Chapter One:
September 19th, 1999
"Happy birthday, Hermione." Harry's voice breaks through her dream. It takes her a moment to orient herself. He sounds sweet, calm, as if speaking any louder will scare her away.
Which is almost true, lately her night terrors have awoken more than just her.
"I brought you a cup of coffee… Don't feel obligated to get up, I can send breakfast up if you'd like?" She blinks at him, taking her time to process what he's saying to her.
He stands at the end of her bed, mug in hand, hair dishevelled as always. His dark green pyjama pants and matching night shirt clearly a gift from Ginny, the Holyhead Harpies logo displayed prominently across his chest.
"I can come down, is it just us this morning?" Her voice is tired, groggy from lack of use. Harry gives her a nod, handing her the mug and taking a seat on the edge of her bed.
"Ginny and Ron are playing Quidditch with a few people from the ministry. Neville and Luna were out harvesting…" He's staring at her, mind clearly rifling through names of plants, "...something to do with Wilbersnetch's? I can't actually remember but they didn't come back until well past midnight–"
"You couldn't sleep either?" she cuts him off, looking at him over the top of her mug before taking careful sips of her piping-hot coffee. Harry shakes his head curtly, pressing his lips together in a hard line, letting the silence fall between them.
"I don't know why but lately I've been feeling a little…" he lets his voice fall, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
"Restless? Confused? Out of place?" Hermione offers with a snide smile. His lip quirks for a moment before a look of realisation passes over his face.
"I shouldn't be bringing down the mood on your birthday," standing quickly he moves towards the door, turning before saying, "I'll make pancakes, Ginny and Ron should be home soon anyways…we can all eat together."
"I'd like that," Hermione says with a nod. He gives her a smile that reaches his eyes, even if they are rimmed with dark circles.
She finishes her coffee in bed, idly skimming the Daily Prophet Harry left on her nightstand, looking for something to focus on, anything to focus on, instead of her birthday.
…Theodore Nott, son of famous Death Eater Edmund Nott, is back on trial for the…
She doesn't read any further, folding the paper in half so she doesn't have to see Theo's hollow eyes staring back at her, his gaunt frame haunting as the Wizengamot moves around him.
…Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry testifies in the trial of Theodore Nott, former student under her care during the Second Wizarding War. We have her exclusive interview where she tells the press "they were just children" when it happened…
Hermione tosses the paper across the room with a guttural growl, bringing her hands to her face and scrubbing her eyes like the headline will go away. Heart racing like a bird in a cage, her ribs feel like they're going to crack. Steadying herself she focuses on the dreamy light just beginning to filter through her window.
The sun is just beginning to peek through the glass, finally up high enough to get past the buildings across the street from Grimmauld Place.
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her feet slap the old wood floors, the cold that greets her sending a shock through her body.
The nights are almost getting cold enough to have the heat on, the fall equinox is just days away. She thinks about changing out her summer duvet for something a little warmer, thinks about pulling all her jumpers out from the back of her closet. Thinks about anything but her birthday. Anything but the world continues on outside the walls of this old house, anything but the fact that she will get older while others will not.
Hermione finds herself itching absently at her left arm, stops before she can break the skin again.
Harry is deep in concentration when she comes down the stairs, his back to her as he struggles between pans on the range.
The kitchen is located at the back of the old Black residence with a window that overlooks a rather tiny garden that Kreacher tends to in the summers. Harry tried to free Kreacher from his servitude to the Black family, giving him a pair of gardening gloves to sever the blood magic. But Kreacher just harrumphed, muttering something under his breath and using the gloves to prune the rose bushes.
"Would you like some help?" Harry turns to her, clearly surprised at her voice.
"'Mione! It's your birthday I woul–" before he can even finish his sentence, Hermione wordlessly puts out a small grease fire beginning to brew. He doesn't say anything but the relief in his eyes tells her she came just in time.
She slides beside him casting a few charms, flipping the pancakes effortlessly as the wooden spoon stirs the remaining batter in the bowl beside her.
"I know how weird it is to fall back on magic," she says quietly while Harry tends to the sausages frying away on a back burner. She will never tease him when he insists on doing things the Muggle way, there's a comfort in the monotony of small tasks.
"Doing things without magic can be so therapeutic sometimes," he answers as if reading her thoughts. She thinks about their childhoods, growing up in Muggle households, not knowing a thing about magic before age eleven.
