DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling owns most of the characters and settings here—I own the rest.

Again, many thanks to all reviewers. I realize that I left things in a *very* bad spot. There is much more to come, I promise!

NOTHING ELSE MATTERS
Chapter 15 - Diagonally

Hermione woke early the next morning, despite her best efforts to sleep in, feeling as if it underscored the impending changes. As she slipped out from under the covers, crept over to the curtains and peered out, she noted it was actually clear and slightly sunny.

She also noted that Walden's side of the bed did not appear to have been further slept in after his hasty departure.

After a relaxing bath, she dressed quickly and then glanced around the room. She'd hung up a few items in the wardrobe that had belonged to his wife, and put a couple of essential personal care items next to the bathroom sink; in short, she'd treated the place much like a hotel room. Retrieving her beaded bag and wand from the bedside table, she Summoned all her belongings and stashed them away.

Rather than Disapparating, she walked slowly down the upstairs hallway, taking an inventory of the rooms. There were two guest rooms with a bath between them; they'd aired out the one furthest from Walden's room for his daughter's use. Next was Evan's room...which was rather bright and cheery and featured a hand-painted mural of a dragon on the wall. There was a powder room and a small sitting room with empty bookshelves; they'd opened those two rooms last, figuring that Heather and Melissa would want to use them as well.

The entrance hallway was very quiet and still as Hermione descended the stairs. All the portraits and tables had been uncovered, but the place still felt relatively deserted. She turned the corner and walked past the dining room-which was empty-to the kitchen. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. A long bar of sunlight bisected the table, on which two copies of the Prophet rested. Next to the second copy, there was a small stack of mail; most of it was the usual-anonymous letters from witches and wizards who really needed to find better things to do with their lives. She sent all these straight to the fireplace with a casual flick of her wand. The last letter-really, a folded note-was from Ginny.

Hermione,

We're going to Diagon Alley today around 3, for shopping and maybe supper at the Leaky Cauldron (Mum's had James for the weekend, so no diaper duty!), want to come with? Send your Patronus in either case-meet us at WWW!

Much love,

Ginny

She held her wand to her throat and intoned "See you at 3," then flicked it out toward the window. The shining otter seemed to savor the sunlight as it scampered away.

Binkus came in a few minutes later and served her a cup of tea and some toast in uncharacteristic silence before vanishing. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, she realized she had quite a few hours until she needed to leave for her appointment at St. Mungo's, so she read through the Prophet; it was, unfortunately, a very slow news day. When Miranda returned from a hunting expedition, she posted a letter to Grimmauld Place, asking if Ginny would watch over her owl while she was in Australia (and of course, hold her mail), then shrunk down Miranda's cage and stashed it in her bag.

The lodge remained silent around her.

After a rather frustrating further half-hour of perusing every last bit of print in the Prophet (even the ads for cleaning potions), Hermione stood up and Disapparated to the trophy room. It, too, was silent. She glanced in the downstairs guestroom-the bed was untouched. Walden's office and weapons room were similarly empty.

He was clearly not at all pleased with what she'd said to him the previous evening, and while she was appreciative that he was continuing to practise anger management techniques, she would have at least liked a chance to explain.

"Oh well," she said, aloud, for no particular reason. "I suppose this simplifies things considerably." Holding up her wand, she Disapparated to Carnaby Street. The resort ready-to-wear fashion was out and she needed to pick up a few items of Muggle wear, just in case.

"See here, brother," Lucius said. "Just because you no longer have your Cloak and your wand is restricted doesn't mean you can't find other ways to disguise yourself...be creative!"

"I was plannin' to shave me head and put a Stasis charm on it," Walden grunted. "Tired of all this grey in me hair and I'm nae usin' haircolour potion." He punctuated this last statement with a very pointed look at Lucius.

"I do not use haircolour potion," Lucius replied. "Regardless of that rubbish Rowle was always putting round. And why not grow your goatee back, I always thought that looked good on you," he added, as he set down his teacup.

"Aye," Walden said. "Er, can ye assist, I doona want this done halfway," and he raised his wand to his head.

"Or quarter-way, for that matter," Lucius said, "That would look extremely silly." He stood up and extended his hand to his friend. "I don't wish to rush you, but I have some investors coming by shortly and you probably want to get back."

