The morning cracked in a sudden burst of light through the window, throwing golden streams of light with no avail over Hermione's face. Her scarlet sheets crumpled with her movement as her hand slid underneath her pillow and around her wand. The next moment she was sitting up, panting, brown eyes wide and searching; wand aimed at the door. She blinked several times, before groaning, and slipping back into the headboard of her long lost Gryffindor bed. It was like an old friend to her, warm, inviting, and soft. There was something odd and unnatural to it now. The year spent in a tent on the run had made her body used to hard surfaces and pain. The welcoming warmth of the feathers in her blanket made her slightly suspicious to her whereabouts until her brain caught up with her.

Hogwarts.

Home.

She smiled, a tear slipping down her face; she reached up to wipe it away, turning to look out the window. The sun was still rising, as she hadn't thought to pull the curtains closed the night before, exhaustion running wild through her, it was no wonder she was rising so early now. A clock on her bedside table told her the time was five thirty am, and she snorted at the knowledge. She'd slept through the entire day of yesterday, and the night too. A thought niggled at the back of her mind; she doubted she was the only one to have done so, Harry especially.

Hermione pulled the blanket off her, swinging her legs out of the bed slowly, movement was tricky all of a sudden, but then she doubted she'd moved much at all in her sleep. It was the first stress free sleep she'd had in years, no overhanging threat of Voldemort and death because of her heritage looming over her; the adult version of her boogey man. Her feet hit the carpets beneath her, heavier than she would have liked, her toes cracking a little at the impact. She winced, reaching up high to stretch out.

The sunlight that had slipped in through the window caught her eyes as it shivered over the mirror, and she caught a look at herself for the first time in a long while. Hermione grunted, unimpressed. She'd need to have a wash. A true wash. She'd make a good use of one of the schools many bathrooms and enjoy it for there was no one calling for her to hurry up, to get out, and to possibly wash her hair faster as they needed to move locations about twenty minutes ago.

Hygiene on the run had not been a high point of the previous year. Bathing in ice cold lakes, rivers, and using the odd scourigify had done very little to actually remove the layer of filth that had made itself at home upon her being. Not to mention she'd hardly thought about hair removal products and the like. She'd obviously packed a few razors, but they'd been used up faster than she'd anticipated.

She pulled off the clothes she'd been wearing, noting she'd not thought to change from the night before. Evidence of her exhaustion plain for all to see, and checked the pockets, making sure they were empty. They were. Hermione casually tossed them all in the bin. It wasn't just her that was dirty. Being unable to adequately wash clothes had also added to the dirt she'd lived in. She'd replace them and everything else in that little purple sequined bag that belonged to her as soon as she possibly could. She shuddered at the thought of having to wear anything from that bag again, as she picked up her hair brush and towels from the hooks they hung on, opening to the door to the seventh year bathroom.

The room was small, but with room for a toilet, a sink, and a bath large enough for five people to use it at once, complete with a shower. A floor length mirror greeted her with the sight of her body.

A sigh escaped her before she could help it.

The state of her physical being was poor.

Her extended camping trip with Harry and Ron had meant eating food had almost become a luxury, added with the stress of finding horcruxes and escaping snatchers, she'd shrivelled almost to nothing. Where once her breasts had been full, they now showed her weight loss the most. The tops of her ribs showed, along with her collarbone. Her cheeks were gaunt where colour had once filled them, but her entirety was covered in cuts, bruises, and burns. Thankfully, the burns could have been worse, she noted, but an unexpected plunge in to the water had helped quell the fire somewhat. The gash on her arm, gifted to her by Bellatrix Lestrange as she'd mauled her, was caked in blood, sweat and soil. Hermione's vanity, whilst little was still present and her shoulders fell as she took in her hair properly for the first time. It has always shone, her frizzy chestnut mane had always had some reflective properties, but now it was duller than mud, and clearly tangled. Along with the dark circles under her eyes, despite the day full of sleep she'd just endured, Hermione was a wreck.

