Here you are! New chapter! Sorry it took me forever, but I just got back from my amazing vacation. Now I'm on the way to another city so I can show my amazing cousin my state. I promise I will update TWOT next. Promise.

Check out my new story, The Truth of 1995. It is Sirius/ Hermione. Enjoy!

Hermione and Minerva both startled at the sound of the voice. Minerva put a shaking hand to her heart and laughed shakily. "You scared me, Croaker. Come in, please sit down."

A large man, face obstructed by his cloak, sat down in the armchair across from the sofa where the two women were sitting. "Thank you, Minerva. One sugar, please." He accepted the tea from his host, then leaned back, face still not visible.

Hermione could feel his eyes on her. "You want me to work for the Department of Mysteries?" When both Croaker and Minerva nodded, Hermione frowned. "Pardon my language, but what the hell are you thinking?"

Croaker coughed, a cough the sounded suspiciously like a covered laugh to Hermione. "That we want such an accomplished young lady on our staff."

Minerva added her two cents, smirking at Hermione. "I told you that you have a completely twisted view of yourself."

Hermione almost dropped her tea in frustration. "But I haven't done anything! It was all Harry! All I did was not let him die!"

Minerva raised a stern eyebrow, and glared. "Your first year. How exactly did you and the boys survive the traps designed by some of the best witches and wizards in the world?"

Hermione glared back. "Luck."

Minerva huffed, and set her tea down. "From what I could tell, someone remembered something about Devil's Snare. And was able to solve a horribly complicated riddle. Or even see behind the giant three headed dog and notice the trapdoor."

"A good memory, logic, and being aware of my surroundings," Hermione said, ticking them off on her fingers. "Nothing special."

"Second year," Minerva challenged. "Being the second person since the first Heir of Slytherin to discover what the Monster of Slytherin was since the Monster was put in the Chamber in the first place." Croaker was watching with an air of amusement, arms crossed over his chest, face still hidden.

Hermione gave a very lady-like snort. "Knowledge unique to the situation. A love of reading."

Minerva was relishing the fight. "Third year. Figuring out Remus was a werewolf." Both she and Hermione flinched, but Minerva continued anyway. "Using a Time Turner responsibly, then using it to save an innocent man, and an innocent beast. Preparing a perfect defense for said innocent beast that only failed because of corruption in the Ministry."

"Observation, maturity, on-the-spot planning, and understanding the legal system," Hermione countered.

"Fourth year. Teaching a hopeless case a spell in under twenty-four hours. Teaching the aforementioned hopeless case how to defend himself well enough to survive and win a tournament meant for adults. Discovering Rita Skeeter's secret and blackmailing her through it. And keeping your grades up the entire time."

"Finding solutions to problems. Observational skills. Good studying skills."

"Fifth year. Coming up with the idea of the DA. The jinx on the paper. The coins. The lessons. Blackmailing Rita Skeeter. Tricking Umbridge. Surviving the Department of Mysteries. Highest O.W.L. scores in a century. " They were speaking in short, clipped sentences, neither wanting to give in.

"Finding solutions to problems. Planning ahead. Borrowing ideas. Planning. Taking advantage of opportunities. On-the-spot planning. Good studying skills."

"I've heard enough," Croaker said pleasantly. "Ms. Granger, I'd only heard half of that, and I already wanted you for the Department. Now that I've heard what you've done between the ages of twelve and sixteen, I will offer you anything you want to be able to say that you are an Unspeakable. You have exactly the qualities I want in my Unspeakables."

Hermione blinked, and took a sip of tea. "So the fact that I have both Time Turner exposure and Cruciatus Curse Exposure have nothing to do with it?" Was she going to be studied, or doing the studying?

Croaker laughed, a deep baritone that made Hermione grin in response. "They have everything to do with it. So does the fact that you broke into and managed to survive breaking into both the Department of Mysteries and Gringotts. And Hogwarts, now that Minerva mentions it." He nodded toward Professor McGonagall who nodded back.

