On Boxing Day, Harry broached the subject of visiting his flat. There were certain things he couldn't leave unattended any longer, and after learning of the previous owner's death, the clothes hanging in the closet no longer seemed like an appropriate option. Surely after all this time, it would be safe for them to return.

He set a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon next to Hermione's coffee cup and pushed his own eggs around the plate. She gave her normal quiet "thank you" and tucked into breakfast as had become their routine over the last two weeks.

"So that was the last of the eggs. And perhaps our most vital supply is running low." When her eyebrow lifted in confusion, he shot her a smirk and explained, "Coffee."

The dramatic flair of his statement made her chuckle, but she couldn't disagree. Coffee was one of her more vital and treasured resources, if not the most important.

"We'll have to make a grocery run this afternoon, then. Stock back up on a few things to get through another week or two."

They lapsed into silence once more, scraping utensils against plates as they continued eating. Harry ripped his toast into pieces while he contemplated his next words. Convincing Hermione of things required a careful, logical approach, something Harry was very familiar with after a decade of friendship. He spent the majority of the morning scripting solutions to the problems she was sure to use as a way to say no. Spying her now empty mug, Harry picked it up and refilled it before returning it to the table. A little sucking up couldn't hurt.

"So I was also thinking this morning… maybe we can run by my flat." When he met her eyes, the neutral mask slid into place, betraying none of her emotions. "It's been nearly three weeks, and I can't keep borrowing this bloke's clothing. It's just… it doesn't feel right."

She mulled the idea over as she sipped her coffee. Had there been an attack on his apartment, it would have occurred already, and if they were simply surveying the area, ample time had passed to prove the resources too precious to still waste on an empty apartment. It was a good idea considering she hadn't been able to get the supplies she had originally gone to Diagon Alley for. Harry nervously tapped at the table until the silence was too much to bear, and he cleared the table, taking their plates to the sink.

"We'll go after breakfast," she consented. "Your flat, then a grocery store."

Behind her, Harry fist-pumped the air, quietly celebrating his victory. And she smirked into her coffee at the sound she knew so well from years of Quidditch victories.

True to her word, an hour after breakfast, the pair stood on the stoop, packed as if they may never see the place again, just as they had on the Horcrux hunt, and Apparated directly into Harry's flat. The familiar beige walls welcomed her, walls she never thought she'd see again.

"Still in this flat we found?" she questioned, taking in the red sofa they navigated up the steps sans magic. The joys of living in a Muggle complex.

"Yeah, it's a great pick for me. Wizards and witches only bother me through the mail, and it's only four blocks from an entrance to Diagon. You always know exactly what I need. Always have."

The flat looked exactly as it had four years ago when she first helped him move in, the only addition being four more years' worth of photos. The collection was a healthy mix of magic and Muggle, something that felt so inherently Harry that she couldn't help but smile. Her fingers lingered over a painted clay kitten as she watched a moving picture from sixth year. It was one she had completely forgotten they'd taken from Slughorn's party.

In the photo, Harry wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her next to him while she smiled over at him.

The camera flashed once again in Harry's eyes as yet another wizard stood proudly next to the Boy Who Lived. This was the fourth one so far, and he was just about sick of being a prize on display. A flash of honey brown curls caught his eye as Hermione clipped through the crowds just within reach. His fingers clasped around her arm just as she slid through, and her wild eyes turned on him before relaxing.

"Harry, you look wonderful! I see you actually combed your hair," she teased with a bright smile, stepping back towards him. His breath caught as he took in her appearance.

"You look lovely. Let's get a photo taken. All my photographs are of us in school robes. This way we can prove we weren't always in uniform." His arm naturally fell over her shoulder, pulling her against his side and making her smile more as she turned toward him.

"It truly is a moment to commemorate, then," she replied with a sarcastic glint.

"How long do I have?" Harry called from the opposite side of the room, where he was booting up a laptop.

She looked up from the photo to find him watching her with amusement. "Hm? Oh, the wards are solid, so we should be fine. Take your time."

She waved him off and returned to browsing the photos on the bookshelves. Photos cluttered every surface in a manner that encapsulated Harry well: absolutely no order at all. The frames contained photographs featuring everyone from Hagrid to an infant Teddy, and she was surprised to find a great many of them included her still. After all these years, she was still a daily part of his life, and it filled her with comfort. As she admired a pretty little girl with blonde curls - presumably Allie - Harry called her over to where he sat on the couch.

Hermione leaned against the back of the sofa on her elbows and looked at the computer sitting on his lap.

"Didn't know if I should answer or not," he explained, motioning to the email loaded on the screen.

"Do you mind if I skim it?" she asked, leaning further over the sofa back to read. "Maybe sure it's safe?"

He titled the screen at a more accommodable angle motioning for her to start. It was brief. The contact was saved under Dudley's name, which was a promising start to her investigation. The message itself was only a few lines long, barely an email.

Harry,

Was worried when you never called at Christmas.

Allie wants you to know she misses you and loves her little noisy owl plush.

Thanks a lot, mate.

Hope everything's okay.