Her kitchen was always filled with laughter, her dad was the cook in her house. So many hours spent assisting him, taste testing, watching pots and cutting vegetables. Cooking has never been a chore for her, whereas Harry was never allowed to enjoy cooking. She remembers the horror stories of being made to cook breakfast before everyone in the house woke. Ensuring dinner was served at the correct time for everyone, being treated as no more than the help.
They share a quiet moment, side by side in silence before Ron and Ginny burst through the front door.
The sound of their voices carry to the back of the house and Hermione can feel herself smiling, the warmth spreading in her chest. Their sibling rivalry has not waned through the years.
"You cheated Ron! I don't care what you say Katie did not make that call correctly– Hermione! Why are you cooking on your birthday?!" Ginny's comforting arms embrace her, squeezing her tightly before she forcefully snatches away the spatula, throwing a shady look in Harry's direction.
"Happy birthday 'Mione," Ron greets her with a warm smile, holding his arms out and she can feel the itching in her arm subside, the tightness in her chest dissolve as he places a kiss on the top of her head.
He smells of salt and the beginnings of crisp fall air, freshly cut grass and Irish Spring soap. She inhales deeply, allowing herself to close her eyes and melt into the moment.
"What are you going to do today other than not let us celebrate?" Ginny says in a joking tone, pulling Hermione from her calm. With an effortless wave, she charms the kitchen range to do her bidding.
"Oh, I was thinking of going to Flourish and Blotts…I'm hoping they will have the latest book in a series I'm currently reading." Hermione leans against the counter.
"That's all you wanna do, 'Mione?" Ron manages around a mouthful of toast that Ginny looks at disapprovingly, as if that one bite will ruin his ravenous appetite.
"Well, that's not all, we're having a–" Harry can't get the rest out behind Ginny's hand clamped tightly around his mouth, a look of shock and fear passing over Harry's face.
"What Harry is trying to say is, do you want us to come with you? Would you like some company?" Ginny says with a smile gracing her pretty features, her fingers still clamped around Harry's mouth. Hermione knows immediately Ginny has a party planned for later tonight.
"I wouldn't mind going alone actually…I have a feeling you three will be busy setting up anyways." Hermione smiles. Ginny rolls her eyes frustratedly before turning her focus back to cooking.
Ron regails them with the morning's quidditch match and Hermione listens in, attempting to follow along as Ginny interrupts when he over embellishes.
"...someone on the other team, he works for The Prophet, has a connection with the Chudley Cannons! I'm hoping they'll be at the next scrimmage," Ron says excitedly and Hermione can feel herself drift, the uplifting atmosphere around them giving her strength as she meets Harry's gaze.
He's struggling, she can see it on his face. The way the skin under his eyes looks bruised, his already pallor skin turning ghostly. His nightmares seem to be subsiding, or aren't as terrifying as they once were. She can't remember the last time she was woken by his shouting, but that was probably due to the Dreamless Draught she always has on hand in the linen closet.
She makes a mental note to check the closet before leaving for Diagon Alley.
"Are you sure you don't want company, 'Mione?" Ginny's hand touches hers across the table and she realises everyone is looking at her.
Shaking her head she begins to stand with her half finished plate, "No Gin, it's okay, I don't mind really." Ginny gives her a tight lipped smile, clearly worried but trying not to let it show before taking her plate.
"Fine, but you're not doing any dishes before you go." Her wide grin reaches her eyes as she shoos Hermione off.
Diagon Alley has the first touches of fall, the late summer breeze whips through the buildings and it holds the smell of changing leaves. She takes a deep breath, getting herself ready for the Prophet reporter hovering just outside The Leaky Cauldron.
"Miss Granger! Do you have a moment to tell The Prophet how you will be spending your birthday?!" He rushes her, quick-quotes quill following in a panic and poised at the ready.
"No comment, thank you…" she gives a quirk of a smile, turning away from him and heading down towards Flourish and Blotts. The last thing she wants to do is talk to the press…
"Please Miss Granger! Just something, come on…" He sounds dejected and it hits her hard, he's just trying to do his job. She remembers him from Hogwarts, a year or two ahead of her, how weird it must be that he's chasing her down the street for a throwaway quote about her birthday.
"Fine…Aaron? Is that what your name is? You were a Hufflepuff, weren't you?" Suddenly he looks like a giddy schoolboy, excited that she is giving him the time of day and that he won't return to the office empty-handed without a story to cover on the Wizarding World's greatest war heroine. She hopes this means it's been a slow news week and that's why he was sent to cover something mundane as her birthday.
