Hermione was done.

With all of it, yes, but most especially with the bastard who continued to interrupt and belittle her. Wasn't this hard enough already? Did he have to throw her history into the mix as though she was still the naive school girl she had been- she knew that any answers to the workings of Caligula had been lost to time and that she was too busy and that she couldn't do this on her own.

And still he delighted in sneering at her.

What was the point of sitting there if he was going to be too big a bastard to put it all aside? She didn't need his constant belittling sneering.

Hermione stormed quickly down the Paris street and there was a rage and fire burning through her limbs despite the cold night air around her. The lights of traffic darted past as she passed the busy block. Nightlife was a swarm of seagulls larking under the electric lights, the hunting of lone cabs, stalking behind clumps of restaurants and bars, the backpackers and hostels and the dying calls of summer within the city that refused to die off quietly. The calls and whoops of muggles all railing in a way that sang to the defiance now swirling through her blood.

Also, she might have drunk more wine than was strictly necessary. What with her oh so poised performance with Rita, then the exchange with Severus

With her mouth running over time, it seems her hand and brain had been chugging down the red wine till she hit the back end of three rather large gaudy goblets.

What had she said?

Hermione felt the tinges of the conversations run through her mind but she couldn't focus. The street had started swimming before her as she turned now into her street-

When had it become her street?

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Snape left the table with the hasty placement of a galleon, and followed the witch.

The slight discomfort soon translated into a limp, and by the time he reached the end of the street he was reduced to a stagger.

His hair lankily sat on his neck and it suddenly occurred to him that the sensitivity about his throat was creeping in on him. He needed another dose.

He stood on the corner and peered down the muggle street, and for the first time since he was a 17 year old, he felt a panic at the sight of youths in dark muggle hoods. For fucks sake. Where had Hermione gone waltzing off to. He didn't for a minute believe her efforts towards Caligula were infantile because of her abilities. He was sure that with a lab behind her and access to the plant she could run the arithmacy and alchemical calculations with speed and logic and relentless activity. Instead she insisted on chasing down folklore and obscure library references, as though still hunting for horcruxes and hallows. She was going to stir forces that should be left well enough alone.

A dark scowl filled his face as he ambled past the street, ducking into a narrow alleyway. He had to calm down. He wouldn't make it another 100 meters without a seizure. He shut his eyes and tried not to think of Hermione Granger. Of the disappointment, the regret, the bloody nineteen year old woman prancing through the city alone.

closing down his mind and reaching for the comforting thrum of magic deep beneath the jarring pain shooting through his nerves, Severus apparated away.

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The night seemed to sneer down on her, and Hermione knew she couldn't linger. She'd stood here just hours before, with Luna, and seen a sadness in the lights and crowds. Now she stood with a dread of panic. The crowds milling before the kebab shop and the leers of men steaming out of the bars and pubs. A taxi driver sat inhaling his dinner from its paper packet in front of a backpackers, his lights waiting on a fare. The owner of the outlet leant over his car, chatting. Further up a group of men sat lounging in chairs about the entrance, their tracksuits and hoodies showing the wear of the street, their sneakers marked and filthy. Hermione felt for the robe around her as her wand itched in her pocket.

All muggles.

She was safe.

Hermione threw a confidence she didn't feel into her walk, and nodded to the owner as she passed him on the curb. His eyes darted to her with surprise and a smirk played about his lips. He tore himself away from his customer and caught up with her as she neared the shop.

"You are not one of those party girls I hope! I want a good, respectable tenant."

Hermione was struck for a moment as assurances and shaky laughs got her into the shop and to the counter. She heard a blather of words come out of her mouth as she tried not to dart her eyes too obviously at the muggles about the shop.

All muggles.

She was safe.

The hoods were fashionable. Status. These were people out for a night in Paris and she was insignificant and unnoticeable except she couldn't help but notices as they gave her their own assessing glances.

"So you've eaten dinner then! Good food I hope, where did you go?"

Hermione gave him the name of a restaurant she had passed earlier that day, the one closest to the Van Gogh museum that she'd eyed off ruefully.

