"Eager are we?"

"Couldn't fathom being apart for another second."

"Well said!"

A few minutes later they were pulling up to a one story, wide, shingled building that was built on a sturdy looking pier. Hermione could hear music and people's laughter when she opened the truck door, shivering slightly as she pulled her jean jacket closer. The several string lights that hung off protruding posts gave an ambiance of warmth that was lacking in the otherwise brisk air. People milled around outside of the building, holding beer cans and huddling close to small fire pits that were spattered about the pier. Some turned to them as they approached.

"Anne! English!" A small thin woman pushed through a group of men and ran up to them. Hermione quickly found herself enveloped in a crushing hug. She laughed.

"Sarah! I just saw you on Thursday."

"I know, but I missed you. The kids are driving me crazy."

"I'll come babysit on Friday if you want. Give Brian and you a night off?"

"Oh that'd amazing! I mean, if you don't mind. I know you're wicked busy with whatever it is you're researching."

Hermione waved her off. "How about you buy me a drink and we'll it even?"

Sarah beamed. "You got it. Bourbon right?"

Hermione nodded and Sarah shot off towards the building.

"I don't know how you drink that. I mean, the real nice stuff I get, but you know they have the cheapest money can buy right?"

"The alternative is that pitiful excuse for beer you like."

"Pitiful!" Anne scoffed, "It's won a dozen awards!"

"It doesn't matter how many awards it's won it still tastes like soap."

They made their way to the fire pit Jack and a handful of others were huddled around. The light from the fire flickered across their faces as they laughed at something Jack had said. He was clutching a beer can, another stood unopened on the ground by his foot. At the sight of the two, he quickly grabbed the spare beer and pushed it towards Anne.

"Where's my drink Jack?" Hermione asked as she smiled openly to others.

"Turns out beer is the only free drink tonight. And, because I know you, I figured you wouldn't want one."

She didn't have a response to that. Sarah returned carrying her glass of bourbon. Hermione swirled it about as she looked around. Her mind was quiet. It was easy for her to get lost in the carefree conversation, slowly becoming engrossed in the mundane talk of bad bosses and unfair wages. While she may not relate, for a moment she could imagine that she was the same as the rest. She wished she were.

There was a loud crack. Suddenly, Hermione found herself back at The Battle, just barely dodging an arrant bombarda that flew into a nearby tree, severing a large branch that fell directly on top of a nameless sixth year Ravenclaw. There was a sickening snap as it made contact with the girls head. Hermione could feel a pressure on her right arm. She couldn't figure what it was from. If it was a curse, it was an odd one. The grip tightened. A soft voice tickled her ear. She strained to try hear what the voice was saying.

"You're safe. You're at Rosies. You're safe. You're next to a warm fire, can you feel it? You're safe. Can you feel my hand?"

Hermione blinked rapidly. Slowly, the pier came back to view. Her friends were still standing around the fire pit. Anne's arm was looped around Hermione's, her hand clasping the later's forearm. Hermione turned to her.

"Thank you" She whispered.

To Hermione's immense relief, it hadn't seemed as though the others had noticed her episode. They were still talking about Mr. Curbin's indiscretions. She let out a breath she hadn't realized she had been holding.

"Do you want to go?"

"No, I'm alright, really. It wasn't long."

"If you're sure."

"I am."

Anne nodded, but her eyes showed concern as she stared down her friend. They knew Hermione had served in the war. They weren't entirely sure which war, where it was, or who it was against, but the results were undeniable and abundantly evident. She certainly wasn't alone in her suffering- plenty of veterans found solace on the quiet island that was largely forgotten about by the rest of the country.

The scar on her left arm tingled unpleasantly as it always did after one of her flashbacks. She felt a pang of disappointment at herself. She had been doing so well. She hadn't had an episode in nearly four months, but despite all her progress, a wet log that heated too quickly could revert her back to her first weeks spent in America.

"Hermione what do you think? Librarian hot enough to risk it?"

She turned sharply to face Sam Collins. She could practically feel Anne's effort to not roll her eyes.

"I haven't seen her yet, Jack?"

He nodded seriously.

"I'm not saying I would, but I'm not not saying I wouldn't, ya know?"

"What?"

"The Sox won!" A booming voice interrupted from the doorway of the building. A cheer rang out from those outside.

"I fuckin' knew we could do it, what did I tell ya? Ortiz has never looked better. World Series is ours this year, I'm callin' it now!" Jack announced.

