Chapter X

Reason and Reconciliation

"Hello Hermione Granger," Luna said as she slid into the seat next to said friend.

Hermione only grunted in response, busy in her reading, but it was a welcoming sort of grunt so Luna was happy with it. She was here to speak to Hermione anyway, not the other way round, so all was good.

"Will I be seeing you at my birthday party tomorrow?" Luna asked, leaning in to read whatever Hermione was working on.

Braille was frustratingly hard to read with the eyes, especially as Luna didn't know the alphabet, but if she squinted and turned her head just right the dots made funny shapes every bit as interesting as the average library book.

"Tomorrow? Your birthday is in February."

"That's what people keep saying, but I had it in February last time and I wanted to do something different for his one, so it's the ninth of November now."

Luna liked explaining things to Hermione. Hermione was always able to keep up, even when the sentences got long and the words fast.

"Birthdays don't - no, let's not go there," Hermione sighed, stopping in her reading. (Luna felt honoured) - "When is the party?"

"Tomorrow. It would be silly to not have it on my birthday."

Sometimes people have the strangest ideas.

"Naturally. What time?"

"Oh, yes. I was thinking five in the morning, so we could eat and have pudding finished in time to watch the sun rise, but Ginny said that was too early, so we're doing it for the sunset instead."

"So the party starts at…?"

"Nine minutes to three, obviously."

Luna didn't feel any need to explain, like she did with everyone else, how that gave them precisely an hour and a half before the sun went to bed; Hermione's time-keeping would have been legendary if she were allowed to tell anyone the truth behind it.

"Obviously," Hermione agreed.

"So are you coming?"

Her friend paused for a while. The thoughtful look suited her; like it was how she was meant to be. Luna was always happy to be the one to put that look on that face, but she did start to wonder why a simple invitation had caused it.

"Of course, I will be there. Speaking of… where exactly will it be?"

"The Weasley twins offered use of their dorm, but we're holding it outside greenhouse two. The weather is meant to be pleasantly drizzly."

Luna was rather looking forward to seeing what rain tasted like on her birthday, and if it was any different to easter showers. She only hoped it wouldn't make the cake too soggy before everyone got a slice.

"Nine to three, greenhouse two. Okay," Hermione confirmed. "Wait… I can't get you a present in time!"

"Not to worry," Luna was quick to reassure her, "I'm sure I can think of something."

Luna had, in fact, already thought of the perfect present for her birthday. If she was being honest, it was a considerable part of the reason she had moved her birthday to be so soon; otherwise, she might have tried December third - it was going to snow that day. It just wasn't the right time to tell Hermione that; not quite. Almost.

"Well, let me know," Hermione said with a shrug.

"Yes, I see how that would be helpful," Luna said, as she went back to struggling to decipher the braille print. There weren't any shapes popping up, so in the end she had to ask: "What are you reading?"

"Oh, this? A breakdown of the arithmantic principles behind the protego charm. There was a paragraph in - in a book I read recently, which talked about layering the charm over itself, and I wanted to see if it could be duplicated side by side instead."

"Can it?" Luna sked, her interest piqued - charms research was her mother's speciality.

"I think so, yes. Only I cannot find any references to someone actually doing so. But anyway, this is all really advanced, so…"

Luna didn't mind the insinuation; she only asked to be sure she was right about it. "You don't think I would understand it?"

"Sorry."

"That's alright, Hermione. We can't all be geniuses, or no-one would be… but I would like to hear about it one day; when I'm ready."

"When you're ready, I'll be happy to teach you," Hermione said, smiling.

Luna loved it when her friends smiled. She was sad to be the one to threaten that moment of happiness, but the smile was the sign that it was time.

"I know what I want for my birthday," she said, trying to keep the nervousness inside. "What I really, really want… is for two of my best friends to be talking again."

"I hardly think that is a good idea," Hermione said, rather stupidly.

"I do."

"Well I'm sorry, but it I cannot see it working out well. Not at all," Hermione stood up to leave. "Best I just avoid him or I might ruin your party-"

"No, Hermione Granger, no!" Luna blurted out, stamping a foot. "Enough of this, this… silliness! You two need to sit down, and talk, because both of you are being very, very stupid and it does not suit you one bit!"