"Oh very nice place."

Hermione only nodded as she excused herself through to the backroom and the stairs, trying to not to feel embarrassed and childish and out of place, like a teenage girl sneaking home. She fumbled for her keys, before deciding to simply sit by the door. She'd wake up Dennis and Luna in this state. She was mad and frightened and she couldn't get the air into her lungs fast enough. She hastily wiped her eyes and wondered how long she'd been crying. She hated that being angry caused her tears to fall so cheaply. She was above it. She was Hermione Granger. -

The radio and sound of conversation echoed up the stair way in a drench of warm electric light. Hermione sat by the door, and slowly her breathing stilled and her mind raced away from her.

She was done.

God. Tonight she had truly been Hermione Granger.

Signing up Rita Skeeter, foolishly attempting to grapple information out of Severus Snape, then storming out on the man many feared as the darkest wizard left alive.

Hermione laughed as she leant back against the old brick wall, but it soon died in her throat. She had truly been Hermione Granger tonight and each and every one of her actions would now come to light under the scorching gaze of the bug, and for chilling moment Hermione realised she didn't give a damn.

What were the Malfoys doing investing in magical plants that required the consultancy of Britain's leading potions master, bastard though he was?

With a final breath, Hermione reached for her key and rose to her feet. If there was a slight wobble to her walk as she opened the dark tent, it didn't deter her in the slightest.

She was not done yet.

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Severus Snape stood at the counter of the overly lit convenience store, examining the countless array of chewing gum before him. He confidently handed over an old supply of folded euros in return for the cardboard box of deadly, pointless, carcinogenic death sticks. Fleeing to the darkness of the city street once more, he placed the loathsome thing in his mouth, before lighting it with a disdainful drag.

He would not get into the habit again.

It was merely his reason for milling about on the street outside, a means of distracting any wayward muggle glances.

Not like you've a long life to look forward to at this point anyway old man.

The taste of his nerve 'tonic' still lingered in his mouth and Severus for a moment, savoured the taste of nicotine sweeping it away. Two poisons and their sweet relief

What's one more vice?

The night began to creep into the chill dark hours and still it smiled down at muggles ambling about. Severus moved down the street watching as cabs swept past, each carrying the cities final fares. The sidewalk continued to collect the returning groups of young travellers, the occasional lone stumbling drunks, and to Severus' disgruntled scowl, the lovers lurching out of car doors, in a whirl of unnecessary contact and ardent haste.

He didn't know why he'd returned. She was gone. Long gone, and alone.

Hermione Granger who had no doubt cursed his name and railed as she sped through the dark Paris streets. The bitter ash of irony clung to his mouth, and he took another obliging drag. She was alone. He was a bastard, determined to cling to vestiges of control; determined to not lose face. But he had asked the impossible of her. She could not back down now. She was in too deep and would not be persuaded, obstinate lioness that she was. Instead she had walked through these ancient streets, under the muggle electric lights, Alone. Alone as the street continued to stamp its feet from bar to club to dinner to drinks to dancing to a whirlwind of perpetual action, and she caught in the middle of it. Would she take note of her surroundings, did she know where she was? Would she be apparating in that state?

She's not a student anymore. She can handle herself. What are you even doing here?

Severus scowled fiercely as he examined the street she'd last gone down. She could look after herself. There was no denying. But if she had been distracted it was his fault. As he eyed the dubious yellow awning of the fast food window ahead, and the patrons still milling beneath it, he attempted to get his bearing of the district. What street was this?

Ahhh

Rue aux Ours.

Severus eyed the large blue four painted on the peeling orange awning. In the moonlight, the colours seemed to blanche as they watched the dark haired wizard smirk, before walking swiftly away.

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Harry was being tested.

For part of him, the part that had seen Kingsley and Moody and Dumbledore take charge of things, the test felt personal.

He brushed his sweaty fingers through his standard issue training robes and felt exactly as he had all those years ago, dragged along to the ministry with pats on his head. Aware of the tension and the politics and the fear, but pushed away while the grown-ups handled things.

