A week before Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley broke apart for good, Harry had spent his days cavorting about London with Hermione Granger, and Hermione spent her nights wrapped within the soft enslavement of her paramour.

Their friendship - most pleasing through childhood - was quickly filling with the oncoming burdens of sexuality and the complicating threads of relationships. Beneath this rampant onslaught, it reached a new level of tension while one's love was falling apart, and the others freshly budding.

Harry found it difficult to reconcile the studious, know-it-all intellectual with the soft eyed girl who seemed to finally reach out and claim her newly realized femininity. And for her part, Hermione took only passing notice of Harry's hesitancy, preferring instead to deconstruct the fascinating fibres of her love life, and build them again in her mind until she remembered every breath, every whisper, with an accuracy that would have seemed near hysteria for anyone unaware of her factual mind.

London was noisy and crowded, filled with tourists and overflowing with British both sweet and sour. The two youths, glamored, had met up at a coffee shop in a quaint little district tailored to look as if customers had stepped into the posh 18th century, and had settled down for tea.

"Harry!" Hermione had greeted, and hugged him tightly.

With a fond grin, Harry had quietly said hello, and they had sat down at a small round table by a wide picture window.

"How do you find London, Harry? Tedious? Exciting? I come here every summer with Mom and Dad, and I still adore it. There are so many book shops to see!"

With a contented sigh, she glanced over the menu, then ordered a cup of black tea and a muffin. Harry ordered a chai tea and a strawberry pastry.

"I suppose so, Hermione. I've just noticed that there are a lot of people."

"Yes," The girl sighed, frowning slightly. "It is rather crowded and the pollution is horrible, but it's a beautiful place and the architecture is amazing! I love brick buildings especially, they always have a tale to tell. You can never-"

She broke off with a laugh, waving her hand and giggling breathlessly.

"I'm sorry, I'm babbling again."

Harry had looked at her, happy to see her so blatantly joyous but unsure why after all they'd just been through. Usually Hermione was only happy when she sat within a musty library with a never ending pile of books and the prospect of exams on the horizon.

"You seem cheerful," he had teased, and she blushed.

"Yes, I suppose I am, despite… You know."

Harry's green eyes darkened, and his mouth fell from its cheery smile. The old, rasping voice of Dumbledore whispered gently in his ears, along with a fresh wash of fury at the thought of Severus Snape.

Their tea arrived, and Hermione daintily sliced her muffin and smoothed a small pat of butter onto it. Harry dug into his pastry with quiet gusto, and a comfortable silence ensued. Both enjoyed the gentle music flitting from a hidden stereo by the cash register, and the busy floral wallpaper and the buttery wooden wainscoting finishing off each wall. Lace tablecloths decorated each table, and the smell of dried flowers and talcum powder rested gently over everything.

As he ate, Harry surveyed his friend fondly, noting the thick brown hair in its riot of curls, and how the familiar thickly lashed brown eyes seemed warmer then ever. Hermione met his eyes, her own deep, and lovingly traced the familiar worn scar of his forehead with her gaze, fighting the impulsive urge to ruffle his mussed black hair.

Finishing their edibles, they moved onto the cooling drinks. Hermione smiled at him and her brown eyes glittered.

Harry thought she looked beautiful, but not in the same way most girls did. Hermione was wholesome and sweet, like cinnamon buns covered in icing. He chuckled slightly at the thought, and she raised a brow.

"Something funny, Harry?"

"I was just thinking… You look happy despite everything."

Hermione only smiled, the contented, dreamy kind of smile he had seen a dozen times before in the faces of smitten lovers. He felt an uneasy ache twist his innards, the thought of walking upon uncharted ground with a girl he had childishly assumed would not change making him nervous.

Not noticing, Hermione stirred more cream into her tea – breaking her own rule on dairy products, Harry thought peevishly – and tucking a stray chestnut curl behind her ear.

"I am happy. Deliriously. I have tea and a muffin, why wouldn't I be?"

"Oh I don't know, Mione. I could go for some pizza…"

Scoffing, Hermione's mouth tightened primly.

"And how many pimples would you like with your toppings? Because that's all you'll get in the end."

It was slightly reassuring that Hermione hadn't done a full turn, but still remained the uptight and brilliant witch he and Ron loved so.

"…And some chips," Harry mused thoughtfully. "And a huge can of soda."

After carrying on in this vein for some time, Harry laughed and resigned himself to interrogating his best female friend for the cause of her light gaze and rosy cheeks..

"Hermione, what's got into you?"

The other seemed to deliberate for a moment, and while she weighed her thoughts Harry gulped his sweetened tea.

"Harry, can I tell you a secret?" she asked conspiratorially, and he nodded, intrigued.