"He hates me," Hermione shot back.

Luna didn't like staying cross with people, so she softened her tone right away. "He only hates what you did."
"Really? Because I think," Hermione said, in her 'I am right' voice, "if he can turn on me like this over one little peck to the forehead, there must be something more going on, must there not?"

Peck to the forehead? But Ginny said…

Luna came to the sudden and upsetting realisation that her friends were being even more stupid than they knew. She wanted to tell Hermione how wrong they both were right there and then. Why she didn't she couldn't quite say; it just didn't feel right. It felt like things would somehow be better if they were together when they learned the truth. And if Hermione runs off to find him right now, she'll feel bad not having a present for me tomorrow.

"I think," she said carefully, "when you ask him why he felt so strongly about being kissed on the forehead, you will be much happier having heard his reply."

Hemione paused, running her tongue thoughtfully across her teeth, before she muttered "Maybe you're right… better to know."

"Something like that."

Harry approached greenhouse two with a twitchy sort of nervous energy. Luna had confirmed Hermione was going to be there, and he was determined to tun it into a chance to finally talk to her. Ever since the Malfoy incident he had been feeling increasingly bad about how much time he had spent avoiding her - being the one wanting to talk and unable to find her was giving him new perspective on what a git he had been. Not that he didn't have good reason.

On entering - the outdoor party had been moved inside due to a lack of rain - he was swept aside by a familiar whirlwind of excitement and radish earrings. She said something about seating arrangements, then plonked him down on a bench off to one side, well away from the other guests; save for one.

"Very subtle," Hermione remarked.

"This is your own fault," Luna chided merrily, over her shoulder as she flounced away.

Hermione shook her head in that exasperated fashion Harry had grown accustomed to finding directed at himself. Only he hadn't seen it in a while now - he supposed he had gone beyond exasperating in her book. The iciness of her voice reflected that when she addressed his presence.

"Hello Harry."

"Hi?"

"Before we start, I need to know; are you talking to me because you want to, or because Luna made you?"

"Uh… both? I've been trying to since Halloween."

"Oh, that long?" she snarked. "Am I so hard to find?"

Yes actually… and asking people where they last saw you is incredibly confusing when none of their stories match up!

Harry didn't say that; he did have a little survival instinct about him.

"You have been avoiding people… and, uh, you didn't seem in the mood to chat."

"I wonder why."

Her droll delivery tweaked a nerve in Harry. "Am I supposed to know?"

"Really?" she huffed, hands going to her hips.

Harry gulped; this was going about as well as he expected. "Really what?"
"Can you not think of any reason I might not want to talk to people right now?"

He could, in fact, come up with a few. One stood out though.

"The prophet article? Why are you listening to that rubbish?"

"Why are you?" she snapped.

"What do you mean? Do you think - Hermione, come on," - he almost reached out to touch her on the arm (where the hell is that impulse coming from?) - "I know you're not some dark witch."

"Do you now? Then what were you so worried I might do to Draco? Did you think I would, what, flip my lid because he insulted your mother?" - Her arms came off her hips and folded, forcefully across her chest - "Well, I am sorry to burst your precious little bubble, but your parents are not the most important thing in my life, and unlike you" - the finger pointed for emphasis nearly took his eye out - "I do not go around hurting people just because they said a few cruel words about the dead!"

Harry boggled at just how off the mark she was. Or was he the one getting mixed up? Why did the situation have to be so confusing? Why did Luna have to shove them together before he'd figured out what to say? How long had he left Hermione waiting for an answer?

"Neither do I."

She guffawed. "Have you told Draco's nose that?"

"No, I mean… that wasn't about my mum. I don't… I never knew her, so… it didn't really bother me when he said that about her."

That was only a half-lie. It still had her cocking her head like a befuddled puppy.

"You punched him. In the face."

"Yeah, cause of what he was saying about you!"

"Huh?"

"And then I was worried you would do… I don't know, something, to teach him a lesson but I know you weren't happy about what happened with Lockhart so I thought if I did it you wouldn't have to and then I could take the blame and the guilt and, and… yeah."

Well that sort of just slipped out he thought as he hung on her response.
"Why would you care if I felt guilty? Why care what he said about me?"

"Cause you're my friend?"