"And my friendship with Harry Potter? And my connections?" Hermione questioned. She wanted to be wanted for her skills, not for the people she knew.

Croaker finally lowered his hood. He was a white man, with a hooked nose, thinning brown hair, and thin lips. But his most compelling feature was his eyes. The fathomless depths of dark brown captured Hermione's own. "I want you for all those oustanding features you just listed. Any other connections or curious adventures is just a bonus."

Hermione closed her eyes, and thought. Because she was Hermione Granger, it did not take her very long to come to a conclusion. "What are the terms of the position?"

Croaker smiled broadly. "400 Galleons, 13 Sickles a month. Unlimited access to the Ministry records and labs. As many sick days or vacations days as necessary. A permit for Portkey creation and use of Unforgivables. A spell that makes you unable to speak of your work to anyone who is not an Unspeakable. Training." He spread his arms. "What do you want to add to the table."

Hermione hesitated. "A project. One that I would like to work on." She stopped again.

Minerva smiled sadly at her. "Go on, dear." Hermione shot her mentor a smile, and continued.

"I would like to be able to research and experiment on the effects of long term Cruciatus exposure on witches and wizards. It is something that has occupied my thoughts for a long time," Hermione admitted. "As you probably know, the outcome of the research is very personal for me."

Croaker nodded. "The late Bellatrix Lestrange, nèe Black. She tortured you for two days, correct?"

Hermione nodded. "Correct."

"And you wonder how this will affect you?" he asked.

"I already know how it will affect me," Hermione said with a bitter laugh. "I live through it every day. I just want it to stop!" The last word was almost a whisper. "I'm going crazy and I just want peace!"

Both Minerva and Croaker were staring at her. She hated the pity in their eyes. She laughed again. She knew she sounded mad, like Bella at her finest. "I just want peace," she said again.

Croaker was still regarding her with those eyes. "Then you shall have it. I will instruct people to study the matter whether or not you accept my offer of a job."

Hermione blinked rapidly, willing tears not to fall. "If you still want me, I accept."

Croaker stood, and Hermione rose with him. He held out a hand, which Hermione shook. "Welcome to the fold, Hermione Granger." With a quick goodbye to the Headmistress, he took his leave of the school.

"Come to the Ministry next Monday, Ms. Granger," was the only other instruction he gave her.

"Well," said Hermione shaking her head. "You certainly do have interesting friends."

"I know," responded Minerva. "But I am convinced that I would rather have had perfectly boring friends. Will you stay for lunch?"

~0o0~0o0~0o0~

"You look nice," Harry remarked, extending his arm so Hermione could turn and show off her dress. "I think the last time I saw you in a dress before you left for America was at Bill and Fleur's wedding."

Hermione frowned in thought. "You're right. Do you like this one at least?"

Harry finally allowed his eyes to run along her form appreciatively. "Hell, yeah. When I say dress up, you dress up." She was wearing a white dress edged in gold that seemed vaguely Oriental, the top wrapped like a kimono, short sleeves, and tight fit. It only fell to about her knees, and flying around the torso and skirt of the dress was a golden phoenix.

"Thanks," Hermione said. "I took inspiration from the name of the restaurant." She liked the dress, and the cream chopsticks that were holding her hair in place. The dress she had obtained in Japanese, and the chopsticks had been a gift from Jonathan. She had felt slightly guilty about wearing them on what could be considered a date with Harry, but she forced herself to ignore the twinges. She was not dating anyone, not Harry, not Jonathan.

"Shall we be off?" asked Harry, offering his arm. "Our reservations are for six."

Hermione looked at the arm as if it was a ticking time bomb. "Have you gotten better at Side-Along recently?"

Harry had no control over the sheepish blush that was spreading across his cheeks. "Uh... No. But I am the only one of us who knows where the restaurant is."

Hermione sighed, teasing him. "Then I guess I must. Concentrate, will you? I will hate you if you Splinch and get blood on my dress."

