Well, it seems AO3 has a tummy-ache, so you guys are getting this one a bit earlier than them. Hopefully you all enjoy it.

Chapter Two: Entwined

Tutoring Harry Potter was an odd experience; in all her imaginings of being made to help an athlete raise his grades, Hermione had naturally defaulted to the portrayals often shown on the telly, of a musclebound lunkhead wondering why he would ever need such assistance because his future was obviously one of sports and fame and fortune. Inevitably, he came around to the "nerd's" point of view, and often she ended up falling for him after some montage of her getting a new wardrobe or a new haircut or finally discovering makeup and being revealed to have been beautiful the whole time. The whole thing reeked of misogyny and some mixed message that good-looking people could be smart but smart people also had to be good-looking to be of value.

In any case, the real deal was quite far removed from what the movies would have had Hermione believe. Harry Potter didn't scoff or sneer or wonder when he was going to be using the knowledge imparted in the "real world". He seemed in fact a bit frustrated at his lack of understanding, a small frown on his face as he studied the page before him.

"I was already rubbish at maths in primary school," he grumbled. "Now we're mixing it into magic."

"Maths is easy," Hermione insisted. "It doesn't change, it's always true."

"That's true, but they just keep adding things on," Harry said, glancing up at her. "They trick you with addition, addition is easy. Then it's subtraction, we're just going the other direction. Next thing you know, bam, times-tables."

"And then long-division?" Hermione said with a smile.

"Oh, don't get me started on long-division," Harry said. "Uncle Sirius took one look at my long-division work one day and asked if it was some kind of rune array."

Hermione giggled, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair away from her face. "Oh—you went to a muggle primary school? I don't know why that only just registered with me."

"I did," Harry said. "Mum's a muggle-born. When Dad died, she rather grew jaded with the magical world and took a bit of a break from it. I wouldn't say I grew up completely ignorant of it all, but I have a foot in both sides, I'd say."

"I—didn't know that about your dad," Hermione said, chewing nervously on her lip. Harry waved off any apology that might have been given, offering only a small shrug.

"It was years ago," he said. "I was only a year or so old. That…sort of thing happened a lot during the war."

"It was so shocking to hear that there had been a war," Hermione said. "And not terribly long ago, either. I suppose it's at least comforting that the good guys won?"

"Sort of," Harry said. "Mum says that for all that Voldemort was killed, he wasn't totally defeated. Lots of his followers managed to bribe their way out of trouble, and now they live lavish lifestyles, throwing money at the government to get their backward policies put in place. Like your centaur acreage."

"Your Mum sounds like a smart woman," Hermione pointed out, and Harry grinned.

"Yeah, she is," he said fondly. "And then she has a son who can't even manage more than a passing grade at Arithmancy."

"Hey," Hermione said in a gently chiding tone, "I bet she's proud of you, whatever you do. Believe it or not, and you mustn't ever tell anyone I said this, there's more to life than getting good grades."

"…Are you feeling alright?" Harry asked with a roguish grin, and she snickered.

"Oh, shut up," she huffed in playful tones, glancing down at his paper. Reaching across the table, she tapped at one of his answers. "Pi to the seventh digit, not the fifth."

"Right, right," Harry said, scribbling in a couple more numbers. "Seven's the magic number, innit?"

"Literally so," Hermione said. "So, have you talked to Cho recently?"

"…A bit," Harry sighed. "Angelina Johnson, that's the – "

"Gryffindor quidditch captain," Hermione said. "I know."

"Right," Harry chuckled. "She's been having the team practice, and she's even been testing out keepers, just sort of a soft tryout for next year. Why should everything stop just for some tournament, right?"

"Exactly," Hermione said.

"Well, we've run across Cho a couple of times, and I've said hello, made a bit of small talk here and there," Harry muttered, seeming a bit glum about his limited success. Hermione shot him a small smile.

"It's progress, isn't it?" she pointed out.

Of course, she knew for a fact that Cho was under the (admittedly quite correct) impression that Hermione had feelings for Harry and was thus not likely to "steal" him away. And that wasn't to even mention the fact that things with Cedric were heating up into full-on flirting as of late. But if Harry knew either of these things, well…it would break his poor heart—but more importantly, he might decide that future study sessions were a pointless endeavor. And Hermione enjoyed spending time with him too much to risk such a thing.

It was selfish, but there it was.

"So, any promising new talent for the keeper position?" Hermione asked him, hoping to distract him from his moping. It worked, and Harry gave a thoughtful hum.

"There are two frontrunners at the moment," he said. "There's a fifth-year boy, Cormac McLaggen. Pretty-boy, kind of a ponce, but he plays well enough. Thankfully, I don't have to deal with him much, but he's a backseat captain."

"Trying to run the team and impress everyone?" Hermione guessed, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Angelina's about had it with him and told him if he tries to tell Fred and George Weasley how to hit a bludger again, she'll let them practice on his head," he said.

