"Hello, Neville," said Hermione, smiling broadly at the man who was rushing down the hall towards her. "What are you up to up here? Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"

"Wanted to send an owl," he huffed, his face glowing with a happiness she'd only seen when he'd announced his and Luna's engagement. "But it would seem better in person."

"Well, tell me," she said, turning her body fully in his direction, preparing for the end to her curiosity.

"It's my mum and dad," he said, coming to a stop in front of her.

"What about them?"

"They're discovering a counter-curse, Hermione! They'll be fixed! They'll... they'll remember me!"

"Oh, Neville!" Hermione dropped her load of papers she'd been carrying and hugged him fiercely. "That's wonderful! How soon?"

"About a year. Luna and I've agreed to wait until they can get to know her and come to the wedding."

"There's a problem with that," she said, pulling back. "Ginny's maid of honor, and she'll need a new dress."

"Why?" he was confused now.

"She's got three months until the baby's born, and it'll be twelve months or so before your parents are cured, and let's add another for getting to know Luna. She's got a maternity dress now, she'll need a new one."

"Oh." And then he laughed. "Well, she loves to shop, and it'll come in handy when you and Ron get married."

Hermione stiffened without meaning to, uncomfortable thinking like that. Marriage? Sure, it was nice when other people did it, but she somewhat shuddered at the thought of sharing everything with Ron. and of course it would be with Ron; who else would she possibly marry? But knowing Neville had meant no harm, she forced the smile back on her cheeks. "She does love to shop."

"Well, I've got to tell Harry," he said, beginning to turn around.

"What about Ron?"

"I've already told him. Ran into him on level three. Bye!"

"Bye." She said the word as pleasantly as she could, watching as he jogged his way back to the elevator and then bending down to pick up her papers, she felt her face turn red. So Ron had known this? And hadn't told her? It was possible Neville had reached her before Ron, but knowing Neville, he'd probably stopped to tell everyone he knew - and he knew a lot of people - the news, and that gave Ron ample time to tell her. Or had he thought she wouldn't want him to talk to her because she was still mad? Or was he still mad enough to keep it from her? Or was he too busy to tell her? If he wasn't busy enough to have the time to stop and listen to Neville, he could easily have come and told her.

And suddenly there was a head with platinum blond hair bobbing in front of hers, the body attached to it picking up her papers with her, but twice as fast, not worried about other things inside his head. She noticed he'd set down a steaming cup of tea about three feet away, and the tea was inside a mug labelled "Mz E'. So he'd been on another pointless errand. But the surprise of him helping her - or any Muggle-born for that matter - was enough to stop her hands from moving and make her eyes flicker to his pale and pointed face. His slender fingers caught the papers that had slid from her now-taut grasp and had placed them in a pile. His grey eyes flickered up to her own brown ones and he, too, paused. "What?" he asked eventually, as the air grew more and more awkward.

"You're helping me."

"It's my job to help, Granger," he said, sighing and continuing to sort the papers. "And the more I delay going to Mz E, the less I have to wander around getting paid for doing nothing."

"That's very... moral... of you," she said at last, as he picked up the rather thick stack and placed it in her arms.

"That's been known to happen," he said, straightening from his crouch the same time she did, after he'd grabbed the cup and she'd settled the papers. "You're still coming tonight, right?"

"Yes, of course," she said. "It's my job."

And then he smirked a smirk that seemed oddly out of place on the features she'd seen smirk like that so many times. "You tend to use that excuse a lot," he said. "And I'll see you tonight. Do you need me to pick you up, or -"

"What?"

"You seem to pop in at the worst moments, Weasley," said Draco, walking carelessly away from the tension-filled and awkward scene he'd accidentally created. Hermione glared at the back of his head as he rounded the corner, slapping him in her mind. Ron's mouth was agape and if they could have been, smoke would be leaving his ears, his face as red as hers had been just moments before, standing by the elevator. Mz E's desk was empty, unusually, but Draco seemed to know here she was, as he'd disappeared - or maybe he just wanted to get away.

"Why did he offer to pick you up and why is he going to see you tonight?" Ron demanded angrily, his voice echoing in the hall around them faintly. "And where are you going with him? And when? And why the hell -"

"Relax, Ronald," she said, her voice and mind exhausted with this already. "I'm going to his house -"

"You're going to that prat's house tonight? Hermione!"

She was digging herself further in a hole by trying to claw her way up and raking the dirt away with her fingers. "To meet his father -"

"You're already meeting his parents?"

"No, I need to speak with his father -"

"About what, where his son's been taking you on -"

"Shut up, Ronald, and listen!"

"No! I'm not -"

"," she said, in less than a two seconds, but it didn't make his curious to hear it coherently. Apparently, all he'd heard was heart - and that really had him going.

"He has no heart, you little -"

"You keep your voice down here, Ronald -"

"Why should I when -"

"Either you stop and listen to me or we're through!"

He paused mid-word and looked so terrified she felt the guilt at her words pummeling her to death from the inside out. "I'm not cheating on you, Ron. How could you... how could you even think me capable of that?" The tears in hers eyes were at the disbelief of her own monstrous nature, but the sentence had enough emotion in it without her voice laden with tears.

"Well then why -"

"I need to speak with his father about his supposed Change of Heart," she whispered the words, not daring to use her voice for fear of its breaking. "I've told you this, Ronald, I've told you everything."

She could see that the fear from her outburst was still etched into every nook and cranny of his face, and his eyes glimmered with the pain of the idea - she took a step closer, and he took a step back.

"I'm sorry," she choked, "I didn't... you wouldn't listen to me, I... I never should have worn that dress, I never should have said it, I'm so... so sorry..."