Allie Girl and Big D

Nothing struck her as forced or falsified. The name and spelling of Dudley's daughter were correct from what Harry had told her before.

"He really still calls himself Big D?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow at Harry, who laughed.

"Nah, but I always call him that to annoy him, so he signs our cards and emails like that. 'From Allie Girl and Big D.' Kind of an inside joke, I suppose."

Her eyes drifted back to the screen. Using nicknames and pre-established signatures was another good sign. "And this is how his emails usually sound?"

"Yeah, Dudley doesn't exactly mince words."

"And that's what you got her for Christmas, yes?" Hermione continued, completely focused on her task.

Harry smirked, clearly pleased with himself over the toy. "Yeah, on the loudest setting I could find. Hoots when you squeeze it."

She nodded, absently rereading the email as she did. Everything seemed in perfect order. "As long as you don't mind me reading over the reply, it should be safe."

She moved around the sofa and settled next to him as he typed.

Hey Big D and Allie Girl,

Unfortunately, something came up, and I had to go out of town. I'm glad you love your owl, Allie Girl, and I'm sorry I missed our usual Christmas call. I'll probably be out of touch for a while, but I promise to try for your birthday.

Thanks for checking in. Be in touch when I can.

Wordlessly, he turned to her, finger hovering over the send key. It was clear, concise, to the point, and perhaps most important of all, contained no mention of her or the New Order. She read over the email again and nodded in approval.

"Send it. And if you don't mind, I could really use your laptop."

Harry shifted the laptop into her hands and wandered back to the kitchen. Though she hadn't meant that moment, she spent several minutes running basic news searches for any information that might indicate New Order activity in Muggle England. The normalcy of the articles she found was more unsettling than comforting. The lack of news set her on edge, as if waiting for the onslaught of a storm. When the doorbell rang, she pulled her wand, instantly swinging to face the door, prepared to fight. Harry breezed into the room and stopped cold when he saw her wand raised.

"Relax. It's lunch. I ordered that curry you like." After a brief exchange of words and money with the delivery boy, Harry carried the takeout bags to the kitchen table. The aromatic spices quickly filled the room, making Hermione feel strangely homesick for a time when everything in the flat was still boxed up. When they laughed and ate straight out of the carton while sitting on the floor because Harry still hadn't bothered to unload the packages that crowded the table. When things weren't so complicated.

"I can't believe a table is the only furniture you have in this entire flat," Hermione chastised as she pulled cartons from a plastic takeout bag. The curry restaurant down the street had been one of the main selling points for them both about the building.

"Hermione, you're lucky I even have that. Only reason is Mrs. Weasley insists-"

"Every home must have a dinner table to gather at," they quoted in unison, laughing at the matriarch's mantra. As a unit, they moved throughout the half-unpacked kitchen, filling glasses with soda and collecting utensils from boxes before they settled together on the floor to eat. The table they should have gathered around was still hosting a multitude of sealed boxes, most of which didn't even belong in that room. They chatted about nothing and everything, enjoying the freedom and peace of the last few post-war weeks.

"I think Mrs. Weasley has it wrong though," Harry blurted, gesturing with his fork at the table in front of them. She lifted a perplexed eyebrow, and he continued. "About the table. Doesn't matter about a table; matters about the people that fill it. Whether you sit at the table or not." Hermione bit her lip, knocking a shoulder against his, touched by the way he smiled at her. Like she was one of the people that mattered.

She smiled to herself as she ran a finger over the date engraved on the edge, the date he moved into his own place completely free. As she opened her carton, a discarded Prophet on the table caught her attention, the photo on the front page specifically, and she absently picked up the paper to get a better look. The once delicious smell turned her stomach sour. This was worse than she could imagine.

"Harry, what's this?

He glanced over to see the paper she held and scoffed. "What, you actually expect me to believe you forgot this pile of steaming hippogriff shi-"

"No, the article." Her breathing hitched as she skimmed through it. "'Sarah Harrold, one of the final candidates for Deputy Chief of Foreign Relations?"

"Oh, that," he said around a mouth full of noodles. "They had some special race after the previous bloke up and quit. Imagine she's got the job now. She was a favorite for it."

The paper slipped from her slacked fingers, smacking hard against the table. "How is she even- This is very bad." Finally, she met his eye, and the fear he found there was palpable, shooting straight through him. "Whoever you trust in the Ministry, we need to see them. Now. Higher up the chain, the better."

"Kingsley is Minister now. I trust him."

Her stomach dropped. It was bad enough when she discovered Harry may have Auror ties, but to see the actual Minister of Magic made her skin crawl. But she had said higher up, hadn't she? She attempted to swallow down the discomfort and failed. Seeming to read her thoughts, Harry placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry. He'll understand," he reassured her.

"Not the Ministry, though," she snapped. "I don't trust the Ministry. There isn't enough time for that place to be completely washed away of wrongdoing."

"I have a direct line to his home office. Is that okay?"

Okay? No. Nothing was okay. Nothing was safe. But she nodded her agreement regardless. It would have to do.