Harry smirked. "I'll do my best." Somehow, with her voice whispering in his ear, concentrating was easier. Everything was easier around Hermione. She seemed to exude knowledge and confidence.

They were crushed through a steel tube and deposited at a surprisingly clean alley near a nondescript brick building, Hermione stumbling slightly upon their landing. "God damn these heels," she muttered, causing Harry to glance at the dangerously high shoes Hermione was wearing.

"God damn is right," he said suddenly. "You are walking in your own personal torture chambers. Please tell me there is a spell you use or something."

"Nope," Hermione responded cheerfully. "But when I started wearing them, I would put a cushioning charm. Now I'm used to it."

"Here it is," Harry said, leading them to a door in the alley that was heavily gratified, the most noticeable being a large flaming phoenix. "Clever, don't you think?"

Hermione shrugged. "Notice-Me-Not on the alley, and a Compelling Charm to prevent people from throwing their litter here. Simple enough, the Americans have been doing it for years."

Harry just chuckled and threw open the door. "Of course. After you, milady."

Hermione raised one eyebrow, and walked into the restaurant. There was a snooty looking maitre d' who gave a first class sneer at Hermione's muggle attire. The sneer widened when he saw Harry's tuxedo.

"We do not accept walk-ins," he said, with a slight wrinkling of the nose. "And aside from being reservation only, we request that proper wizarding custom be adhered to."

Harry sighed. "The reservation is under Harry Potter," he said, rolling his eyes. Predictably, the man squinted, eyes flying to Harry's forehead. Then the gasp of recognition. And then the slight glance to his beautiful companion, and then another gasp.

"Harry- Harry Potter! My sincerest apolo- Hermione Granger! The Hermione-" The next words out of his mouth was a jumble of stuttered apologies and awe at the celebrities.

Finally, Hermione just swore. "Our table. Now!" she snapped, in a cold voice Harry had never heard her use before. It had a tone that made him uncomfortably aware of the similarities between the expression on her face and that usually seen on that of Draco Malfoy or Narcissa Malfoy. It was the tone used to order servants around, as if they were inferior beings, beneath notice.

"Yes, Ma'am Right away, Ma'am." With out another word, the man gathered menus and led them a table near the back of the restaurant.

Both Hermione and Harry were quiet.

"I'm sorry-"

"Hermione, what-"

They both stopped, then Hermione gestured for Harry to go first. He ran a hand through his messy hair and sighed. "What the hell. Care to explain?"

Hermione nodded meekly. "Something I've heard a lot. I hate it when people make scenes like that, and I know you hate it too. And some of the people I know are as famous as you are, which makes this sort of thing not exactly uncommon. And that is how they deal with it."

Harry gave her a small smile. "It shut him up, so I can't really complain," he said, breaking into a full grin at her responding smile.

Opening her menu, Hermione scanned her choices. "Soon I'll have more than a voice to scare people," she mentioned casually. "Did I tell you I was offered a job today?"

Harry put down the menu he had started to open. "No, you certainly did not. Are you going to take over the Transfiguration post, Hermione? Rumor says that it is that or something promoting elf rights." He had been wondering what Hermione would do. If she was in Hogwarts, he wouldn't be able to see her as often. And it was almost not a possibility that she would do anything for the Ministry. Maybe St. Mungo's?

Hermione laughed. "And since when do you take rumor seriously?" she asked, ignoring the looks her laugh drew.

Harry grinned wryly. "Since forever. Didn't you know that I'm the Heir of Slytherin, horrified at your dumping of me for Viktor Krum, nuttier than squirrel poo, and Undesirable Number One? And I'm dating Ginny Weasley, Katie Bell, Lavender Brown, the Patil twins, and Cho Chang?"

They both laughed then, and Hermione set down her menu. "I think I'll take the salmon with the potatoes, and greens. You?"

Harry chuckled. "I haven't even opened the menu. Let me see." He pursued the list for a moment, then shrugged. "I think the duck. And for an appetizer?"