And so it was that the smaller part who told him this wasn't the end of the world and there was no shame in leaving auror training earlier than normal and that Hermione knew what she was doing kept him calm. In check.

The ministry atrium echoed each of his footsteps, as he made his way past the erected lists of the fallen, nodding at each of the security wizards in turn. Some made half-hearted waves while others merely inclined their heads and returned to their steaming cups of coffee.

As he got into the lift, the flashes of Arthur by his side somehow made all the difference.

Arriving at the _th floor, he swept past the main offices and through to his tiny corner of the room. The cubicle reminded him of his broom closet. He wasn't sure how he felt about this on most days, but now as the offices stood dim around him, the magical windows shining through the night outside, he spared no thought, shifting around the cramped space for the files Hermione had told him to bring. His owl results and the marks and assessment the auror trainers had given him, as well as the paperwork he received along with his order of merlin.

Hermione hadn't changed so far as it counted. Eternally faithful to the notion of grades and assessment.

Carrying the folder made his assent through the stairs to the ministers office all the more perplexing. As he made his way through the tiled corridor, the gold lilt door was painted with the feeling of a summons to Dumbledore's office.

The test felt personal, and it was not a grade he was worried about.
Was he doing the right thing?

Without the old headmaster, or Sirius' face floating through a fire, or even Lupin to ask, there were no answers coming to him, and Harry instead opened the door with a courage that spoke of rage and abandonment and somehow, resolve.

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Luna gave up on sleep at 3. Some nights were fitful and no matter how many times she cleared her mind or dozed off, the deep tendrils of sleep eluded her, throwing up images and memories and the matter of dreams.

Finally opening her eyes and let her body collapse further into the covers, Luna eyed the bunk above her, counting the seams and grooves until the slight shudder of movement drew her gaze to the figure huddled over the centre table, the form shadowed by the harsh spotlight that betrayed the tendrils of curling hair and movement of breath. Hermione had fallen asleep over her notes.

Clearing her mind once more, tracing her tired eyes over the shadows cast through the tent and the creases of the bedding about her, Luna set about moving. The grooves of her wand fell through her fingertips, and with a clear mind, Luna let her magic lift the girl, floating her sleeping form and depositing her on the bed opposite Dennis. A flick of her wrist saw the bedding rise to envelope her, until mindlessly, Hermione turned on her side, wrestling her pillow and drifting off to sleep. Three more swishes of her wand drew light into the room, erupting steadily floating balls dreamt into life as she continued past the flaps of the tent and through to the Parisian flat beyond.

The magical light immediately hovered above the lone camp bed, it's sheets hastily made and the box still by its head. Piles of Hermione's muggle clothes lay in heaps where Luna had left them earlier. No wonder Hermione hadn't wanted to sleep there. The thought swam before lunas mind for a moment until she examined the plaster walls and floorboards until finally with a further seconds breathing, she lifted her wand once more.

The night smiled through the window, and the light of the street below leeched past the shadow of the awning, drawing close to see the whirl of magic now streaming from Luna.

She thought of the girl lying in the tent.

Slowly, Luna let a stream of protective charms issue from her wand to soak the apartment, ebbing in to the very walls. She couldn't put any muggle repelling wards, but Luna had spoken with Bill more than once about wards and their uses, and some of the oldest merely injected a magical force. It was still an imprecise and working knowledge, and the part of the ministry who kept such knowledge had long since gone. Still, Bill had coated his home by the sea, even with the protection of the fidelis charm in place.

He'd said it was for something to do more than anything.
A hope or wish or prayer and Luna let the magic of such things swell through the apartment, until she turned from the walls and with a steady gaze, lifted her wand to the bed. The magic swam through the night air until the chill cramped space saw the camp bed morph , calico acquiring depth and padding, metal work drifting through the shadows to form a base and frame. Magical coils gave the padding the further form of a mattress under the ripple of sheets who cotton tripled and softened, under the beams of streetlight drifting through the window.