The conversation quickly turned to baseball, and Hermione allowed her mind to wander. It wasn't her fault she couldn't find any redeemable qualities to watching the sport, she had gave it a valiant effort after the first year spent on the island. It was just so boring. Virtually everyone in town acted as though their personal happiness was directly tied to the successfulness of the Red Sox. She decided to take some solace in the fact that no matter where she was in the world, people were inexplicably drawn to sporting events, even if she herself felt to no such desire.

She was worried about returning to England. While she could lie to herself about an astonishing number of things, Hermione found herself unable to pretend like she wasn't set on returning. The moment she read the letter she had been drawn in. Perhaps that was Shacklebolt's intention all along. If Hermione didn't have such a high opinion of Ron and Harry she would consider the possibility they had coerced the Minister to penning the letter for the sole purpose of bringing her back to the UK.

Eventually the conversation drifted away from sports, quickly transitioning to plans for the summer, nearly all of which revolved around Sam's dad's pontoon boat. Hermione would be sorry to miss all of it. She decided to visit at some point. Perhaps for the fourth of July.

Sarah kept returning with a new drink whenever Hermione managed to finish her current one. Sooner than Hermione had expected, Anne was tugging on the hem of her sweater.

"Ready to go?"

"What time is it?"

"Nearly 11:00, I figured you'd want to get back earlier rather later."

Hermione nodded before turning back to the group.

"We're off guys, see you later."

Jack stumbled over to her and gave her a bear hug.

"Good luck tomorrow!" He had attempted to whisper, but it came out at a normal volume.

"Good luck!" Nearly everyone chorused.

Hermione gave them a wide smile. It was one of her favorite parts about the people here. They didn't need to know everything. If gossip was willingly given it was free game, but no one ever pried.

As they walked by the fire pit closest to the parking lot, someone wolf whistled. Without turning, Anne raised her free arm to flip the group off. The sound of laughter followed them to the truck.

Anne followed Hermione to the passenger side to pull open the door for her. Hermione stumbled slightly as she climbed in. Anne quickly wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist to steady her, but Hermione's momentum pulled them down into the seat. They were close. Anne's right leg was pressed against Hermione's. Her breath hitched as she felt a sudden desire to tuck an errant strand of Hermione's hair behind her ear. Before she could act, Hermione gave an undignified snort.

"Sorry. I think Sarah and Sam had a bet on how many drinks I'd have."

Anne gave a strained laugh. "Let's get you home alright?"

Hermione gave a lazy salute while Anne reached over her to secure her buckle. Anne paused for a moment before rapidly standing up and walking over to the driver's side. Once inside, she opened her mouth to talk, but was cut off by a soft snore. She smiled. They made the trip back to the cottage quietly. When they arrived, Anne nudged Hermione gently. Anne wrapped her arm around Hermione's waist to support her as they walked to the front door.

"Will you be alright tonight?"

"Yeah" Hermione said through flickering eyes, her head lolling slightly backwards.

"Ok," Anne hesitated, "You have to be up 7 remember?"

"7. Yeah. I know. For the minister."

Anne looked at her bewildered. She figured Hermione was confused in her state of mind, and decided to let the comment slide.

"You got it. What time do you have to be up?"

"7"

"Ok then. I'm going." She walked a few feet back towards her truck before turning back around as if to say something, but Hermione had already disappeared behind the heavy wood door.

/

There was an incessant pounding in her head. Her tongue darted out to dampen parched lips. She could taste the stale alcohol that lingered well past its welcome. Moaning at the morning light that filtered past her curtains, she reached clumsily for her wand on the bedside table. Wordlessly, she conjured a small cup and filled it with water. She drank greedily. Once she felt marginally better, Hermione cautiously got out of bed, a wave of nausea immediately hitting her, cascading against the inside of her head in an unrelenting and overpowering manner. She grit her teeth and walked into the main room of her modest house. Her bare legs protested the cold air by breaking out in goosebumps.

She opened one of the cupboard doors and pulled out a small vial filled with a viscous green liquid, pausing momentarily to steel her nerves before she knocked it back. She shuddered at the unpleasant taste. The effects were immediate- her head suddenly felt clear and she had a surge of energy that was desperately needed.