Hermione sighed and opened her menu. "That's right. I'm not a model anymore. If I so desire I can eat as many courses as I want."

Harry's green eyes were worried as he looked at Hermione's frame again. "I'm not saying you don't look good, but Hermione, you look like you haven't gained more than a pound since 1997."

Hermione smirked, but there was something Harry could see was horribly fake in it. "I haven't. Or if I have, it was only like two or three. And half of that would have been my hair."

"You haven't been eating right?" questioned Harry. "You aren't getting enough calories? Why not?"

Hermione shook her head, mentally willing Harry to drop it. "It is nothing, Harry."

"Hermione-" Harry stubbornly began, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"Harry," she snapped. "That is none of your business." Her heart broke a little. It was so personal. But since when had she refused to tell Harry anything? Or without the intention to fill him in later? And he was just worried about her. And if she said anything, he might sink into one of his 'it's all my fault' depressions.

A waiter suddenly appeared, breaking into a light sweat when he saw who exactly he was going to be serving. Perhaps the fierce glares the two celebrities were sending each other helped.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, voice breaking.

Harry broke his glare, and ordered for the both of them, refusing the offer of a wine menu and instead choosing water, as well as asking for some stuffed mushrooms as an appetizer. As soon as the waiter left, he returned to considering Hermione.

"I know it is none of my business, Hermione. But you are my friend and I worry about you. And if one of my friends is sick or in need of help, I am going to help them be it my business or not." Harry reached across the table and took one of Hermione's small, cold, white hands. "Hermione. I love you. You are the only person who has never once betrayed me. I want you to be happy and healthy. Tell me what is wrong!" His rough voice pierced Hermione's heart.

"Harry-" she began, but paused, then sighed. "Harry. You are my best friend, and I want to tell you. But not here, not now. Okay?"

Harry grinned disarmingly. "Okay." He squeezed the hand he was holding, and kissed it on a whim. "You're so cold, Hermione. Do you want my jacket?"

Hermione shook her head. "No, I'm fine. And I am a witch, Harry. I could cast a warming charm." Again, laughter stemming from the remembered adventures of their first year flooded their little corner of the restaurant.

They made more small talk over the excellent mushrooms, Harry filling Hermione in on what more had happened in the lives of their friends and Hermione telling stories about her days as a model. There was a slight pause in the conversation when the entree arrived, but one exclamation on Harry's part ended that.

He took a bite of his duck, then almost choked on it. "Hermione!" he exclaimed.

"Harry!" she said in the same tone, before laughing. "What?" She took a morsel of salmon, and smiled slightly at the taste of the pink fish.

Harry had the decency to blush. "I just realized you never told me what job you were offered or whether or not you accepted."

Hermione gave him the smirk she only got when she had a particularly startling fact (often) or extremely juicy piece of gossip (Rare. Really rare). She had the same smirk when she had figured out the Rita Skeeter mystery, and a slightly happier version when she and Harry had figured out how the Sword of Gryffindor could destroy Horcruxes.

"Well," she drawled, eyes sparkling. "I'm not sure I can tell you."

Harry huffed in frustration, savagely cutting up his poor piece of Daffy. "So what? Are you going to tell me you are some kind of super secret government researcher? Or that I need a top secret clearance from the Ministry for you to tell me about your work?" He laughed, obviously thinking he had made a clever joke.

When Hermione didn't laugh, Harry looked at her with wide eyes and groaned. "I shouldn't have said anything. If I hadn't said anything, you would tell me you are going to be the new Charms teacher or something. Now that I said this, you are going to tell me they want you to be an Unspeakable or something." He chewed on his duck, then took a sip of water, a pensive expression on his face. "Why do these things always happen to me?"

Hermione shrugged. "I dunno. But about my job..." she paused. She really didn't know why Harry always had the worst luck except when he was actually in a dangerous situation. Then he had amazingly good luck. It was as if whatever Fate or Deity that was watching over him felt sorry for the hand they had dealt him every time he ended up fearing for his life. Just sorry enough to save his miserable arse for the next round of Harry Hunting or the next Ministry Smear Campaign.