"Oh, yes, such a good friend we haven't spoken in how long?"

Harry counted the days - weeks - and the higher the number rose, the stronger the twisting realisation coming up from his gut grew.

"I think that makes me the bad friend," he breathed, "not you."

"Does that mean you are finally over the fact I gave you one stupid little kiss one time? Are you finally going to accept it was a mistake - a spur of the moment thing?" She sounded angry, but the way she leaned forward; the softening of her tensed arms… she looked desperately hopeful.

He probably should have latched onto that, rather than what she had said. But…

"A mistake?" he scoffed. "People don't just snog other people by mistake!"

"Snog? I did not snog you!"

Just like that the tension was back; the distance between them growing.

"No? Was it just a quick one then? Worried you'd get caught red handed with your lips stuck on mine?"

"My lips on… what are you talking about? I never went anywhere near your lips."

Harry had been lied to enough in his life, he felt he had a pretty firm handle on when people were telling the truth. Like Hermione was right then.

"Huh? Ginny said-"

"Oh, did she?" Hermione hissed. "Did she now?"

"Where did you…?"

"On the forehead!" she exploded. "I cannot believe this! I just can't… I… Please, please tell me we have not spent six weeks falling out over a misunderstanding. Tell me we did not throw away all that time because you could not stick around for two minutes to hear out my explanation!"

"Hey, you didn't show when we were meant to meet," he said weakly, not feeling he should shoulder all the blame.

"Because I was busy getting Lupin to teach me the patronus charm!"

"So schoolwork is more important than-"

"I am learning it to protect you, you… you dumb ape! If you were old enough you would be learning it too! For fuck's sake, Harry, I'm not old enough. Not for any of this!" She rose to her feet and Harry felt, all of a sudden, very, very small. "There are bloody soul-eating monstrosities around a school, our school, and somehow it falls to me to keep my friends safe from them - as if a basilisk wasn't enough for one lifetime - and I cannot bleeding well do it because all you want to do is have a hissy fit over one tiny little thing! Get over yourself, Harry James Potter, before you get yourself killed, or worse!" - (worse?) - "And do not expect me to be there to save you again if you will not even let me be around you!"

Harry was left sitting in stunned silence as Hermione abruptly stormed off across the greenhouse.

"Ginevra Weasley, where are you?" she yelled.

Ginny squeaked. "Here?"

Harry's idea that Hermione had been properly mad at him died at the positively deadly way she addressed Ginny.

"Explain to me, this instant; why, in the name of all that is holy, did you tell Harry I kissed him on the lips?"

"Because you did," she replied, straightening to face the challenge. Probably a bad move, Gin.

"Because I… wow… and I thought I was the blind witch here."

"Well, you were kind of far away, and I couldn't really see around your hair-"

Harry was not the only one to cringe at that excuse.

"And you did not think to mention that when you told your little tale? Argh! Why am I friends with such imbeciles?"

The twins made a sound of protest; a mistake which prompted Hermione to go off on everyone present, lambasting each and every guest in turn for something or other they had or had not done. It was a real trainwreck, and Harry, getting over his shock, realised he needed to put an end to it. If he didn't Hermione wouldn't have any friends left by the time she was finished.

"Hermione, stop," he pleaded, turning her round with a gentle tap on her shoulder.

"Why should I?" she screamed right in his face. "I know they all care more about being your friend than mine, and that went so well, didn't it? Not like I can burn bridges if they've already crumbled into the river, is it? Not like-"

Harry grabbed her by either side of the jaw and planted a tight lipped kiss squarely on her forehead. He had to close his eyes to pretend it wasn't happening - even if an of-late-subdued part of him was roaring - but he maintained the contact as long as he could bear; it was the longest three seconds of his life. When he released her and stepped back, one of her hands trailed the space between them.

"Harry?" The venom was gone from her voice; the anger falling of her face.

"Are we even now?" he asked - begged. "Are we good? Can we stop this?"

Her hand went up to her face, touching the spot he had kissed. Her fingers absently shifted her blindfold back up where he must have disturbed it with his chin. She took a deep breath, and when she exhaled he saw the last of the tension drop from her shoulders.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, we can… I can stop. I'm so sorry, everyone, I'm… I don't know why I said all those things."