She sighed once more, dropping the towels on the surface next to the sink, and walking over to the taps, turning three of them on. The water began to fill the tub, quietly considering she'd turned it on full and the volume of water was abnormally large given the size of the faucet. The second was a plain soap, completely unscented, but over the years Hermione had learnt it was the strongest soap, able to remove tar if it wanted, she imagined. The third, her favourite perfume, vanilla scented bubbles. She turned the second tap off after a moment, following it up with the third as she picked up her hair brush, dipping her toes in to the hot water. She'd have to ease into this bath.

As the water began to lap at her ankles, Hermione began to attack her hair, smiling dully. She was in for a long, long fight again, but a different kind of battle, one to make her look presentable and healthy again.

:: :: ::

Several hours later, Hermione emerged, her hair dry and tied up in a messy bun upon her head. Her skin was red, flushed with the rush of blood due to the heat and the intensity of her scrubbing. Her body, whilst still covered in her injuries, looked fresher, healthier, as if the layer of dirt had been hiding her from the rest of the world. Her war wound, however, was bleeding. Hermione had been forced to scrub at it the hardest, desperate to get the grime out of it, but the filth had clung to it, as if it were enchanted there; but Hermione needed it to heal, and cleaning it was part of it.

The pain had made her vomit, and it had burned her bones with each rub of the flannel, but she'd done it. In the back of her mind Hermione had acknowledged she should see a healer about it, but shame had flared up within her. She was Hermione Granger, a Heroine of the second Wizarding War. Something about getting medical help for herself seemed like admitting she wasn't really a heroine, even though the idea of that title made her feel nauseous. She'd done what she'd hoped anyone would do when they learnt their best friend was the marked nemesis of a Dark Wizard. Help.

She'd go to a healer later however, one look in the mirror told her she needed too.

She finished drying herself off, and pulled on her Gryffindor pyjamas, unwilling to wear any of her own clothes unless forced. Her stomach gave a heavy rumble, and she smiled grimly, forcing her feet in to a pair of slippers, and standing up, readying herself to leave. Food was most definitely necessary.

Grabbing at her dressing gown, she left her dormitory, sauntering down the stairs to the common room that was, blessedly, still in one piece. It looked undisturbed from the days before, as though there hadn't been a war fought just the other side of the wall. Newspapers lay on the tables, with pictures and half played chess sets. Sweets were scattered across the chairs and floor, whilst blankets were draped over the arm rests or the chairs backs. It was though comfort had been sought out by all, at every available opportunity. The common room looked lived in, more so than usual, pillows that usually resided in the dormitories were found nestled into every available nook and cranny, and now she really looked at the layout of the room, the placement of the furniture saddened her. All the chairs had their backs to the portrait hole, a bookcase had switched its position from by a window to right next to the entrance, it was oddly empty, nothing placed upon it, but the tell-tale scratches on one side of it told Hermione all she needed to know. The layout was a defensive one, the high backed chairs allowing for cover, whilst wands could be aimed over the top. The bookcase a quick diversion to bar people from entering as fast as they could, the tables in positions that could be easily flipped to provide another quick bit of defence from either the portrait hole, or to cover the retreat to the dormitories. As she looked towards the stairs she'd just come down, she noticed a broomstick, Hermione sighed. Of course there would be brooms. When worst came to worst, escape from the tower via the windows with a broom would be the only logical action. Her chest rose and fell as she breathed in deeply to steady herself, a mixture of pride and despair welling up in the depths of her being. This was Gryffindor bravery at its finest, but the despair lingered, she doubted any of the other houses had had to do this. Slytherin; least of all.

A footstep on the top of the stairs from the opposite dorm made her jump, and once more, her wand was in her hand; aimed and ready at whomever it was, logic lost. A shock of ebony hair stumbled into view, followed by a lanky body that was mottled in bruises, cuts, and one very obvious scar.

"Hermione," He said, grinning deliriously at her before walking down to meet her.

"Harry," She grinned, putting her wand away. His embrace swallowed her up before she could do anything else, his guttural, joyful laughter bursting from him was infectious, and she was helpless to do anything else but join in. They laughed as they held each other, delight fluttering like butterflies about the room as the released one another.

"I'm starving, was going to get something to eat, you gunna join me?"