Harry waved his fork, a carrot hanging precariously at the end. "Continue. The suspense is killing me."

Hermione shook her head. "I was offered a job at the Ministry as an Unspeakable."

"If we weren't in a fancy restaurant I would start banging my head against the table. So did you accept?" Harry let out a huge sigh, and at the carrot. "Why me?" he muttered under his breath. "Why is it always me?"

Hermione's fork paused on its way to her mouth, then descended to her plate. "No, Hermione, why the hell would they want you for an Unspeakable? No, Hermione, what the hell are you thinking working for the Ministry?"

"I work for the Ministry. And I thought you were the smart one," he scoffed. "And I know you would be perfect for the job. I can see you buried in forbidden books researching anything that catches your fancy."

Hermione was silent. It seemed everyone could see qualities in her that she couldn't see in herself. Did everyone see her like some super researcher who lived only for her books?

She realized she had a hand waving in front of her face. "Earth to Planet Hermione." She swatted away his hand.

"I was thinking," she grumbled. "And yes, I accepted. I start Monday. "

Harry grinned and toasted her with his water glass. "Congratulations! So I am best friends with an Unspeakable. So you can't talk to me about your work?"

Hermione hesitated. "No. Unless, well, you might be interested in being my guinea pig. Then I think I would be able to share my work with you." She looked down at her plate, pushing around her food. "I need to ask my supervisors."

To her surprise and shock, Harry grinned. "I would love to be your guinea pig. You will be researching the effects of the Cruciatus?" At her nod, he continued. "Great. I'm sure you will be more successful than the people I have on it now. I'll ask the to give me all their research so you have something to go on, then dismiss them."

Hermione looked guilty. "I fell bad about this I don't want them to lose their work, especially-"

Harry interrupted her. "I would rather have you figuring out what is wrong. And I will make sure to find work for all of them before letting them go. They are highly respected witches and wizards. They will have no problems finding work. Now eat and stop worrying."

Hermione obeyed, chuckling in her head when she realized that Harry knew exactly what to say to make her calm down and stop fretting. They had known each other for almost ten years. Dear Lord. Of course he knew her better than she knew herself.

"And for you, Harry?" she questioned after a few moments of silence. "How has work been going with the Aurors?"

"Just fine," Harry said. "My partner is nice, reminds me of Kingsley. Not awed by my fame, not stupid. Just your average experienced Auror. At first he wasn't too happy to be stuck with a rookie, but we get along nicely. At least he isn't like Moody."

Hermione nodded solemnly. "I would not like to see what Moody would have done to you as a rookie. I would only have half of my perfectly lovely Harry Potter left."

Harry felt a warm stirring inside of himself when he heard her call him her Harry Potter. It was about this time that he really started paying attention to the way her hair was a soft, warm brown in the simple bun it was in, and how the stray curls framed her face and neck. Her skin was glowing in the candlelight, and her honey eyes were filled with so much life it made him want to spin her in a circle and kiss her like there was no tomorrow. At this though, his eyes went to her rosebud mouth, painted red for the night. It cheered him slightly to think that he was one of the only people who could see her both with makeup and without. She was beautiful either way.

Hermione was shocked by the emotion moving in Harry's face. "I just glad I'm here, Hermione. I've been waiting for this day for two years."

Hermione looked down at the tablecloth. "Harry-"

"No, Hermione." Harry's voice was firm. "I know why you left. I understand. I have no fucking clue why you came back. But I know that this day was bound to come sooner or later, and I am overjoyed that you are back. So we can stop moping and I can show you how much I wanted you back. Dessert?"

Hermione was taken aback, but she nodded slowly. "Of course. I heard they have a lovely apple pastry dessert here."

Harry tilted his head in thought. "I think I heard something about it. Who did you ask? McGonagall?"

"Yes, this morning," Hermione answered. "I told her you would be taking me here and she recommended the apple pastry."