Five stuffed carrier bags later, Hermione's ready Muggle cash was sufficiently depleted, and she Disapparated from the alley behind Dahlia straight to Purge and Dowse, the false front to St. Mungo's. There was a queue on the Third Floor for the monthly potion, as there always was-she chose to sit in the waiting area, but did not flip through the worn, aged copies of Witch Weekly, choosing instead to continue reading the tome on Transfiguration she'd borrowed from Lucius.

By the time she'd quaffed the potion it was nearly time to meet her friends, so she used the newly-built portal entrance directly to the Leaky Cauldron. She passed through quickly with a polite wave to Hannah Abbott.

Diagon Alley had enjoyed a renaissance over the past ten years. Many of the classic stores remained, but there were a host of new ones, catering directly to the younger wizarding generation, as well as several new eateries (including the very tasty fish-and-chip walkup shop). Knockturn Alley had undergone something very like urban renewal, or so she'd heard. And of course, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes continued its perennial popularity.

"Hermione!" Ginny waved to her from the second-floor balcony the minute she entered the shop. Harry stood behind her and they all hugged, as Ginny chattered away about the nice weather, Quidditch scores, and (a bit too obviously) anything else she could think of that was not related to either Hermione's job or Dark wizards. Hermione gamely put up with her friends' lengthy perusal of the latest gear at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and they returned the favour by going straight over to Flourish and Blotts so that Hermione could check out the new titles. (She also purchased a copy of the Transfiguration text so that she could return Lucius' book.). They purchased cones at Madley's Magical Ice Cream Shoppe, and sat on the sidewalk tables to enjoy them, watching the crowd go by.

"Oh-I, er, sent Miranda to you for safe-keeping this morning, hope that's all right," Hermione said, after she glanced over at the bustling Creature Shoppe. A line of black birds perched like sentinels on the shop awning caused her to abruptly return her attention to the remains of her cone.

"No problem, Harry loves her, don't you?"

"She's welcome any time-I guess I'd better stock up on Owl Treats," Harry said, with a big smile.

"So..." Ginny began. "I need to get a dress robe for the Quidditch Commentator's Association Dinner next week...Hermione, let's pop into Gladrags, and Harry, you may as well get those Owl Treats now..."

"Sounds like a plan," said Harry. "Er, our reservation is in forty-five minutes," he added, pulling out his pocket watch.

"Reservation?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, we've got a reservation at the latest restaurant-thought you'd want to come instead of going to the Cauldron like we always do! It's one of those trendy "farm to table" places, run by a Muggleborn whose brother is a chef, it's called the Grain Silo... Dad thinks it's outstanding, of course, but you know how he loves all that Muggle stuff..." Ginny trailed off, looking significantly at Harry.

"Where is it?"

"Um, down Knockturn, I think there used to be a pub there," Harry said, in a voice that was entirely too casual.

"Yes, a pretty dodgy one, or so I heard," Hermione said. Through the susurrus of the crowd, she heard a explosion of loud cawing from the far side of the street, but she firmly refused to look in its direction.

"Well, let's go, I think I know exactly what I want," Ginny said, tapping her wand on the remains of her ice cream to Vanish it. "But I need your help to decide on the colour!"

The Grain Silo epitomized the vibe of post-war Knockturn Alley. While the ancient structure of the former Claw and Stang pub remained, it was scrubbed within an inch of its life, and Hermione was reminded of nothing so much as the times that Argus Filch had been dragooned into formal wear for various school functions. There was a rather lengthy queue out front, composed of young witches and wizards mostly dressed in painstakingly assembled Edwardian casual wear, which Accio London! magazine had proclaimed as this year's 'branche' look.

But of course, Harry, Ginny and Hermione didn't have to wait-the minute the maitre d' spotted them, he corralled them toward a table in the front window...which was already occupied by Ron Weasley.

"No. Way." Hermione stopped in the doorway and hissed in Ginny's ear. "I really hope this wasn't your idea!"

"It was Harry's," Ginny said. "And we had an awful row about it. Please do me a favour and put up with it for an hour and then you can leave. And by the way, I haven't said a word."

"Hello, 'Mione," Ron said, attempting to sound contrite from the off. She wasn't buying it.

"Ronald," she said, inclining her head a slight bit, before sitting as far away from him at the table as she could manage, then promptly disappearing behind the enormous menu.