Her thoughts drift briefly to the headline from this morning's paper. Theodore Nott on trial, and here she is talking about her grand plans for the day.
"Right! I'm surprised you remember…I was the same year as Percy Weasley, even played a little Quidditch…" He puffs out his chest and she thinks he may be making an attempt to flirt with her, "...we actually won–"
"I'm really sorry Aaron, but what would you like me to say?" she cuts him off and he deflates, shaking his head briskly before levelling her with sharp blue eyes.
"Right, well, what are you doing for your birthday today? How is the brightest witch of her age celebrating her twentieth birthday?" She can't help the involuntary blush that stains her cheeks a viscous shade of scarlet. Agreeing to this and actually having to say something about it are two completely different things.
"Well…I'm going to Flourish and Blotts to pick up the new Belinda Rushworth book…I hear this one is going to be even better than the last…and then I'm going home to celebrate with my friends…"
Saying it out loud makes her feel self conscious in a way she never expected. A perfectly boring birthday is exactly what she wanted, but the press will expect something more, something exciting.
Harry spent his birthday with Ginny in the countryside, not that the papers knew that, but he brought her out to a cottage so they could get away before Auror training started in the fall. And here she is, shopping alone for a book just to go back to Grimmauld Place.
Maybe she should have gone away, disappeared for a week somewhere so she wouldn't have to deal with the press or the wizarding community.
"That sounds…" She can tell he's choosing his words carefully, trying not to offend her, "...very fitting, that sounds very fitting." Before he can ask another question, Hermione turns on her heel, walking as quickly as she can without running to the bookstore.
The door to the shop jangles obnoxiously, all eyes turning to her before everyone quickly averts their gaze. A group of younger witches gasp, a blonde girl grabbing onto her friend's arm in a vice grip that could only mean: Is that Hermione Granger?
Attempting to pay no mind, she browses the shelves, knowing what she's looking for but wanting to browse anyways. She takes a deep breath, letting her nose fill with the smell of parchment and fresh ink, relishing in the calming scent.
She heads to the back of the store as she always does, grazing her fingers over a few of the spines, waiting for a title to jump out at her.
The Age of Aquarius: New Age Magic and the Influence of Mysticism, The Left-Hand Path: Why Muggles Think Magic is Evil…
Nothing interesting, nothing fun, nothing she hasn't read before.
Her heart drops, fingers skittering to a halt and her hands begin to shake. When could this have possibly been published?
A Brief History of the Second Wizarding War.
It's thin, thinner than it should be and the beige cloth cover with a title in simple red foil seems off. She flips to the table of contents, scanning it quickly but it takes her a moment to digest the information.
It's split into three parts, a history of Voldemort, the impact of Albus Dumbledore's death and the Battle of Hogwarts.
Bile rises in her throat, how could someone ever dilute something so impactful into a book of no more than 200 pages…
"That's only the first edition, just wait until Rita puts out the updated version." The voice comes from behind her and she jumps, whipping her head around and coming face to face with a middle-aged witch whose eyes widen in realisation.
"Oh! Oh goodness…You don't want to read that! You– Are you looking for something else? Anything else?" Her tone is panicked and Hermione can feel her heart pounding in her fingertips as she grips the book tightly, deciding whether or not she wants to continue.
Whether or not she wants to apparate home and bury herself in her covers until this day is over.
Closing her eyes she takes a deep breath, steadying her shaking hands before giving the book over to the woman.
"Could you please start me a pile behind the register?" The witch nods, hurrying off before Hermione can say anything else.
It takes her a few moments to relax back into browsing the shelves. She knew that this would happen, that her part in the war would be written about, she's a part of history. But she never expected it to be this soon.
The Battle of Hogwarts was not even two years ago. She's hit with a bitter wave of anger, how this feels similar to Skeeter's last published book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore.
"I should have just kept her in that jar…" she mutters angrily moving on to the potions section, giving all of her attention to the shelf in front of her, letting the rest of the world fade into the background.
The witch working, Margaret is her name, returns to her periodically and collects the books from her to put behind the register. Hermione has a sizable pile accumulated by the time she makes it to her favourite section.
Located near the front of the store, the new releases sit in curated stacks, their enchanted covers and authors portraits enticing readers as soon as they walk in. Hermione always leaves this section for last, savouring the feel of a new title, taking her time and reading each synopsis.