Harry smiled warmly. "If it is good enough for our favorite Headmistress, then it is good enough for me."

When the plates disappeared and the waiter came once more, they ordered their dessert. It appeared almost instantaneously on their plates, a benefit of magic. It was delicious of course, a testament to the good reputation of the restaurant.

"That was good," remarked Harry, setting down his spoon and watching the plate disappear. "Although I am sure you've had better somewhere else."

Hermione shrugged. "Better food, maybe. Better company, no." She smiled shyly at Harry. "I always had to be someone else with anyone else. Even with Neville or Luna or Ginny, I could never be just Hermione Granger. Even Ron saw me as a walking encyclopedia, or a talking homework machine. I can be 'Mione with you."

Harry smiled back just as shyly. "And you are still the only person who has always seen me as 'just Harry.'" He tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and caressed her soft cheek, watching in awe as her eyes fluttered closed. He had to force himself to let his hand fall back to the table.

"I'm sure that was a moment there when I was excited to meet the Harry Potter," she murmured absentmindedly. "I knew you were in books."

Harry nodded, thinking. "The first time you found out who I was. You told me what books I was in."

"Does that make you think any less of me?" asked Hermione. "Knowing that I knew of you before I knew you?"

"No," said Harry firmly. "You treat me like a sometimes silly and stupid human being. Not a famous and brave hero."

"And you treat me like a person with a brain," said Hermione. "I hate being treated like just another pretty face. I refuse to be a trophy hanging of some man's arm."

Harry chuckled dryly. "And I refuse to have some trophy hanging off my arm." He thought for a moment, and a spark grew in his eyes. "Hermione?"

Hermione eyed his hopeful face warily. "Yes?"

Harry grinned even bigger. "There is the Victory Ball coming up in three weeks. You'll prolly get your invitation in a few days, or next week. Will you go with me?" When he saw she wasn't saying anything, he tried to persuade her. "Hermione, we just said that we didn't want to just be someone famous to brag about going out with. You'll do me a huge favor by going to the ball with me, and then you won't have to go with someone who doesn't care about you," Harry realized he had almost made the same mistake that Ron had done so many years ago. "Unless of course, there is someone else you have in mind to go with."

Hermione frowned. "I'll go with you Harry. But can we discuss the final details later?"

"Sure," Harry said, slightly hurt that she hesitated. Was if George she wanted to go with? Or someone else he didn't even know? "Are you ready to go?"

"Yes," Hermione said, reaching for her bag. "Just let me get the check."

Harry stared at her for a moment. "Hermione, just what was in the salmon? I already took care of everything."

Hermione groaned. "Harry. I have more money than I know what to do with-"

"Then we are in the same boat," Harry cut in. "And because I'm the man here, I will take the check. You can be the man next time."

"Sexist," Hermione muttered. "Fine. But you have to wear a dress."

Harry's eyes widened. "You're not serious."

"Do I look like a pureblood?" Hermione asked with a raised eyebrow. "Or a male?"

Harry shook his head. "So that means you won't make me wear a dress?"

"I don't know yet," Hermione said with a shrug. "It depends on how much you step on my feet when we dance."

Harry stood and helped Hermione out of her seat. As they walked toward the exit, he casually put a hand on the small of her back, just to guide her, he told himself.

In the back of the restaurant were Apparition points, for those who were leaving or for returning guests.

"My place?" asked Hermione. When Harry nodded, she spun on her heel and disappeared with a soft crack. Harry smiled, then concentrated and appeared in the living room of Hermione's flat.

He arrived just in time to see a tall man with dark hair lift Hermione and spin her around before burying his face in her hair.

"Jon!" he heard her cry. "What are you doing here?"

What did you think? Do you want the next chapter? If so, review! I want to get to fifty reviews. Only fourteen reviews, not so hard, right?

Remember, look for my new story and the story of my cousin, on my favorites. Also, watch for a new chapter of TWOT.

Help the author: Can a flat refer to an apartment with two floors? I'm unsure. Thanks!