"That went well," Ron said, to nobody in particular, as he lifted his arm to get the server's attention.

An hour later, the foursome sat around the remains of what had been a very delicious meal. Hermione had left Ginny, Ron and Harry with the task of carrying on the extremely awkward conversation, mostly comprised of Quidditch plays, as she sipped at her Laphroaig and picked at her food. When the waiter arrived with the cheque, Harry paid the bill, but asked for the dessert tray to be brought round and ordered coffee, then made a rather large show of pulling out his watch.

"Ginny-we have to go to that, er, thing, remember?"

"Yes," Ginny said, unenthusiastically, as she stood up.

"What thing?" Ron said.

"You know," Harry said. "Come on, Ginny-I've already paid..." and he stood up, took Ginny's hand, and the pair Disapparated.

Hermione started to stand up, and Ron held up his hand. "'Mione, please wait. Let's have coffee and dessert...I need to apologise to you!" He gave her a look that radiated such sincerity that she sat back down. "All right, Ronald," she began. "I'll listen to you, but not here-it's too public. I'll walk down the Alley with you and you can say what you need to say then." When the waiter returned, she poured the remains of her whisky into her coffee, and took a small piece of chocolate bark. Ron devoured an ice-cream cake and slurped at his coffee; Hermione rolled her eyes until he finished.

She led him to an alcove next to the jutting window of a closed shop, La Magie Noire, that looked very like Borgin and Burkes crossed with Anthropologie. As it was Sunday, the area was pretty much unoccupied.

"I'm SORRY," Ron pleaded. "I was a git, I was an arse, I've been a complete rotter...I don't know how I can make any of it up to you..."

"You can't," Hermione said.

"But...we're meant to be together! We've been through so much! I...I was just, er, sowing my wild oats! We got together so young, we never had a chance to, er, see the world! Please, please come back to me, I miss you! You were the best thing that ever happened to me!"

"Ronald, I've moved on," she said, glancing at the price tag that hung off a robe that looked very much like something she recalled Narcissa Malfoy wearing, ten years prior.

"You can't say that! You were just having fun like I was! I saw that article about McLaggen!"

"He's married now, Ronald. That was three years ago."

"So you're not with anyone now, even better! Look, I got you something!" He fumbled in his pocket and produced a small jewelry box, opened it to reveal a delicate pink necklace, and extended it to her. "Look, it matches those earrings you have!"

"Tell your mum she has fabulous taste," Hermione said. "And I am with someone now."

"No you're not," Ron said, still holding out the box. "You can't be! Harry said you weren't...he did say he saw you round Malfoy's house, but that was for work...Who are you with?"

"None of your business, Ronald," she said, as she moved her hand toward her wand. "I think we're done here." Several black birds flew behind Ron's head in a formation, headed for the shop's window ledge. Hermione chose to ignore them.

"We can't be done! Who are you with, Hermione? Tell me!"

"I said it was none of your business," and she gripped her wand. "Now if you don't mind, I'm going to head home."

"Why can't I go home with you? We can, er, hang out and watch your...fellyvision!"

"Television, Ronald," she sighed. "And I need to get up early. I'm sure Harry and Ginny told you I'm leaving for Australia tomorrow."

"Why don't you come round my place, then? I can see you off-I'll take you by the Portkey Office." The look on his face was faux-casual, but he was leaning back on the balls of his feet the same way he used to in school when he was looking forward to dinner or a free period.

"I said no, Ronald." Five more birds flew by, this time very close to Ron's head-he made a face and swept his hand through his hair...then paused.

"You're not with...him...are you? You can't be!"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione examined her wand and then rubbed the side of it against her cloak to buff away an imagined spot.

"You know! Percy saw you in the Ministry lift! You sent me that Howler but you never denied it! You've been hanging round them, working with them for all those years...and Harry said he looked like he wanted to shag you! Has he shagged you?" Ron was running through possible alternatives in his head rather quickly and blurting them out as he went, his emotions exposed on his face as Hermione's visage remained impassive. "You did! You shagged a Death Eater, that nasty one who chopped off Buckbeak's head, didn't you? You're nothing but a manky slag!"

After that last utterance, a large wizard Apparated in between the two, and slammed Ron against the side of the shop.

"Shut yer geggie, ye fookin' dobber, before I chop off yer haid!"