After graduation, Hermione and Harry grew close. Oliver was understanding of their friendship, even if he sometimes felt a little jealous. Harry and Ginny still danced around each other, but Ginny seemed to be doing more of the dancing. Harry had decided not to go back to Hogwarts after he defeated Voldemort. With special permission from the Minister of Magic, Harry immediately enrolled in Auror training. But to the surprise of the wizarding world, he left after a little under a year of training. Hermione was one of few people who knew his reasons.

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The two sat in a back corner of the Hog's Head. Their faces were drawn and Harry's eyes were filled with tears. Hermione reached her arm around his slumped shoulders.

"Harry, you haven't disappointed anyone. This is your life. You don't have to live for other people. Live for yourself."

"I know it sounds easy, but I can't forget the looks of the other trainees when I announced I was leaving. I feel like I've made a terrible choice," his shoulders fell a little more while Hermione mapped out a new argument.
"Doing what you want is never a terrible choice. Anyway, if you have to choose between your celebrity and your sanity, sanity is the hands down winner," she smiled a little as she attempted to make him feel better. He recognized her effort and gave her a half-hearted smile.

Seeing her opening, Hermione quickly asked a question she had been mulling over. "Harry, did you ever tell them about the Azcaban prisoner?"

Immediately his face fell. "How could I? Kingsley has made amazing steps as a minister and the last thing I want to happen is for the wizards to lose faith in him. The corruption will take a while to clear from the system, even for all the good work being done. I don't want this whole thing falling on Kingsley's head."

Hermione loved Harry for his many good traits, but none so much as his empathy for others. Still, sometimes he was a little too forgiving. "You can't expect this to avoid attention. The other Aurors are bound to find out that the Veritus serum they are using has been tampered with. I wish you could have gotten some. I wonder how they did it. Manipulating the delicate recipe must have taken an enormous amount of skill. The wizard who did it must be a genius with potions."

Harry's face turned red and he pushed Hermione's arm off his shoulders. "Stop. You sound like you are supporting what he did! I witnessed an innocent man put to the dementor's kiss while his family watched! Any man who can condemn an innocent bystander as his scapegoat deserves the worst this life has to offer."

In a typical-Hermione manner, "How do you know it was a man? Women are equally talented in the arts of potions. Maybe even more so!"

Harry's eyes darkened. "It was a man. Short with sunken black eyes and a burn mark on his right forearm."

"How can you know that, unless…"

A moment of silence passed between the two while Hermione digested this new piece of information. Harry turned away and paid their bill. Standing up, he looked for a while at Hermione. "Thanks for always being there, Hermione."

Harry turned around and exited the pub, leaving Hermione alone to think.

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Years later, the two were still close. Harry and Hermione had "Muggle Mondays" where the two would go to a movie or a muggle museum for the day. Oliver tried to understand the attraction of these outings but stopped coming after the third Monday. After Hermione's insistence, Oliver and Harry became closer friends. They played Quiddich on the weekend and had a running game of wizard's chess running. After a muddy game (how they got muddy in the air, Hermione would never know) the two wizards would apperate to Hermione and Oliver's flat for dinner that Harry would make. Cooking became his comfort after being deprived of food for long stretches in his life. Oliver and Hermione would try to help out in the kitchen, but they hurt the meal more than helping it. Oliver was soon separated from the food and given a bottle of wine to open instead. Hermione was allowed to help, as long as she carried out Harry's instructions exactly.

And so the three became closely knit. Dinners were loud and happy, the floating lights above the table sparkling a bright yellow then blue then red and back again. The only problem was the unexpected story, when the boys would mention Ron's name and Hermione would clench her fists under the table. As the years went by, his name came up less and less, but did not disappear. Hermione knew that at least one day out of the season would be ruined by the ghost of her friendship that had died all those years ago.