Hermione glanced at the oven clock: 6:50 am. She sighed. Slowly, she dressed in comfortable jeans and a chunky cable knit sweater. The lack of in-person contact to the formal wizarding world left her closet severely lacking in appropriate wizarding clothing, causing her to dig through the back of her closet for a dusty black robe that she hadn't been sure she still owned. She secured her hair into a bun at the nape of her neck with a hair tie, looked into the small mirror above her bureau, and nodded to herself, satisfied. While the potion she had taken had cured her hangover, it did nothing to fix the dark circles under her eyes that had been a perpetually lingered for nearly ten years. They hardly bothered her.

She went back into the kitchen to check the time. 7:00. Biting her lip, she decided to clean the dishes that were threatening to overflow from the sink by hand. Once she was done, she shifted her attention to the counters, enthusiastically scrubbing them down until they shone brighter than the day she had bought the house. The clock read 7:35. She grabbed a smaller bag than the one she had brought to Rosie's the night before and slung it across her body. Unable to further delay the inevitable, Hermione turned on her heel and disappeared with a pop.

She appeared inside a lobby of a brick building. There were several people milling about who barely glanced at her before continuing along. Most were dressed in similar attire to Hermione. The lobby wasn't particularly large, but the ceiling was elevated high enough to give it a cavernous feeling. A wood reception desk sat directly opposite Hermione. A middle aged woman was seated behind it, looking exceptionally bored as she wrote.

Hermione walked up to her.

"Hi, I called yesterday about an international portkey trip to England?"

The woman spoke without looking up.

"Name?"

"Hermione Granger."

At this, she gave Hermione an appraising look. Hermione tensed. She always hated the attention her role in the war had given her, it was yet another one of the many reasons she had fled England. Thankfully, the woman otherwise didn't indicate the name meant anything to her.

"Second floor, back office. There's a group of 3 departing with you."

Hermione nodded and thanked the woman. She rode up the elevator alone. At the second floor, she exited and walked briskly across the room. There were roughly a dozen desks spattered about the room in no apparent pattern, each with a witch or wizard working with various levels of diligence behind it. None of them gave her a second look.

She knocked on the door that was labelled Europe. A short, squat wizard opened the door. He smiled at her kindly before speaking.

"Ms. Granger?" At her nod he continued. "Come on in. We're just waiting for one more."

He stepped aside to reveal a small room where two other people were standing looking at her. A witch, who looked no older than 20, gaped at Hermione, her jaw slightly dropped. The other person, a lanky man roughly the same age as the other witch, looked marginally more composed but still stared.

The wizard who let her in cleared his throat.

"Ah, I'm Charlie by the way. Head of travel for the Portland office." He offered his hand for Hermione to shake. She did, thankful for the interruption. The others snapped out of their stupor.

"Damon Ashe. It's an honor to meet you Ms. Granger." The wizard spoke in a posh, calm voice. Hermione gave him a strained smile in acknowledgment. He nudged his companion with his elbow.

"I'm Blair. Blair Bagmont." The witch said slightly breathlessly. "I can't believe you're here! I mean who would have thought! No one knows where you've been! Are you on vacation too? We were visiting my cousins, Hubert, he's the oldest, just graduated from Ilvermorny. It's so different from Hogwarts, let me tell you." She spoke quickly, barely pausing for breath.

"That's nice." Hermione ignored the question.

She sent a silent prayer of thanks when there was a knock on the door just as Blair had opened her mouth to speak again. A man stepped inside without waiting for an answer. He appeared to be middle age, but something about him made Hermione think he was older than his appearance seemed. His eyes narrowed slightly at the sight of Hermione, but he otherwise gave no indication he recognized her.

"Mr. Barracus, welcome, welcome. That's everyone!" Charlie said happily. "Hands on the plank and I'll send you on your way!"

They all reached out to grab a wooden plank about two feet in length. "London" was inscribed on the top.

"Everyone ready then? Portus."

Nothing happened for few seconds. Suddenly, Hermione felt a violent tug in her stomach, pulling her away from the small room. A few moments later and she felt herself fall on the cold tile of a large stone chamber.

"7:45 from Portland, Maine." A bored voice drawled.

A strong hand appeared in front of Hermione. She took it, feeling the smooth skin that was slightly cold to the touch. Her eyes flicked up to its owner, slightly surprised to see it was the man that was last to enter the room in Portland.

She thanked him when she was back on her feet. He gave her a polite nod before turning on his heel and walking away.

"Hermione? Can I call you Hermione? Can I have your autograph?" Blair's nasally voice sounded loudly from behind Hermione. Several people, who had previously ignored the group, snapped their heads to look in their direction.

Sighing, Hermione reached for the quill and parchment that Blair held outstretched between the two of them. Welcome back, she thought bitterly.