulled her close to him. "Let's swim closer to the peninsula." They would be harder to see against the rocks and sandy earth there.

"Alright."

Half a minute later, they were treading water in front of a big, jagged rock and watched the fishing boat sail out to sea.

"The boat's not stopping," she said.

"Yes." It looked like that, at least. Harry held his breath. The further the boat sailed, the lower the chance that it was still within the wards on the islands - the bigger the area you needed to be protected, the harder the spell was. Usually. Of course, using the Dark Arts, you could cheat there. But it required sacrifices. And worse. Uncle Peter had told him a few stories...

And the fishing boat kept sailing on until they had trouble spotting it amidst the waves.

"Ah, damn!" he cursed. "If we had been close enough, we might have boarded it. Stun the pirate, take over and just keep sailing…"

"We can't leave without the prisoner," she said.

"Right. Of course." He had almost forgotten the girl. They could've called for help, then returned for her, of course - if he managed to find the island again. Which was doubtful according to what he had been told about such spells. "But we now know how to escape the island's wards."

"We still don't know if the boat's enchanted or if the sailor has a key or something similar."

Harry grinned. "That doesn't matter - we'll kidnap a sailor!"

"A fisherman, you mean," she retorted. "A sailor might not know how to use the boat."

What? But pirates were… Oh. "You think only a few people can use the boats?"

"They might be private property and charmed against being used by others," she said.

"That could be possible. So, we need to see who is using the boat." He suppressed a sigh.

"That means we need to get closer to the boat when it returns." She wasn't quite gloating, but she was definitely grinning, even if it was rather grim.

"If we can see them, they can see us," he reminded her. "And there's not much cover here in the sea."

"Then we have to create some cover. I've mentioned a driftwood observation post before, I believe."

She had, indeed. He raised his wand. "Accio Driftwood!"

"What?" She turned around to look at the beach. And at the rapidly approaching chunk of wood. "If that hits me, I'll hex you."

It didn't hit her, of course - he has mastered the spell, after all. But it splashed her, and despite her Bubble-Head Charm, he heard her gasp when the water hit her.

Harry didn't chuckle. But he grinned behind her back when she went and started turning the driftwood into a floating 'observation post'. Which basically just involved cutting slits into the wood so they could hide their heads behind it and still see what was going on.

"And what do we do if the fisherman thinks the driftwood would make for firewood? Or a target dummy?" she asked.

"Then we move straight to kidnapping him," Harry replied. They wouldn't be able to save the girl then - unless they could use the prisoner to return with help. It wasn't a good plan, but it was the best they could do, should the fisherman spot them.

Apparently, Hermione shared his thoughts since she nodded without questioning his plan any further.

And once they had the floating cover ready, all that was left was the waiting.

Which, Harry soon found out, was the worst.

"How long do fishermen stay out at sea?"

Hermione Granger didn't frown at the question. Even though she wanted to - she didn't like admitting that she didn't know the answer. Any answer. Ignorance was a weakness. "There's no standard time," she said. "It depends on the individual fisherman. If it's more of a hobby, then I think they'll be back in before the evening. If they fish for a living, they might only return once they have their quota. Or the weather changes."

"So, you don't know?"

She clenched her teeth. That was typical for Harry - he was always pushing her buttons. "As I said," she replied in a slightly clipped tone, "it's not possible to tell without information we aren't privy to."

"So, we might have to stay in the water for hours? More hours?"

"Yes." That should have been obvious - and wasn't that what they had planned, anyway?

"That won't be good for our skin."

"We'll survive." At least she thought so. Permanent immersion in water wouldn't be healthy, but a few hours was perfectly fine - people did that regularly in extreme sports.

"Do you know a spell to, ah, unwrinkle skin?"

"I haven't had the need to deal with wrinkles yet," she told him. And she wouldn't have for a long time! "How old do you think I am, anyway?"

"Ah…" He trailed off. She snorted, and he chuckled. "I didn't mean those sorts of wrinkles."

"I know."

"But you don't know when the fisherman will be back."

"No one in our position would know," she replied. "We don't have enough information to make an educated guess."

"Well, we can tell he's still fishing."

"He could also be sleeping in the boat." All they could see at this distance was the boat, occasionally.

"That would be dangerous - he could be dragged off by the currents."

"People have done more dangerous - or more stupid - things," she told him.

"Such as?" He asked in a challenging - or teasing, part of her brain supplied - tone.

"Playing Quidditch." She flashed her teeth in an obviously fake smile.