Luna came up beside her, looking entirely unflustered. "Daddy says it isn't good to keep bad things inside. Better to let them out where your friends can help with them."

"Oh, Luna… I completely ruined your party," Hermione sobbed.

"No you didn't, silly. All my friends are here, and you gave me the present I wanted more than anything, and there's still lots and lots of pudding."

"Sounds like a pretty good party to me," Neville piped up.

"Certainly memorable," Patricia commented.

Fred? nodded enthusiastically. "Wouldn't have missed it-"

"-for the world," his twin completed.

Hermione was turning in a circle of friends, as each one of them brushed off her harsh words as nothing more than water under a bridge. Harry, heart still racing, took the chance to slip away and take a breather behind the buffet table. It was sinking in that he had just kissed Hermione, and he had no idea how to feel about that. His world was turning on its head, or sideways, or something; his feelings fought a battle where no-one knew what side they were on or what their banners represented.

He reached out to the table for support his knees were unwilling to give. A jug clanged against a bowl. There was barely any space on the table to place his hand; the whole thing was covered in food. Not food really, only dessert. Specifically, cake, and more cake, and more, and a whole bunch of jugs, each one full to the brim with custard. The absurdity was steadying, because it was an absurdity he understood with perfect clarity.

He looked back to the group around Hemione. They were all fussing over her; all save Luna, who instead stared right at him; shifted her eyes to the spread; and gave him the most outrageous of winks.

…

Crafty little witch.

Hermione sat on the damp grass - it had rained in the end, just as Luna predicted - and took it all in: The birds singing merrily in the trees; the comforting petrichor scent; the quiet, calm breaths of the boy sitting beside her.

"Is the sun setting yet, Harry?" she asked.

"Almost."

She shuffled closer until she bumped into his arm. The temptation to lean head on his shoulder was strong, but she knew better than to push it.

"Describe it to me?"

His description was halting, and so far from poetic, but all she really wanted was to hear his voice. It was so beautifully absurd how quickly they could go from nothing back to this, but she was under no illusion that things were truly fixed. Water under the bridge was an apt saying; the problems may wash away, but too much water could erode near anything. She could only hope their bridge was built upon strong enough foundations.

Thinking like that was exhausting, so instead, she focused on Harry's voice and let her imagination fill in the blanks he left. One day, she would not need to do this; she would bid the sun goodnight with her own eyes. One day. In the meantime, she would sit there beside her best friend, silently upping the strength of her supersensory charm until she had to admit the tingling on her forehead was entirely gone.

Time came and went, and for Hermione frequently came around again, and before anyone really knew it there was snow on the ground and holly in the halls. Most of the students disappeared one day; Hermione hadn't been tracking the days too well, so the first day of the holiday took her rather by surprise. It was a good thing she had decided not to go home; not to spend weeks stumbling around and stewing in her room over books whose spells she couldn't practice; not to be in a house too small to hold two of her.

Having Harry to herself had nothing to do with it. Well, not entirely to herself, because the Weasleys were staying in the castle too, but the twins could be convinced to bugger off and Ginny was still not in Harry's best graces - she was starting to think her friend held grudges a touch (say, six weeks, give or take) too long.

The best thing about Hogwarts during the holidays was that with so many fewer students around, she could be a little less vigilant when using the turner. The biggest stress of the thing had never been the super long days and short nights of a messed up circadian rhythm; nor the occasional evasion of an awkward question; not even the nagging feeling Luna might be on to her. No, the biggest worry was that she would be ripped out of time right in front of someone, and there was no hope of explaining her way out of that. It had already come close to happening, twice to her knowledge. The first time, she had wasted most of her turn having a panic attack in an empty classroom.

Christmastime was different. Christmastime was liberating; the only stress was trying to find a suitable gift for the Boy Who Could Afford Anything Yet Seemed To Have No Idea What He Might Want, Harry Potter.

If she had the money for it, she would have bought him a pony out of amicable spite.

The stupid thing was, she knew whatever she got him he would be elated to receive it, as he had been when she finally gave him his much-belated birthday present. By his reaction, they were the best pair of seeker's gloves in the world, but Hermione knew they were mid-range at best. His attributing beating Cedric to the snitch in his next game to her was only him being nice.