"I've always had a lot of respect for Angelina," Hermione said with a nod. "Who's the other frontrunner?"

"Fred and George's little brother, Ron," Harry said. "He's in my year. Decent bloke, bit of a confidence issue. Once he can get over his performance anxiety, I think he could be pretty solid. And he'd mesh with everyone better than McLaggen."

"Sounds like you're ready to go up against Angelina for captaincy," Hermione said. Harry let a small noise of amusement, shaking his head.

"I'm not the leadership sort," he insisted. "I don't care for attention."

"That's obvious," Hermione said in a mutter. "You're an enigma even to your own house."

"I rather prefer it that way, I suppose," Harry said. "When I got on the train to go to Hogwarts, when I got sorted into Gryffindor, no one really paid me much mind. They all sort of paired off, I suppose. Dean and Seamus, Neville and Ron. No one really cared who I was until I became the youngest seeker and their little quidditch darling."

"And now that they do, it's hard to be sure if they're hangers-on or actually looking to be friends," Hermione conclude, and Harry nodded.

"Basically," he said.

"That sounds rather lonely," Hermione said with a small frown.

"I suppose at least I have a friend now," Harry said. He flashed a small smile at her, one that was different from his usual half-smirk. This was a thoughtful little grin, one that did unfair things to Hermione's poor heart to see. "Unless you're just a hanger-on as well."

"Oh, hardly," Hermione said. "I have my own quidditch star to bask in. I'm just here to make sure your Mum doesn't disown you for bad Arithmancy grades."

"She'll probably send you a Christmas card," Harry told her.

000

November trudged onward, and with the Triwizard Tournament in full swing, the castle grew a bit crowded as members of the Beauxbatons and Durmstrang contingent frequented the corridors and even sat in for the occasional lecture. Hermione actually enjoyed quite a spirited chat with a Beauxbatons boy in her Ancient Runes class, and she even impressed him a bit with her conversational French.

She was far from bilingual, but it had made last summer's holiday enjoyable.

An unfortunate side-effect of this mingling of the cultures, however, was a decided dip in the quality of her favored study environment.

Viktor Krum, it seemed, was a bit of a bibliophile. At the very least, he seemed to have a certain appreciation for the library itself; Hermione saw him lingering about in the shelves nearly every day, picking idly at books and scanning spines but never seeming to settle on a title. She supposed he could have been extremely picky—and that was his prerogative. But his constant presence invited the equally constant presence of his disruptive group of fangirls. Chittering and giggling and otherwise behaving like a bunch of imbeciles, they lurked always a row or two away, watching Krum and whispering amongst themselves the same litany of comments about his hair or his eyes or whatever other physical trait they'd chosen to obsess over.

He wasn't even all that good -looking, really. It was obviously his fame they were attracted to, the allure of celebrity. A star quidditch player and a Triwizard champion? What groupie could resist?

Hermione rather thought they were a bit pathetic, and now they were ruining valuable study time for those that needed it. Finally unable to stand another breathy giggle as Viktor Krum emerged from a row of shelves and sent his followers quietly scurrying away so as not to get "caught", Hermione shut her book with a bit more force than was necessary and packed it away in her bag. Standing, she marched for the door, figuring she might as well see if her new second favorite study spot was available.

Minutes later, she was descending the spiral staircase to the second floor, her feet seemingly of their own accord finding their way to the sofa she had shared with Harry only days before. It was next to a window that afforded a nice view of the Black Lake as it shimmered in the midday sun, and though there was a low burble of conversation and such happening around her, it was nonetheless somehow quieter than the interrupted stillness of the library.

If the trend continued, this little lounge would actually usurp the top spot on her list of favorite study haunts. Granted, she would still have to venture in to retrieve the occasional book, but it wasn't as though Krum was following her around, leading his posse in his wake like some lurking obstruction to her peace.

That would simply be mad.

As the sun sank lower toward the peaks in the distance, the lamps and torches along the corridors sprang up, and Hermione found herself depending on firelight more than the shrinking dusky glow outside. It was warm, cozy as only Hogwarts was able to be in the right conditions, and Hermione felt her eyelids becoming quite heavy as she turned a page in her book.

And one heavy blink later, it was quite a bit darker than it had been, with shafts of moonlight now spilling white light over the chairs and the dying coals of the lounge's fireplace.

Rousing her stiff and aching muscles, she chided herself as she realized what had happened; she'd fallen asleep! Curse the lounge's comfy couches. At least the ergonomically-designed chairs in the library were unforgiving enough to dissuade a nap except under extreme circumstances (and Hermione would know).

"Bugger," she muttered to herself. Packing her book into her bag, she stood to check her watch and gave a choke at what she saw. It was past ten! "Oh—bugger!"

"Now that's hardly polite language," a voice spoke nearby, one quite familiar and not at all expected. Glancing about, Hermione saw that she was alone. A ghost? One good at imitation?