The night smiled, as Luna set about the foolishness of hope and wishes, dreams and magic, and while thoughts and memories continued to flit across her mind, she never allowed to land. They passed by instead, thrown about and buffered through the dark room just as the split quills and bobby pins and spare ink wells that rose from Hermione small beaded bag twisted into curtain rings, gum and toffee wrappers knotting themselves together until lace curtains fluttered, and Luna allowed the rooms small window to open.

She sunk into the newly formed bed and still, despite the weary hum clouding beneath her eyes, she watched the swirl of magic deliver the room to rights until she finally drifted into sleep.

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The Minister smiled at the papers before Harry with an eye that seemed unable to see past the trainee auror robes.

"Mr Potter, I'm aware that don't want to be seen as a figurehead, but you in turn must understand the risk your personal relationship with the suspect poses. No matter the witch or wizard, there can be no-one above the law without undermining what's only so revently been rebuilt.

"I know sir. I remember Barty Crouch. I met him in my fourth year. He was actually the first auror I ever met, funnily enough he was also the first one who recommended joining. But I also remember his son, what he chose to do in this situation and how it came to cost not just his career, but eventually his life. That was in the last rebuilding. I think it's time people here saw me as more than just a trainee' puppet." Harry floundered as his cooly delivered lines, prepared in the kitchen with Ginny drew no response from the dimly smiling man. "You know I can get Hermione back."

"Mr Potter, you realise what image that would make?" Dawlish smiled, a smug distasteful grin that attempted to display dominance. "Your name dragged through the media, are you sure want to be publicly pinned with this?"

"The Prophet will print whatever you tell them though, won't they?"

There was a moment of silence in which he tried to circumspectly wipe his sweaty palms in the sleeves of his robe. He felt as though he were speaking out of turn in class once more.

Snape would've called him arrogant and impertinent.

"Mister Potter. Against my own personal concerns, on this matter I'd be prepared to make a deal with you. You've still got to work your way up like the others, Harry."

Harry shifted as Dawlish threw a bundle of manila files, stamped with the MLE insignia. He was worse than fudge.

"If you report to the Magical Law Enforcement in the morning, you can assist our main squad. They should be able to keep you out of serious trouble. But Mr Potter, I'm expecting results."

Oh he was back to Potter now.

Harry's smile was eager and he nodded and thanked the minister with the blank deference and yes sirs no sirs of a 7th year avoiding detention for a late assignment.

He felt unbearably old as he walked back through the empty atrium, past the lists of the fallen, his echoing footsteps the only sound. He held the brief case Molly had bought him in one hand, and threw powder into the lone remaining gate, before tiredly stepping into the flames.

The unpleasant spinning of the floo still unsettled him. He stole in through the dark kitchen, extinguishing the green fire behind him with a tired wave of his wand before climbing the 60's platform stairs of Andromeda Tonks apartment. Teddy slept softly, his room a wash of slowly spinning light, the floating orbit of stars and planets drifting over his cot. He didn't stir as Harry sat on the single bed Andromeda had made up for his visits as Godfather.

There was a guilt as he wondered what Andromeda's reaction to the law had been. The prophet had been silent but the ministry all day had been a wash of chaos.

Harry watched as teddy smiled slowly in his sleep. No doubt passing wind, or maybe dreaming. Of Pudding probably, and as Harry fell exhausted into bed, it was to thoughts of Teddy one day setting off to Hogwarts, ready to venture into the magical world, and harry knew that Remus, Sirius and Dumbledore smiled somewhere, as the night closed in and Harry joined Teddy in the foggy drifts of sleep.

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George traced the mesh speaker of the magical radio and watched the patterns trailing through the dust. He'd opened the boxes of old potterwatch equipment and it seemed as though a lifetime had passed since the day he and Fred had hastily waved them away into their magical packings, before rushing off without a backwards glance, to Hogwarts; to the battle, and the end of it all.