When the door opens she doesn't glance up, searching for Belinda Rushworth's newest title amongst the piles.
"There should be a book behind the counter for me." His voice sends a jolt through her whole body. She almost drops what she's holding as her hands begin to shake.
Malfoy stands a mere twenty feet from her, his tall frame towering over Maragaret as she stands behind the counter, obviously nervous at his sudden appearance. The air he brings into the shop is electric, like if someone sets him off the entire place will ignite.
The last time she saw him, he had been sitting at the Slytherin House table flanked by his mother and father, his grey eyes looking lifeless as Narcissa clasped his hand tightly. Obviously afraid of what would become of her little family.
She can't see those eyes now, but she can see the prison number tattooed on his neck. Too high for any collared shirt to cover, he has to wear it for the world to see.
"Uhm…what–what's the name th-the book is under?" Hermione can hear Margaret choke out as she steadies herself against the counter. Malfoy takes a breath and she watches his shoulders rise and fall, and can almost see the look of blank annoyance.
"You're kidding right?" he deadpans and Margaret snaps to attention, like she only just realised who she's talking to. Hermione can feel her heartbeat in her whole body, like she's pulsing, vibrating uncontrollably.
The sight of Malfoy, alone, running an errand. It seems so out of place, so mundane, and that's what's so terrifying.
Theodore Nott is on trial and Draco Malfoy is picking up a book in Diagon Alley.
"You're lucky, this is the only copy we have left…Belinda Rushworth has been very popular. This is the last copy of To Tame a Dragon." If the pure sight of him didn't anger her enough, now he's taking the last copy of the book she came in here for.
"Charge it to the account." Hermione's blood is rushing through her ears, she's worried she might faint as she grips onto the dark wood of the table, her anger palpable. Before the war she would have never let herself anger at something so mundane, so small, so insignificant in the hierarchy of the world.
"I'm sorry, but there's been a hold on your account…management is worried, what with everything going on right now and all the Death Ea-uhm…" Margaret backtracks and Hermione can hear the hesitation in her voice, "all of the retrials that are happening, management is worried about payment happening on time…" Another huff from Malfoy, his disdain palpable in the electric air.
"Well isn't that frustrating. I'll have to leave the book." She can almost hear him grit his teeth together when he spits the words out, bile punctuating his sentences. Turning to leave he catches her eyes, levelling her and she's forced to grip the table tighter. She watches as his eyes drift to her hand clutching the new arrivals table before he snears.
She's reminded of his father. The way his face contorted as she stepped behind Harry in second year. The witch with the Muggle parents and his obvious distaste for her kind. It sends a shiver through her body.
Her mouth is open like she's going to say something but before she can he's gone, disappearing into the Sunday crowd like he was never actually here.
Hermione returns to Grimmauld Place with too many bags. She struggles to sneak into the front door, even with the assistance of the feather light charm.
Even though it's her birthday, she still feels guilty about her purchases. All she wants to do is hide them away amongst the piles of to be read undetected.
"You're back!" Ginny exclaims, wide-eyed like she's been caught out past curfew by a prefect. In a moment she's herding Hermione upstairs, taking her bags and speaking overly loud.
"Let me help you bring those upstairs! It will only take a moment if we put them away together," she says over enthusiastically, giving Hermione a push before closing her bedroom door.
Ginny has a wide grin plastered over her face and Hermione hates the way it makes her stomach sink.
"Please don't tell me there's a party downstairs…" Placing the bags on the bed she levels the red head with a perturbed look.
"No…oh no…not yet." Ginny throws a cheeky grin over her shoulder as she unpacks the bags, filing them away on a shelf next to the desk.
Hermione takes a moment, realising that Ginny has noticed where she keeps her books she wants to read next on the small floating shelf right next to her desk, while the ones she's finished get filed away on the bookshelf.
"What do you mean not yet…" It's hard to hide the annoyance in her voice, she does her best not to let the anger rise. Ginny means well, she keeps telling herself.
"I mean your closest friends are downstairs getting ready to surprise you with a lovely meal and then a few more people are coming over later." She finishes filing the books and turns triumphantly, a full broad grin on her pretty face.
At this moment Hermione knows this is Ginny's coping mechanism. Revelry. The merriment, the excitement, the kerfuffle of planning, as she throws herself into something exciting, providing for someone else.
"Come on Hermione…you're allowed to have fun sometimes you know. If you won't give yourself permission to have fun I'll give it to you." She sits down on the bed beside her, placing her arm around her shoulders and giving a gentle squeeze.