"It's the exact same reason I'm up Harry, I think the kitchens should be free so we can make ourselves something, if they're in one piece of course..." she trailed off, lost in thought as Harry led her to the portrait hole. The walk went quietly between them, as if everything they had to say to one another had been said already. A quiet understanding had settled between them properly, finally. It had always been there Hermione thought, the acknowledgement that whilst they were both only children they were the siblings the other had never had; finally, with a war over it had cemented itself over them, binding them together for life.

"Did Ginny find you?" Hermione found herself saying as they stepped over a pile of stone that had come from one of the classroom walls, a crimson smear leading up to it.

"Yeah, she spent a couple of hours with me, but said she needed to go home, obviously with everything that happened I didn't hold it against her; she said she'd see me today anyway." Harry replied, as Hermione smiled broadly, noticing the way Harry's eyes glittered with delight when he spoke of her.

"Makes sense, the Weasleys do like to stick together."

"Speaking of Weasleys, you and Ron?"

"No actually… I mean; I know everyone was expecting it, but… no." Hermione sighed as Harry's eyebrows rose so high they were lost to his hairline.

"But, after-"

"Us kissing or my sobbing in a tent for the best part of a year? Or everything before it?" Hermione replied as Harry gave her a quizzical, yet expectant expression. "When Voldemort died I realised I had been holding onto the idea of Ron as my boyfriend, because, oh Merlin this will sound terrible; but he was there. He wasn't as repulsive as boys like McLaggen, he was able to tolerate my intellect in ways that others weren't able, and it began to feel like it should be us two. Me and Ron, you and Ginny; forever. Then of course, we won, and that whole idea, everything just shattered for me. Harry, really, think about it. Ron and I good together? Tell me a common interest we both share, something we can bond over. Does he really intellectually stimulate me? Is he as driven as I am? Merlin knows I love Ron Harry, but... not the way everyone expects me to. He's not quite a brother like you are to me, but he's still dreadfully important. After everything... after the war... I can't risk losing another friend after we get together and then split over something stupid a few years down the line. I mean, Ron and I fight every waking moment almost. Think about how much we'd lose if something went wrong. I'd lose the Weasley family, because we all know they stick together. I'd lose my Wizarding family. I'd make the friendship between you and I awkward if Ron and I were together and broke up... it's too much of a risk, just for people's expectations. Ron is too important to me, and he needs to be with someone who loves him for who he is. Don't get me wrong Harry; I love you both in very different ways, but him and me together? I can't. We can't. I…" She broke off, unsure of what she was saying anymore, and hyper aware of Harry's eyes watching her carefully as they stepped over a still foaming puddle of something. The thought of his abandonment flickered to life and a sharp anger and pain fired through her. She wouldn't mention that however, she couldn't blame Ron for how the horcrux took a hold of him, but it hadn't done it to her. She'd been able to resist. It was something Hermione found herself unable to let go of despite what her mind was telling her.

"So what have you told Ron?" Harry asked carefully, still watching her sharply, but not cruelly.

"Nothing yet, we haven't even spoken since everything stopped, since we kissed. We weren't together, aren't together, and won't be together. I really prefer us as friends. We'll be better off as friends and nothing else."

"You sound like you're persuading yourself," Harry commented drily, as Hermione twisted her lips with concern.

"No, I'm not, I think It's just… I think I'm confused. I think I knew I was always seeking Ron because he was the easiest source of affection. I'm not that popular with boys, they get intimidated the moment I open my mouth, or I'm too bossy, or something. You were always off limits for reasons I said earlier, and I guess I knew that when we all risked being murdered for just being involved with you-" Harry winced noticeably and Hermione cringed, "Sorry, but you know what I meant, anyway, Ron was the easiest, and the more logical choice. Only, I don't know how Ron feels. Does he really love me that way, or is it how I feel, like we're just playing into everyone's expectations."

"I think, whatever happens, you're both going to be in my life forever." Harry said by way of approval and understanding.

"I know, thanks," Hermione whispered, taking hold of his hand and giving it a brief squeeze.