He'd only opened the lot after a stiff few drinks, and as he watched the whirl of pamphlets printing themselves in the light of the kitchen, filling the apartment with the steady thrum of magic, he knew that only the manic energy of the room, in the faux-celebration of it all, held the ghosts and memories at bay. Should he stop, they would settle, and so it was that George pressed on, until the moon sunk, smirking at the lone twin's antics, washing the room and coloured pamphlets in a pink glow as dust finally settled within the tired London flat.

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She was squirming on the floor of Malfoy Manor as the mad bitch Belatrix cackled above her

"Ooooh, she's a fighter this mudblood!"

"Careful now love, be good for me, or I'll turn you over to this lot here. Fancy the Gryffindor princess Hermione Granger wandering into a pack of snatchers. They've grown tired of Miss Lovegood's charms."

In the haze of a dream she became aware suddenly of the small brittle form of Luna beside her, writhing under the other Death eaters crucios. The girls' screams rung in her ears as she started awake, before she promptly realised they were her own cries. Dennis stirred on Harry's old bunk, and Luna's voice called her name from outside the tent

"Hermione?"

The query was a jangle that seemed to echo from the midst of her dream, and the dark tent loomed over her. Dennis returned to a deep sleep once more, but the sight of the sleeping boy didn't stop Hermione's hand from creeping to her wand. She padded, barefoot across the calico covered floor boards and she pulled aside the tents flap with her wand in duelling position.

Wars over Granger. You're worse than Mad-Eye.

The snide thoughts and press of fear were swallowed as Hermione took in the room beyond, Luna lay half asleep, her hand drifting blindly to her wand. Somehow, despite the dark and empty state of the room just hours before, Luna slept in a large brass bed. The window shone through the streetlights dim glow and a drifting lace curtain caught the lights of traffic below. Pillows and a duvet littered the once flimsy camp bed, and a bedside table squashed impossibly into what Hermione knew logically, should be the neighbouring building.

"Nightmare?"

Luna's query was delivered with a yawn.

"Yeah."

Hermione saw the relief and acknowledgement wash across the girl's drowsy half-stirred face. Any further words she should have offered clung to the lump in her throat.

The girl had soaked the space with magic. The room transformed, clothes rails and mirrors lining the newly formed 'hall', expanded around the placement of the tent, and the light of the street beyond bounced across the brass rails, shinning off the mirrors to the newly white and even walls. It was a gesture of support and love and Hermione recognised, immediately the enormity of the magic. She wondered, though, if Luna realised what she was weaving herself into.

Creeping across the floorboards, Hermione climbed onto the bed, filling the space behind Luna's legs as the girl closed her eyes once more. Resting her head against the cool glass of the window, Hermione let out a shaky smile as she eyed her quill and blank notepad, lined on the window sill, as though a gift from the girl who, as usual, saw more than Hermione realised.

Luna was an amazing witch, and Hermione picked up the offering as the dim light bounced through the window over the awning. It was not over and Hermione began what she did best.

Luna – p/bl register w/ Fr. Ministry – working visa, contacts at _-

Dennis – days later, monitor difference in application acceptance

Me? Failed attempt; fugitive from law. How to ensure? Harry?

M.M, Del + Fluer?

Bring forward launch date: P.S. Q, Proph, ?

By the time Hermione looked up from her cramped handwriting, she noticed a visitor sat on the awning below. Through the shadow, streaks of black and white fur betrayed the presence of the street's resident stray. His curiosity towards the open window was only partly masked by his disgruntled expression as he noticed Hermione's gaze, and he? She? Began cleaning- ah, himself, with careless deliberate strokes. Hermione cast a rather paranoid revealment charm, the blue light washing harmlessly over the coat of the suddenly alert cat.

She started as the feline bounded imperiously up to the window, streaking in with a determined grace, a sort of appraisal emanating as he sniffed and explored the room beyond.

He was a cat.

She returned to her notes, and when dawn crept into the city below and the sounds of morning greeted Dennis' emergence from the tent, it accompanied the sight of the two girls sharing a newly brass bed, a ball of black and white fur nestled between them, and a note book rested across Hermione's slowly rising chest, quill still by her hand.

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