So she could have bought him anything and been done with it. Except she couldn't; it needed to be special. Thoughtful. Quite possibly unique. Getting something at Hogsmeade was right out.

Fortunately, she had a good imagination, and quite literally as long as she needed to figure it out. In the end, she was fairly happy with what she came up with, so it was a crying shame someone went and seriously upstaged her on Christmas Eve.

The flock of owls was to be expected. The gasps were not; Hermione had her wand in palm before she knew she had done it, ready for… Those aren't scared gasps. What am I doing?

She slipped her wand away, hoping nobody had seen that, and waited for someone to explain what all the fuss was about. The furious beating of several sets of wings - an impressive sound considering owls' reputation as silent fliers - followed by a loud, wooden thud gave her some idea. The way the conversation turned to reverent whispers made that idea more specific; Gryffindors only spoke in such tones about one thing.

Bloody Quidditch.

"Crikey, is that a broomstick?" Ron gaped from across the table.

Hermione held her tongue and the snide remark on how she had figured as much out without having to look, only in the spirit of christmas. Her and Ron had not spoken kindly nor played chess in a while, what with him accusing Crookshanks of bothering his pet rat. Honestly he was probably correct, because Crooks was a mischievous soul and his rat was, well, a rat, but it was the way he took the issue up with her which peeved her: Namely, ranting about it while she was focusing on keeping two dozen chess piece positions in her mind.

"Must be," Gin remarked, "and a good one too - look at the stirrup shaping."

"Who sent you a broomstick?" Hermione wondered aloud. It seemed to her the more pertinent question than which broom it was.

There was a rustling, and then; "Dunno," said Harry, "doesn't have a note on it."

Maybe taking my wand out wasn't the worst instinct.

"So an anonymous benefactor has sent you a top-end broom out of the blue?"

"Hey, you know what they say about gift-hippogryffs," Ron chirped. "Open it!"

"Or…" Hermione contested, raising a cautioning hand, "you could make sure it isn't cursed first."

"Who would curse a broom?"

"Oh, forgive me, Ronald, you're absolutely correct: There is no-one in the whole world who currently wants to see Harry harmed. Not a soul. Go ahead, Harry; see what other surprised Black put in that wrapping paper. Excuse me while I move to the other side of the castle, to be safe."

"You think he would?" Harry asked.

"I think the possibility is too high for us to be cavalier about it. Besides, aren't your presents usually routed through Dumbledore and McGonagall? How did one this large slip the net?"

"It must be from one of them then!" Ron exclaimed.

"It might be, certainly," Hermione corrected. "It might not. There is an easy enough way to find out."

"She's right Ron," Harry said with an audible pout, before calling out, "Professor McGo-"

"Yes, Mr Potter," McGonagall interrupted from right behind him, to a chorus of splutters - must have snuck up as a cat.

"Did you, uh, vet this present?" Harry coughed.

"No, Harry, I did not. Pass it to me, and I shall do so presently. Oh, and five points to Gryffindor, for Ms Granger's exemplary common sense."

Hermione nearly caught a face full of broomstick, hearing the heavy crinkling and smelling the glue of the paper as Harry swung it in front of her.

"When do we - I mean, when will Harry get it back?" Ginny asked eagerly.

"The wrapping I could test here and now, but I'm afraid the protection charms on a broomstick make checking for hexes rather difficult."
"Will I have it back for the game?" Harry asked.

The silence which followed was the sort of silence in which a person might shrug and shake their head, Hermione reckoned. Minerva said nothing to dispel that thought, leaving without another word. At least she's likely to make it a priority for Harry's sake.

"Well done, Hermione," Ron spat. "Now Harry has to use his old broom for the game."

Harry came to her defence, and Ginny sided against her brother for the usual reason of him being her brother, but it was too late to save Hermione's mood or fend off the all too common headache building behind her scars - she excused herself from breakfast and went to lie down.

More accurately, she went to set a turn, then lie down for a fifty-five minute rest. Time spent sleeping was time wasted, after all. She could take a break when it was actually Christmas. Or have the library entirely to myself…

Most of her rest was spent reading.