"You're right…"
Ginny opens the door and winks, making a big show down the stairs, stomping her feet a little too loudly.
There's shushing and a loud 'shut up' from just beyond the kitchen door. Hermione mumbles something about using a silencing charm and Ginny throws her a venomous glance.
"Why didn't any of you silence the door?" Luna's sing-song voice drifts out from the crack in the door.
Pushing Hermione in front of her, Ginny's hands are strong against her back, supporting her as she's met with a group of smiling faces.
The kitchen is decorated in pink balloons with white streamers that sparkle in the light. Harry and Ron sport matching pink party hats while Neville and Luna wear white.
Ron is the first to give her a hug, he sweeps her up into his arms, clearly already a few deep into the firewhiskey. When he kisses her she can taste the cinnamon..
"'Mione! We thought you'd never come down!" He grabs her shoulders tightly, his eyes crinkling when he smiles and it makes her heart twang in her chest.
"Ron's already eaten half of the potatoes…" Harry whispers to her, pulling her into a tight hug.
"At least it's only half," she whispers back with a girlish giggle.
Neville has clearly been cooking, the smell of roasted potatoes and carrots fills the whole kitchen and she can see the pots still simmering on the stove. He's made her favourite Sunday roast, yorkshire puddings included.
She can feel tears prick the backs of her eyes, scanning the room and watching everyone fill their glasses.
Taking a plate she approaches the stove as Neville dishes everything out, his pink apron a relic from when Molly held dinners for The Order. The frills around the edges and tiny red geraniums only accentuate his tall stature.
"I still got gravy on my shirt," he says with a bit of a crooked grin, the deep gouges in his face an unwelcome reminder of the torturous year they all endured.
She wishes she could find some sort of comfort within the scars her and her friends share, but deep down, the perfectionist within her won't let that happen. If only she had figured it out sooner. If only they had gotten to the castle earlier. If only people didn't have to die.
No matter how rational she may approach the subject, the burden of feeling like all those deaths could be prevented rest heavily on her shoulders.
Dinner passes in a flurry around her, Ginny has put on an old record she found in a sideboard in the dining room.
"I think this will be a nice listen!" she exclaims when the gramophone jumps to life.
Hermione wonders if the records belonged to Sirius, from the look on Harry's face she thinks they did. Her and Harry both recognize the sounds of Led Zeppelin, but to the rest of the guests it's something new and exciting.
Muggle music is a rare commodity in the wizarding world.
"I think we should do presents before everyone else arrives!" Hermione can feel her cheeks heat, the blush taking over her body as Neville takes her plate. All eyes are on her as a small pile of gifts appear with a pop.
"You really…you all didn't need to…" she mutters, much to Ginny's dismay.
The first gift on top is wrapped in what looks to be issues of the Quibbler, the brightly coloured photographs moving around the box. Images of fantastic beasts chase each other around as Hermione unwraps the present carefully. Secretly worried that Luna has given her something that's alive.
Inside sits a deep purple box filled with bright pink tissue paper, below the paper lies a navy bottle with a handwritten tag tied neatly around the stopper.
"It's for the wrackspurts. They make your head all foggy and steal your socks," Luna pipes up from the end of the table leaning her head on her hand as she talks. "You just spray a little behind your ears every morning." She mimes the motion.
Picking the bottle up and removing the stopper Hermione is met with hints of vanilla, cedarwood and black coffee. She feels her face relax in relief that it doesn't smell terrible.
"Luna! This smells beautiful!" Rubbing it onto her wrists she inhales deeply, a calm settling into her bones.
Ginny reaches for her wrist taking a strong whiff before sighing.
"Maybe I need to get rid of my wrackspurts too…"
"They don't go after people like you, Ginny, only those–" There's a swift thud from under the table and Luna stops talking immediately, her blue eyes wide.
"This one's from Harry." Ginny grabs a poorly wrapped rectangular present from the bottom of the pile, thrusting it into her hands before Luna can say anything else.
There's a commotion from the kitchen as Hermione gingerly unwraps Harry's gift. The loud crash and sorrowful yelp causes Luna to stand abruptly to check on Neville, worried that he dropped something important.
"Harry, this is…" Harry's eyes lock onto Hermione's and he nods sheepishly.
"I've actually had it for a few months…I contacted her as soon as I finished the second one…She sent me an advanced copy." Hermione holds Belinda Rushworth's new book, the gold foil on the cover perfectly pristine. She can't help but smile, her fingers tingling as her heart pounds and tears start to gather.