Old habits ran strong, and before they knew it, they were standing at the entrance of the Great Hall, and not at the portrait that held a particularly ticklish pear. Thankfully, the powerful smell of bacon and coffee wafted through the doors, and relief was mirrored on both of their faces. They entered, to find an almost familiar sight. The bodies and injured had been completely taken, but instead of the five standard tables, one for each house and the head table for the teachers, just one lone table remained, the teachers table. A few people were sitting, happily eating and talking quietly to one another, Minerva McGonagall sat tellingly in the heads chair, whilst Kingsley Shacklebolt at her right. Many of blooms of red hair were next to Kingsley, whilst a blonde head was as far away from them as they could possibly be.

"I forgot you said Malfoy was still here under house-arrest." Harry said; referring to the brief conversation they'd shared in the common room before falling into their respective beds. He seemed to speak her thoughts aloud, but a ponderous expression was crafting itself over his features.

"He doesn't look... well," Hermione considered, taking in the way he stared at the ceiling with an absent gleam to his eyes, an empty goblet casually hanging in his hand. Harry grunted, as if he'd already spared Malfoy more thought than what was right for him to do that day, and settled himself in next to Ginny, smiling at her brightly. Hermione sat herself opposite Ron, eyeing up a plate of croissants with a famished rumble of her stomach.

"You'll never guess what." Ron greeted Hermione, and she noted the pale tell-tale signs of shock in Ron's skin, the wide dazed glimmer in his eyes, and the way he didn't know how to compose himself.

"What?" She asked, staring at him suspiciously, her recent conversation with Harry still bright in her mind.

"We're getting a ministry pay out." Ron said, as if he still couldn't quite believe it himself. "All of us, fifty thousand galleons each. Mum, Dad, Ginny… all my family save Percy because of the abandonment thing, and Charlie obviously because he was never in the country, but all of us, Bill, Fleur, George…" the unspoken name hung in the air, heavy and difficult to ignore. Ron took a deep draught of pumpkin juice, his ears colouring red slightly. "They're all getting ten thousand, but… Hermione…" He breathed his eyes wide with disbelief. "I'm rich. My family… we're rich. You're rich! Harry…" He waved his hand away to dismiss Harry's wealth, a wealth he'd barely touched. "I'm going to be ok Hermione. I've got a great job, money for the first time in my life, and no bloody Voldemort to ruin things." He laughed, and reached for another bread roll to stuff with the various fillings decorating the table.

"You're welcome," came the sarcastic call from the end of the table, as Draco filled up his goblet with orange juice. Shacklebolt looked mildly amused at the declaration, and raised his eyebrows at Hermione, as if confirming that the money did in fact come from his fine. Ron however had picked up another bread roll, and had thrown it as hard as he could at Malfoy, hoping to hit him with it. Malfoy deftly caught it, and raised it in a gesture of thanks, taking a bite out of it; his familiar smirk blooming across his features.

Hermione had been loading her plate, but the interaction from Malfoy had amused her, and now her thoughts had become a jumbled mess. She hadn't expected anything from anyone for doing what she'd done. She'd only followed Harry because he was Harry, stupid and noble for expecting to do everything alone. A massive monetary pay out had been something she'd never had expected in her wildest dreams. Fifty thousand galleons was enough money that she wouldn't have to worry too much in the coming years for cash, if she wanted a part time job for a couple of years she could. All that money for what she considered common sense and decency. Her mind reeled.

"Miss Granger!" A sharp, concerned voice snapped into her ears. She jumped, and turned to face a worried looking McGonagall, "have you heard anything I just said?" Hermione blushed and shook her head no, and earned herself the very rare pleasure of McGonagall's chuckle.

"I was just saying that I have been appointed the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and as such have had to make a few decisions already, one of which is that I will not be appointing the Head Girl and Boy of Hogwarts from your year; which would in fact be the eighth. I have to consider fairness, and technically your year had its chance. I was making sure this would not be to disappointing to you Miss Granger." Hermione stared open mouthed at her new Headmistress dumbly.

"Congratulations!" She exclaimed, a bright smile breaking over her face, "but why would I be disappointed at your decision?" She asked as Ginny released a chuckle beside her.

"Surely you would have thought you would be the most logical option to have as a head girl," McGonagall answered, clearly amused.