Christmas day started as it usually did; absurdly early. By the time Ginny coaxed the pyjama-clad zombie who almost resembled Hermione Granger down from the girls' dorms, the boys had clearly been up a while. She shot a warning stare at the menaces she called older brothers when they wolf-whistled, and didn't bother to wipe it off her face as she cast her eyes over to Harry - if he didn't want her affection, he could have what the rest of them got instead. See if I care.

The elves had moved their presents down to the common room, happy to be given any job in the quiet of the castle, and it was clear which pile was Hermione's by the size, being beaten only by Harry's mound. Ginny settled Hermione into a chair beside it, gently lest her legs forget they were meant to have woken up and simply allow her to fall (the staircase had been an experience), and gave her another prod to rouse her. Honestly, at was as if the girl had never done a Christmas before; what did her muggle parents think was appropriate?

No matter; she had her own presents to see to, and as Weasley tradition dictated, she dove right in. The legendary Molly Weasley jumper was first - the elves even knew to put it on top - but once that was opened and on, the rest was a free for all. She kept the largest for last, as always, but soon enough she was coming to it. A glance up told her Hermione wasn't even halfway to done, and Harry had been building a new pile of admirers' gifts to get through later once he was through with friends and fam- friends' presents.

She wanted to wait until everyone was watching to open the big one, but it was such a long way off… what to do, what to do? She wiggled in her seat anxiously until Fred noticed and silently made fun of her for it. She took a good long look at everything everyone else had, but none of it was anything special; just sweets and trinkets and-

"Wow, Hermione," Harry gasped.

"What is it?" Gin blurted out, craning forward to see better.

"It's a… snitch?"

"More than that, Harry," Hermione said, perking up smugly. "It's charmed to track down any familiar person of your choosing, and you can have it leave a golden trail to follow too."

"Awesome. Where'd you get it?"
"I ordered a basic snitch by mail from Broomtopia."

"A basic… you did the charm work yourself?"

"Yes," she stated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world for a third year to do such a thing. "It might be a bit… temperamental, but it should now draw from your magic, not mine, so maybe not."

"Hang on," George said, moving over to take a proper look and taking it from harry to scrutinise, "did you invent a charm?"

"Not at all. I simply repurposed the paper-plane spell; added a vermillious rune network for the trail; and hijacked the snitch's inbuilt magical core recognition charm to combine it with the point-me spell, making the targeting system better for finding people. And it took me three snitches to get one flying right."

If there was any doubt in Ginny's mind that her friend was a magical prodigy, it died in those moments. Somehow, Hermione apologising for not being perfect only made her genius more frightening, and moderately infuriating. Not that Ginny was the jealous sort.

"It will only work on people whose magical signatures you're familiar with, or have been repeatedly exposed to - the charm needs something to lock on to," she explained. "And the maximum range seems to be about four hundred metres, heavily dependent on the power of the target. It won't track down muggles, even by accident, which is probably a good thing."

"Is this even legal?" George asked approvingly, rolling it in his palm.

"Of course it is. I think."

"Brill," Harry said as he took it back. "So, how do I use it?"

"Just think of a person, and push a little magic in; it should be set up to do the rest. For sparks, whisper 'show me' as you launch it."

Harry closed his eyes, raised the snitch - could it even be called a snitch after Hemione got her hands on it? - and cast it into the air with a whisper. The sparks were dull and sputtering, and the flight jaunty - it nearly fell out of the sky at one point - but it eventually came to a hover of sorts just above Hermione's shoulder. No points for guessing who Harry would think of for that test. Ginny grabbed it and threw it back to Harry, who caught it before it could drift back on over to his best friend.

"That's fantastic!" Harry cried.

"My turn!" Ginny butted in, her envy and anxiousness getting the better of her. She ignored the quizzical looks she got and tore into the wrapping on the long box before her. It let out a puff of scented dust as she destroyed it - weirdly, it smelled like hot meat pie and fresh linen - but that was forgotten when she saw how beautiful the box was.

It wasn't pretty; the beauty was in the obvious craftsmanship. Nothing was fancy yet everything was perfect: The wood was expensive just to look at; the corners were neatly smoothed and joined flush; the hinges were smooth and silent as she lifted the lid to peer inside.

The velveteen lining she was expecting. For there to be something inside - for the box itself not to be the present - she was not.

But there it was. Elegant, sleek, fully bristled. A brand spanking new Nimbus 2000.