He chuckled, which surprised her - she had expected him to get riled up about the game. But then he sighed and stared at the boat again.

He had been doing this a lot, despite the distance - and his glasses weren't enchanted to grant him telescopic sight.

"We'll see him coming," she said. "He won't disappear if we blink."

"I know. But there's not much else to look at, is there?"

She felt a brief bout of annoyance for no reason but nodded - he was correct, after all. "I guess so."

They lapsed into silence again. Hermione sighed.

"You really hate not knowing something, don't you?" Harry suddenly asked.

She glanced at him. He was still looking at the fishing boat. "Who would want to be ignorant?" she shot back.

"You can't know everything - you have to accept that there'll always be things you don't know," he said.

"I may have to accept it, but I don't have to like it. And I will try my best to know everything I can." She didn't bother to hide her annoyance.

"Why? I mean… this sounds, like…"

"Like?" She glared at him - and he was meeting her eyes at least.

"Like an obsession?"

"Like Quidditch, you mean?"

"Hey!" He frowned. "No, I mean… it seems you're not just… It doesn't seem fun to you."

"It's fun," she protested.

"You're taking it a little too seriously for it to be fun," he told her.

"It's essential. I can't rely on nepotism for my career," she spat.

He sighed audibly. "That again?"

"The word you want to use is 'still'," she told him. "As a muggleborn, I'm still facing bigotry and nepotism - a decade after Voldemort's death. I still have to work twice as hard as a pureblood from the right family to achieve anything." Pretty much like being a woman in muggle Britain.

"The bigotry isn't so bad," he retorted. "There are plenty of muggleborns in the Ministry."

"And how many are department heads?" She scoffed - she had looked into the numbers after her parents had asked her. "Far fewer than you would expect based on the population. Far fewer half-bloods as well than there should be if only your talent counted. The bigotry is real."

"That's changing," he argued.

"Not nearly fast enough to matter," she said. "Not with the stranglehold the rich pureblood families have on the Ministry and Wizengamot."

"The Old Families. Not all of them are rich."

Was he trying to argue semantics now? "You think that makes it better?"

"No." He sighed. "I know that there are still bigots. Lots of them - Mum is a muggleborn as well."

"Then you shouldn't try to defend the Ministry."

"I'm not defending them. I'm just saying, it's not quite as bad as you make it out to be. We've had a muggleborn Minister already!"

"And he was cursed so he had to step down. A 'mysterious illness'. And a few years later, the Blood War broke out," she said.

"I know about that. My parents and their friends fought in it. And we won."

He would never let anyone forget that, of course. "We?" He was a baby at the time.

He frowned. "Those who opposed the Death Eaters."

"And with Voldemort and his followers dealt with, everything was fine. No need to change any of the bigoted unfair laws and traditions." She sniffed.

"Reforms take time. You can't expect things to change at the drop of a hat."

"It's taking too long," she told him. "Between the traditions, the nepotism, the unequal laws and the vast wealth the Old Families have amassed, it'll be an uphill struggle for any muggleborns for many generations to come."

"And what would you suggest?"

"Affirmative action to counterbalance the unfair advantages purebloods have," she replied at once. "Purging every law that favours purebloods. Reform the Wizengamot. Clean out the Ministry. Implement policies that will allow muggleborns - and half-bloods - to compete with established pureblood businesses. Or, at least, protect them against unfair business practises." Really, the solutions were obvious!

"It's easy to say that, but making a law that actually doesn't make things worse isn't easy," he told her. "Unintended consequences are a thing."

"There are examples of such policies."

"Muggle policies," he replied. "They can't just be copied over."

"Adapting them is easier than you make it out to be."

"Mum told me about the differences. The muggle economy runs differently. Wizarding Britain doesn't have industrialisation - that won't work with magic."

She pressed her lips together. It looked like Harry had some modicum of knowledge about politics. It was good to know he wasn't just a Quidditch player, duellist and prankster. Not that it would change anything, anyway. "The principles are the same, though," she retorted. "It's just prejudice and outright lies that enshrine the refusal to adapt muggle ideas."

"But we do adapt muggle ideas - if they work out!"

"Name an example!"

"The Hogwarts Express?"

"Oh, please! That wasn't an adaptation! That was just a Minister who liked trains and decided to steal one. Literally!" She had read all about it - the Ministry had stolen the train and used magic to cover their tracks.

"That's what an adaptation is!"

"Not at all! It's…" She blinked. "The boat's returning."

"Oh."