"Oh!"

"Indeed, so I was attempting to break the news to you kindly," she smiled, as Hermione returned it warmly.

"No, it's a kind thought, but I am most definitely not disappointed. I'm just happy to be able to return to school at all." McGonagall smiled one last smile at her, before her attention was taken away by an owl dropping a large roll of parchment into her porridge. Hermione grinned looking away, the feeling of pride at her would be being head girl filled her with joy, and it settled at the base of her spine, warming its way up her back.

"Have they elected a new Minister?" Hermione suddenly asked nobody in particular whilst she poured herself a glass of orange juice, and reaching for a banana from a nearby fruit bowl.

"Yeah, it was unanimous apparently, and really quick, the Ministry must be in a bad shape to get a new Minister this fast. Thicknesse only handed in his resignation yesterday; after everything finished. Said he couldn't be a minister when he wasn't voted in and the whole Death Eater trial…" Ginny seemed to ramble I response, almost more focused on heaping her plate with bacon than anything else. Hermione half smiled at the Weasley trait, impatience blossoming on her insides.

"So… who is it?" Hermione asked Ginny eventually, holding back a snort of laughter as Ginny's brown eyes widened in surprise and realisation.

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I'm just so distracted today," Ginny apologised, gesturing her hand in the direction of Kingsley, "It's Shacklebolt, who better than the fair head of the Auror department that actually gets stuff done?" She deadpanned, and Hermione saw the truth in her words as she looked at Shacklebolt who was talking to Ron and Harry in urgent clipped tones. Ginny caught her eyes again, and smiled, before taking another bite of sausage.

"Oh yeah, and that reminds me, we have a new defence teacher, Dawlish. Apparently he sent an owl to Kingsley last night saying no more field work, put him on a desk. So he was sent to Hogwarts instead." Ginny told Hermione, topping up both their drinks.

"You know, that's not that bad actually, of all the people to have. At least he's been an auror, and under Shacklebolt we should have Ministry permission for practical lessons." Hermione said to Ginny's guffaw of glee. The pair ate in amicable silence; both savouring the time in which they could simply relax and eat. The friends seemed to have an unspoken agreement about all that lingered over their heads, the upcoming funerals, the work that would have to be done to rebuild the school in earnest, and the wounded physical and mental states of them both. Almost as if Ginny had read her mind she broke their quiet conversation break.

"I need to go shopping, I have money now."

"I'll come, I have nothing that isn't beyond repair, covered in stains, or stinking beyond all polite levels of odour." Hermione replied in a business like fashion as Ginny wrinkled her nose.

"There are polite levels of odour?" Hermione stuck her tongue out at Ginny, as the red head snorted with laughter.

"I'll get Harry and Ron to come too, when was the last time you saw Harry in clothes that actually fit him?" Ginny dropped her fork as her mind wandered to times of the past, and tried in vain to think of times he was in clothes that were actually his size. A blush crept over her cheeks, and she turned her eyes to Hermione with a devilish grin.

"His Quidditch uniform." She said, a hint of triumph and lust burning behind her brown eyed gaze. Hermione just sighed and rolled her eyes once more, a smile creeping onto the corners of her mouth.

A fresh crop of owls swooped in to the hall, dropping letters of the same size and shape onto the plates of five of them, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and too all of their surprises, Malfoy. Ron had tossed his to the side, clearly irritated it had burst the yolk of his egg and not him, and paid it no attention. Harry had begun to open it not noticing the logo on the envelope that had caused both Ginny and Malfoy to groan with sheer annoyance.

"Merlin," Ginny growled, ripping the envelope open with distaste, "what do Witch Weekly want."

"An interview." Harry answered her looking like he'd rather spend a week in a one star hotel with several of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts.

"Well that's a no." Ginny announced, carelessly dropping her letter to the side of her plate and picking up her knife and fork once more.

"I wouldn't be so fast to say no Miss Weasley," Shacklebolt said seriously, as Molly Weasley looked up at them with a serious expression on her pale, drawn features.

"Why not?" Ron asked sounding repulsed at the idea of an interview.