With her name emblazoned along one side in fiery red. My brand spanking new Nimbus 2000. Mine!

"Harry… this is…"

"Can't have Gryffindor's main reserve on a bad broom, can we?" he said, grinning wildly at her. "How were you ever going to make me look bad on your old stick?"

"You bought me a Nimbus."

"Yeah. I didn't know if you'd want a horse, or have anywhere to keep one, so…"
Hermione groaned at that, and Ginny did a little too; of course she would have wanted a horse. But she wanted a new broom even more. A new broom meant no more flying practice on Wood's old one; no more nicking her brothers' from the shed to fly at the burrow. It meant… Oh Merlin. It means he likes me. Boys don't spend that much money on girls they don't like. Harry likes me. Maybe not 'like' like, but plain simple like is a start.

"This is amazing."

"A broom is only as good as it's rider," he said sagely, earning a meaningful nod from her brothers, "so I reckon you're right about that."

And he called me amazing. Harry Potter thinks I'm amazing.

She wasn't getting teary; that was just the dust off the bristles getting in her eyes.

Hermione was blown away by how many gifts she received. She knew she was in the public eye, what with those horrible articles by that horrible Skeeter woman, but she had assumed that was all bad publicity - how could being mentioned alongside each and every Sirius attack be anything else.

Apparently, there were those among the population who had seen the lies for what they were, and focused on the lonely truths amongst the libel; she was best friend of the Boy-Who-Lived, her virtues extolled as a saviour figure by those who knew the extent of her victim's crimes. Most of the gifts were simple, chocolates and the like, even from her friends, but a few stood out:

Harry got her a set of charmed bookshelves on which to store his previous present, which necessitated a hasty letter to her mother warning her there would be several goblins arriving at her house imminently to install them.

Someone gave her a modified Remembrall which could be set with a pulse of magic to record an hour of audio. It seemed a strange present until she got to the end of the note - already written in braille for her - which read:

'To knowing. Even if it hurts.

Madeline Winters'

And suddenly the gift made all the sense in the world, and she was happy to finally have that girl's name.

The last surprise was from none other than Albus Dumbledore, which made it a surprise to receive anything. That it was a book did not add to the surprise; which book, and more importantly which edition, certainly did. Again, an included braille note held the answers:

'In my many years I have amassed quite the collection of fine literature, yet as the years advance, it pains me greatly to see such treasured possessions only gathering dust. In recent times I have begun to disseminate my cherished things amongst those who I know will cherish them equally, and for many years to come.

To such an end, I leave now to your capable and caring hands my signed first edition of The Fellowship of the Ring. A marvellous piece of fiction, set within a world so real you might imagine the author had lived in such a place of wonders.

I have oft found it a most excellent icebreaker to inquire as to one's favourite character from these books; to see which they resonate with the most. Myself, I have always been an admirer of the Lady Galadriel; whilst the others are off gallivanting, she alone has the strength to exercise restraint. To offer honest warning when ultimate power lies within her grasp, and to turn away from its corrupting force.

To choose love, when one could so easily fall into despair.

Alas, I fear I have been more a Gandalf, ever concerned in the affairs of the youth, and drawn in by the allure of my own mystery. Not the worst of legacies to leave, but not the one I envisioned for myself; the man I have become is so much different to the one I expected, and yet still, I am sure, so much better than who I once could have been.

But I shall ramble no longer. Enjoy your holiday, treasure this gift as I know you shall, and a very merry Christmas to you, Miss Granger.

Yours, in the spirit of good hope,

Albus P.W.B Dumbledore'

She supposed it almost made up for the meddling git having the Ministry strip the basilisk corpse of the 'dangerous' (valuable) parts and accept Harry's slayer-claim, but not hers. (Apparently he had been the only one to kill it, so her contribution to the battle was meaningless.) After hearing this - the headmaster had dressed the news of his meddling up as a Christmas present for him - Harry told her they would share the trophy anyway. As well he should. They would also share the fair (insulting) reimbursement the Ministry gave him for the confiscated parts, but she had really, really wanted to get her hands on that venom.

For science.

Author's Notes:

I would love to address some awesome reviewers, but I'm dead on my feet and barely got this chapter up... so, sorry. Not today.