Hermione wasn't known for secrets, thus this fell into the category of Things To Pay Attention To.

"Well," she said calmly, stirring her tea needlessly with a small silver spoon. "I've fallen

in love."

Harry smiled edgily, and he ran his hand through his hair.

"Who is it? Does he live in London or in our world?"

With that she seemed to withdraw, and she shook her head. Her curls bounced.

"I can't tell you that. Just…That he's wonderful. If you knew you'd never understand and I can't bare to lose you or Ron."

She lowered her voice to a soft murmur and said, "We can't afford to have any cracks within our ranks on our search for the horcruxes."

"Lose me? It's not Malfoy, is it?" he breathed, horrified, and Hermione laughed.

"No. Malfoy hates me, remember? Besides that, last we heard he was on the run. Just…Just know I'm happy…If you ever were to find out…Please remember he makes me happier then I've ever been."

Harry thought of Ron, and his excitement and curiosity dimmed. Their redheaded

friend had carried a torch for Hermione and she him, for a very long time.

"Alright Hermione. I trust you know what's best for you," Harry said quietly,

and she nodded.

An awkward silence fell, the secret hanging between them, before Hermione shoved it aside in her usual busy manner and leaned forward.

"How is Ginny?" she demanded, and Harry suddenly looked nervous.

"She's well, I suppose. I haven't…I mean, she doesn't…" he trailed off.

and the girl frowned.

"Doesn't what? Eat? Sing? Dance?"

"She doesn't seem very excited about me anymore."

Hermione stuck up her nose and crossed her arms. Her spoon fell on her saucer with a tinkling clatter, and she arched a brow.

"Do you expect a swoon each time you walk into a room? Perhaps a choir singing? Ginny is growing up Harry, and she's maturing. Besides, you did kind of call it quits at Dumbledore's funeral."

Exasperated, The-Boy-Who-Lived shook his head.

"Nothing like that. I mean, she won't even talk to me anymore! She just kind of smiles and shakes her head. If I didn't know better, I'd say she – "

He broke off, stubbornly closing his mouth.

Hermione stared at him for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision and steered the awkward conversation to safer waters.

"I insist you stay at our flat, Harry! My Aunt Audrey let's us stay there when we visit, and the place is absolutely enormous. It's been warded by Aurors and the Order alike! There's an extra bedroom, yellow, with a balcony and a bath. My family insists and so do I. Come, let's get your bags."

Exasperated as ever by Hermione's demanding and forthright manner, Harry shook his head and stood.

"Shall we then?"

Standing, Hermione smiled and took his arm, and after paying for their tea the two went to Harry's hotel room and gathered his meager things.

In the weeks that followed, Harry's initial concern over Hermione's love affair grew when the changes became all the more apparent. She was glowing, bursting with a newfound beauty and sexuality he found intimidating. She was still rather snooty, and always thought she knew what was best, but her knowledge no longer remained only with books.

Harry had asked her point blank if she had had sex with her lover, and she had seemed shocked, before saying that she had in fact, not slept with him yet. In fact he had not even kissed her.

Reassured but nonetheless worried for her, Harry watched for some sign that everything was not right in her world, or that the girl he had always held a soft spot for was in over her head. Hermione remained secretive though, and joyous, relishing the freedom she had with her paramour in muggle London. She would not tell Harry anything; Where they met, how long it had been going on, who he was in the wizarding world if anyone at all.

(He prayed it wasn't Dudley) She was as tight lipped with her secret as she was free with her knowledge. He found it a definite strain on their friendship, and worried about Ron's reaction, but what else could he do? She herself had told him she was happy.

Happy in a way Ron or himself could never make her.

One night, he had been standing on the wrought iron balcony - painted white to match the trim of the yellow building - and he had seen his small and sprightly friend slip quietly from the front doorway and stand for a nervous moment in the pooled light of a street lamp.

A shadow had sinuously detached itself from the rest and moved closer to the girl, and for a moment Harry almost called a warning until the girl herself had shyly stepped forward and touched that shadows hand. Stunned but curious, Harry tried to make out the male form in the darkness, but all he could see was shining black hair and the dimness of skin. Hermione was petite in form, but she appeared even daintier beside the lean height of the spare man whose fingers seemed to drift close to her, then fall away, and

smaller from what he could see.

They moved off quietly and quickly, and as they walked through another foggy puddle of light shed from a lamp, Harry saw the man wore all black and his hair was loose and dark.

As they moved from sight Harry couldn't shake the sure feeling that the man Hermione was in love with was frighteningly familiar. Instead, he turned his face to the sky and contemplated the fate of his world, and his place within it. When he had come to Hogwart's, he had thought he found a family; a place to belong to.

As it was, he felt as alone as ever.