"Need I remind you what the press was like towards Harry and Hermione a few years ago, during the tri-wizard tournament?" He asked them, his brows raised in a show of feigned disbelief. Malfoy had tucked his letter into his robes, and was pretending like he wasn't listening intently to the conversation a few seats away from him.

"Awful," Hermione shivered, all to reminded of the times she'd spent in the hospital wing thanks to the kind gift of bubotuber pus sent to her from the women of the wizarding world.

"Exactly," Shacklebolt said, as both Molly and Malfoy coloured a little, both out of guilt Hermione hoped as the pair of them had had a part to play in her poor treatment. "This event was even bigger than the Tri-wizard tournament. It has quite literally changed the lives of people, and they're going to want answers. Now, I know the Daily Prophet is going to find the Death Eater trials a far more interesting topic to cover, with most likely a mention of what is happening with you all on just a page, but Witch Weekly is going to want to focus on the main players of the war. Mainly because it's a gossip rag, but that is beside the point," Shacklebolt said as Molly flushed a further shade of pink making her look healthy for the first time since Hermione had seen her that morning, and Ginny threw her mother a cheeky glance. "If you don't give them answers, they will make them up; assume you've something to hide, anything, all because you essentially gave them reason to." Shacklebolt warned them as the five of them that had received letters all looked like they'd been told to insert sharp prickly objects into one of their uncomfortable orifices.

"But why," Hermione sighed, looking at her still unopened envelope. Molly coughed, looking shame faced, but sure of herself.

"The answer is simple really Hermione dear," She began, her voice wavering, and embarrassment shimmering to the surface of her expression. "Magazines like Witch Weekly are essentially escapism. For those who read them, and yes, I'll admit I'm one of them; they've spent all day cleaning or looking after youngsters or running about on errands; or a whole manner of different activities so that when they have a break they want to pick something up and read about something completely mindless that isn't anything to do with them. For some it's just entertainment, a different form of it no less, but entertainment all the same. After an event like this, what is going to be more entertaining than reading about the love lives of the teenagers that saved them all?" Molly said earnestly, as Ron looked at her agape. Malfoy was looking more and more uncomfortable as the conversation went on, and Hermione looked at him sympathetically.

"I don't want to be someone else's entertainment," Hermione sighed a little petulantly, and Molly looked at her sadly, understanding her completely.

"I don't blame you, but you don't have that choice. When you made friends with Harry, that was it for you, no matter what you did the longer you associated with him, the more people were going to want to know about you. Then you went and helped bring down one of the worst Dark Wizards of all time…" She trailed off, shrugging slightly.

"Sorry." Harry insincerely apologised, giving her a lopsided grin to alleviate the tension that had slowly started to build up.

"Oh sure," Hermione replied sarcastically, grinning back at him as Ginny smirked at the pair of them.

"What does Witch Weekly actually want from you all, I'll see if I can help," Shacklebolt offered kindly, sensing rightly that they were all rather upset about the demand for information about their love lives. Hermione opened her letter finally, as Ginny scanned hers, her lip curling in disgust. Malfoy had pulled his own letter out, his expression unreadable as Ron and Harry seemed confused.

"Inane questions." Ginny announced, "They want to know my skin care routine, and the name of my pets. Oh, also about my relationship with Harry of course."

"Mine Is roughly the same, they want to know nothing about what happened last year, but which boy am I going to end up with, and how do I keep my nails looking pretty." Hermione said thunder struck.

"Here is my advice then," Shacklebolt began seriously, "answer them. If you don't have skin care routines or whatever it was they care about, make one up, but be sensible about it. Tell them what you want people to know about your relationships. You don't have to answer everything. No comment is an acceptable answer. If it makes you feel any better I will write to them and say taking anything you have written to them, said to them or even implied to them and taking it out of context will be a criminal offence should you want it of me."

Hermione had begun nodding without even realising it. The last thing she wanted was to find herself having to seek medical attention because of gifts people had chosen to send her again, she knew the brutality of the press better than many, save perhaps Harry. Shacklebolt had clearly noticed her wish for his intervention and had summoned writing tools to him immediately.