She told Harry to read these books last year. They had been sending owls back and forth since Hermione decided to finish her schooling while Harry and Ron took the year off. They joked that it was their press tour since they spent more time fielding journalists and ministry folk than anyone else.
She never realised he actually read them.
"I promise I haven't read it, you get to read it first and I know it's your birthday present…but I would like to borrow it when you're done." He's serious and it makes her feel all the better.
"This is perfect Harry, absolutely perfect." They're interrupted with a sudden darkness, the sound of shushing coming from within the kitchen before the door swings open revealing Luna and Neville with far too many candles on a rustic-looking chocolate cake.
Hermione is treated to an off key version of happy birthday and before she blows out the candles, all she can think about is how she wants to bottle this moment. Swim within a pensieve of this thought for the rest of her life. Maybe her birthday isn't so bad after all.
Everyone is smiling in the warm glow of candlelight, Ginny clapping and elbowing Ron when he isn't clapping loud enough.
Everyone's scars look less mean in the dim flickering light of the celebratory candles. The orange isn't as harsh against the tough pink skin. When Neville smiles it looks like it hurts, the deep gash pulling his mouth. From temple to lip, the Carrows knife bit deep.
At least she can cover hers. Keep it hidden beneath a sleeve, a glove, her own hand. But it burns when she's anxious, like fiendfyre beneath her skin waiting to erupt and devour her whole.
Ron's are similar, the tentacle-like marks wrapping like ropes around his forearms and biceps. But he doesn't hide his, he doesn't seem to care or be affected by them much anymore. The hold they have on his psyche is long gone, or maybe it was never really there to begin with.
When she blows out her candles she doesn't make a wish, but instead relishes in the darkness for a few seconds before the chandelier above them blazes back to life with a perfectly timed lumos.
"I've baked the cake but I also got you this…" Neville disappears once more, returning with a potted plant he puts on the table proudly.
"It's a Brugmansia!" he exclaims triumphantly like the name is supposed to jog something in her memory immediately.
With a tap of his wand, the gramophone shaped flower perks up, swaying gently as a tune begins to play. The flower moves to the beat slowly as a lovely waltz starts to form.
"It can play anything you like really, if you're not a fan of classical," another tap and the tune changes, "here is something a little more upbeat."
"Neville, this is positively gorgeous!" Cradling the little flower in her hands it begins to mimic the gramophone in the corner. Matching the song perfectly.
"I'll teach you the spell, it's rather simple really–" he starts but Ginny cuts him off.
"Everyone else will be here any moment! We'll have to finish presents later…" She's looking over Hermione's shoulder to the foreboding grandfather clock in the corner.
Ginny has invited the majority of their graduating class for Hermione's birthday. It's well into the morning hours when the last person disappeared up the chimney.
Hermione is sitting at her desk, looking at her little flower when there's a quiet knock at her door.
"Come in, I'm not asleep yet." Turning in her chair, she sees Ron standing in the doorway, a small wrapped box gripped tightly in his hands.
"I didn't get to give this to you earlier…" She can feel herself flush, things have been rocky over the last year between them. Between auror training and Quidditch he doesn't seem to have the same time for her as he used to.
He closes the door before crossing the room and settling next to Crookshanks at the end of the bed.
The cat gives a small huff of acknowledgement not even bothering to open an eye.
"You didn't have to get me anything…really Ronald…" even as she says it, she can hear her voice crack. She sits next to him on the bed, taking the little package from his hands and unwrapping it. Within the box sits a beautiful dainty silver bracelet with three little stones set in a thin bar.
"The woman at the shop helped a little…the red one, that's Harry's birthstone, dark blue is yours and the light blue is mine…it's charmed so if you need us, or if something happens, you just tap it…see?" He gives it a little touch and a bright light emits from his wand, like the bracelet is calling to him.
"Ron…really this is–" She looks at him with tears blurring her vision, when did she start to cry? Her heart is thudding in her chest and her hands are shaking as he puts the bracelet on her wrist. It shakes for a moment before shrinking to fit her perfectly.
"I know you've been having a tough time…I just want to make sure you know we're here for you…" His voice is echoing in her mind, the sound of his voice, the feel of his thigh pressed right up against hers. The warmth of his body envelops hers as he places his hand on the side of her face, thumb sweeping over her cheekbone.
She tries not to cry when he kisses her.