But she could see it wasn't registering in his head. Taking another step toward him and watching as he took yet another back, she felt a tear escape her left eye and travel down her cheek, warming and wetting the trail it left behind on her skin. With that tear, the onslaught of them came, and though she blinked furiously to hold them back, she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried. She closed her eyes altogether, but there was still moisture leaking out of her tear ducts and running along her nose and down her lips, leaving them tasting salty.

And then arms as warm as her tears wrapped themselves around her and a familiar chest let her lean her head on it. Breath she'd come to know so well washed over her hair and there was a rumbling in Ron's throat when he said, "I'm sorry, I guess I just... I'm..."

"I love you," she said quietly.

His cheek rested on her head gently. "I love you, too."

"Then why don't you trust me?" She barely managed to squeeze the words out past the lump in her throat.

"I do trust you, it's me I don't trust."

"That makes no sense, and I'm highly logical, allowing me to see past extraneous detail and perceive clearly what others overlook."

There was a pause. "I don't know what you just said," he responded, "But do you think I'd freak out that badly if I thought you could really love me?"

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a genius. Do you see now why I'm having problems with this?"

"It's not that you don't trust yourself, it's that you don't believe me," she said. "I love you, can you not understand that I mean it?"

Speaking into his shirt and not seeing his eyes made conversation a lot more difficult, but she'd be damned before she pulled out of this embrace.

"I know you mean it, Hermione, it's that you might not in the future."

"I'll always love you. Okay?"

He sighed, and she felt the contented purring in his chest that was his now-settled heart. "Okay."

"So you two've made up," said Harry casually, sitting down next to Ron and diagonal from Hermione. "Did you hear the news about Neville's parents?"

"Yes," said Hermione.

"No," said Ron.

"What do you mean?" she asked, startled. "Neville said he told you on level three before he came to tell me."

"I've not been on level three today, Hermione," he said, baffled. "What's Neville's news?"

She vaguely heard Harry telling Ron about Neville's parents - she was as confused as her boyfriend. Why had Neville lied? There was something bothersome about that, Neville didn't just lie. That wasn't what Neville did, he didn't work like that. She couldn't understand it... like she couldn't understand her dream.

Her dream. "Hey, guys?"

"Yes?" they chorused, giving each other cheeky grins before turning back to her.

She shook her head. "You two sound like Fred and George when you do that." She knew that her statement wouldn't be received poorly; they really did, and Ron was over mourning his brother and was now in the 'he wants us to celebrate he lived at all' stage. She continued, "Anyways, I've had a dream."

Harry made a tsk-tsk kind of sound. "Sleeping on the job, Hermione... not good."

Hermione reached across the table and slapped his shoulder playfully. "Well -"

" 'I have a dream,' " Harry mocked, " 'that one day, white men and black men shall be united in brotherhood.' "

"Who are you pretending to be?" Ron asked.

"You're kidding!" Hermione exclaimed. "Martin Luther King Jr.!"

"That dude that started the Lutheran Church back in the Renaissance?"

"No," she said, rolling her eyes, "Not the wizard, the Muggle who preached for black and whites to have equal rights."

"Why didn't they?"

"Why didn't Muggle-borns and pure-bloods have the same rights?" Hermione asked.

Ron thought for a moment, and then nodded thoughtfully. "Fair enough."

"So what was this dream about?" Harry asked.

"It was more of a nightmare, actually," she admitted.

All kidding vanished from Harry's face and his hand lay on top of hers protectively. "Tell."

And so she told.

When she had made sure she'd gone over every detail, Harry was shaking his head. "Not good," he said. "Definitely not good."

"It's just a stress dream, right?" she asked. "I mean because I'll be going back to the place where I was tortured."

"Then wouldn't your dream be about Bellatrix?" Ron mused.

"She's dead, Ron, even when unconscious I know that much."

"It's possible," he said, "But I'd feel safer if someone was with you."

"Draco will be there," she said.

"I stand by my statement," he said forcefully. "And Draco Malfoy doesn't count. And when did you start calling him Draco?"

"I still call him Malfoy," she said, "But we were talking about his father and him so I called him by his first name so as to diffuse any confusion."

"Why not call him Ferret?" Ron suggested.

"Why not call you Weasel?" she retorted. "And Draco works on the floor that takes care of prejudices and hatred, which you two still seem to hold towards him. I dare say he'd be a fine protector, if needed."

"You're asking him to protect you over his father," Harry pointed out.

"I'm not asking him anything, but I'd protect him if my father went absolutely bat-crap crazy and tried to kill a well-meaning visitor."

"Well-meaning visitor also applies to Jehovah's witness," said Harry.

"Oh, Merlin," she said, screwing up her nose in distaste. "I'm not like that - Ron, don't eat -"

but it was too late. Once again, Ron had dared try the lunch before Hermione had transfigured it into something truly edible (she sometimes wondered if the cafeteria did it on purpose, just to keep their transfiguration skills up and running). And again, he gagged, and Hermione and Harry had to laugh at his disgusted face.

Sorry about the delay on Aftermath and Chemistry (from now on referred to as A&C), but I had a finished story and uploaded all at once, so I have to wait 59 days to post more. Again, I apologize, but why not entertain yourself with the story that caused this delay? And I don't usually do author's notes, only when alerting that a story will be lagged a bit due to other-story updates, because I view them as unprofessional and I like to be taken seriously. When I do do the notes, however, you'll know, because it is always in bold and I have some sort of strict rule against bold wording in the actual chapters. So! That's that, and once more, I apologize.