"Duplicate your letters then if you please, so I have a copy for reference." Shacklebolt asked, and Ginny pulled out her wand in compliance. Malfoy had put his away once again, not expecting to be included in the generous gift of the Minster of Magic's intervention; his fall from grace not lost on him. "You too Mr Malfoy, the doubling charm wont set off your trace unless you wish to make it worse." Shacklebolt said sharply, taking the identical copy of Ron's letter from his tomato sauce stained hand. Draco looked as though he'd been slapped, and he nodded dumbly, tapping his letter and handing the copy of it over to Shacklebolt with a slight tremble.

"Hang on," said Ron, "why did he get a letter too?" he exclaimed, almost in protest.

"Because he's a Malfoy dumbass," Ginny retorted, "He's the only son of one of the most famous pureblood families who took an almighty tumble from the highest echelons of society. He's-"

"Attractive," Hermione found herself saying unknowingly, earning herself an alarmed splutter from Ron and a shocked glance from Malfoy. She blushed, and set to dribbling honey on a fresh bowl of yoghurt, doing her best to ignore the curious glance from Ginny.

"Rich," Ginny continued, "and fought on the other side of the battle until the very last moment. Of course people are going to want to know about Malfoy, he's going to be the most unpredictable one to watch."

Draco looked as though he'd like to vanish into obscurity, although his eyes were transfixed to Hermione who continued to pointedly look at her yoghurt as if it were the most interesting bowl in the world.

"You're forgetting," Molly spoke up once more, "the love lives of five attractive teenagers are going to be something that people are going to want to follow, especially after so many families have been-" She stopped abruptly as tears began to swell up in her eyes, her cheeks reddening once again.

"You're right," Hermione said gently, reaching over to rub Molly affectionately on her back. Molly was doing her best to regain her composure, apparently deciding that she wouldn't cry until a later time, or that she'd simply sobbed enough that day already. Hermione didn't mind how many tears Molly shed, she hardly blamed her.

"Urgh," Harry groaned suddenly, "this is going to be a nightmare, having to answer stupid questions about my life with no option to endure it else it'll get worse." He rubbed at his scar absent mindedly, as Ginny laughed at his grief.

"Well, you'll just have to come shopping with Hermione and I to forget about it then won't you." Ginny said briskly, and Harry flicked his emerald gaze over her, realising it was a battle he wouldn't win if he fought.

"Muggle shopping, I'm not dealing with the Wizarding World yet." He sighed, and a drop of dread sunk into Hermione's throat, pooling in her stomach, an acid tang flooding her veins. She'd been kidding herself thinking that everything was easy. She'd been hiding at Hogwarts, with invitations to the Burrow. She was safe from prying eyes, and people wanting to know why she'd gone on the run with Harry. Thoughts of her fourth year burst to life once more, and she wrung her hands with the memory of it all.

"You'll be tailed by aurors," Shacklebolt told them pointedly, "and you'll disguise your appearance." Ginny nodded in agreement; clearly uncaring as to how she'd be going shopping, just as long as she was.

"Of course," Hermione replied, feeling somewhat comforted by the idea of it, the moment the words had left her mouth. "Tomorrow then, we all go shopping, I have stuff I need to do today, like empty out my bag and see a healer." She said, making to leave the table. The boys nodded, and Ron looked confused, a rasher of bacon hanging in suspense between his plate and mouth.

"Why do I have to come?" he asked indignantly, "Harry I get, I mean, when his clothes ever fit, but me?"

"Oh Ron, like all your hand me downs fit you perfectly," Ginny said before Hermione managed to squeeze a word in, "Besides, wouldn't you want some nice, relaxing time with Hermione?" She finished an alluring gleam to her words. Ron flushed red, his cornflower blue eyes looking her over in a way Hermione wasn't quite comfortable. Her face twisted slightly as she looked to Ginny, who didn't seem to realise what she'd said.

Hermione stood up, her empty bowl of yoghurt vanishing as it was clear she had decided to leave them all, and she picked up her letter apprehensively.

"I'll see you all later, I've things to do," she smiled, giving them all a parting wave, and left feeling the curious gaze of Draco Malfoy burning into her back.