"Harry?" she said softly, muffling a yelp behind her hand when the boy in question's head seemed to appear from nowhere, wearing a grin. "H-Harry! You – "

"Who's there?" a man called, and Hermione recognized the voice of the new caretaker, Quentin Kowalski. Kindly but unforgiving of any flouting of the rules, he was said to be a marked upgrade from Argus Filch, whose sacking had been cause for celebration among the many students terrified of his menacing demeanor and vocal preference of Hogwarts's outdated and medieval punishment methods.

Hermione had never in her four-and-some-change years of education given Quentin Kowalski reason to so much as shoot a suspicious glance her way. In fact, they had had a couple of friendly discussions over some of the more obscure cleaning charms that existed. To be discovered out so blatantly past curfew would not look good for her. A prefect caught out after hours and not on patrol—oh, she was a prefect! This was not a good look for her!

"Oh—I'm so stupid!" she hissed at herself, and Harry's floating head snickered at her.

"Stay calm and stay quiet," he said, and his body appeared beneath his neck as he unfurled a long a flowing cloak made up a silvery material. "And…pardon my forwardness."

With that, he slunk right up next to her and threw the cloak around the pair of them, pressing himself against Hermione. Immediately, she felt her face heat up as he engulfed her in his presence, the warmth of his body, the rise and fall of his chest and his breath puffing against her hair. The air under the cloak was a bit humid and smelled strongly of laundry soap and deodorant mixed with some third unnamable scent that she knew she would come to associate with him and only him.

It was just as well that she needed to keep quiet; she doubted she would be able to say anything if pressed.

Footsteps drew closer, and the caretaker himself strode into view, his lit wand held aloft before him. Scanning the lounge, his gaze passed right over the pair, and a glance downward showed Hermione that they weren't even casting a shadow, the light passing right through them as though they weren't at all there.

An invisibility cloak…

"Stay quiet," Harry breathed into her ear, each puff sending a jolt of shivers up her spine. Was he doing this on purpose!? Struggling as she was to steady her breathing and bring her hammering heart under control, the last thing she needed was this accursed boy making her hyperventilate.

Kowalski meandered over to the lounge area, and Harry steered them away with quiet footsteps. At the caretaker's heels was a small dog with a long body and stubby legs; a dachshund named Sir Sniffs. As the canine began to snuffle around the floor near the couch Hermione had just been occupying, Kowalski placed a hand on the cushion.

"Still warm," he muttered, and Hermione's heart leapt to her throat. "Sir Sniffs, got a scent?"

"Absconde odos," Harry whispered out softly.

Abruptly, that wonderful aroma left the confines of the cloak, leaving the air curiously clean of any noticeable scent. Unable to fight a frown, Hermione nonetheless watched with relief as Sir Sniffs pawed in a circle before letting a plaintive whine.

"Aw, that's alright, boy," Kowalski said. "C'mon, we might be able to catch 'em before they make it back to their common room. I reckon we've a one-in-four chance, don't we?"

Sir Sniffs let a happy yip, and the pair took off. It was only once the caretaker's puffing breath and the excited skitter of paws faded that Harry relaxed.

"Right," he said. "You okay?"

"Yes," Hermione said softly. "Um…thank you. What…what are you doing out here?"

"I was on my way down to the kitchens to nick something to snack on," Harry shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"Harry, you shouldn't steal from the kitchens," Hermione huffed, aware of the rumble she could hear with his every word, pressed as she was against his chest. It was immensely distracting, making it quite difficult for her to muster up the will to be cross with him for flouting the rules.

She was a prefect! Not that she was acting at all like one right now.

"Well, it's not even really stealing, I'd say," Harry said. "Soon as you get into the kitchens, the elves can't wait to give the food away. I think the only reason they have the entrance hidden is so they don't empty the…whole…larder… What?"

Hermione knew she was most likely giving the boy quite a frown. "Elves? House-elves?"

"…Oh! Um, right, well… Yes, Hogwarts has a lot of house-elves," Harry said. "But they're treated humanely and all that. It's not like they get beaten or anything."

"Could I come with you down to the kitchens?" Hermione asked him after a brief pause, trying to sound innocently interested. Harry, it seemed, saw right through the ruse.

"So you can try to organize some sort of revolution?" he asked her. "I'll take you down there if you promise to go in with an open mind."

"You can't honestly support the indentured servitude of an entire race, can you?" Hermione pressed, and Harry rolled his eyes.

"I'm not saying that the whole system couldn't use some fairly big changes," he said. "Believe me, Mum's talked my ear off about all that's wrong with the Wizarding World."

Hermione was really beginning to like Mrs. Potter, and she hadn't even met the woman.

"But the way to do that isn't to start an uprising in the Hogwarts kitchens," Harry went on. "D'you know much about house-elves?"

"I—I've read about them," Hermione said. "And how they've been enslaved for as long as wizard society has been – "

"Have you actually spoken to any of them?" Harry asked. "You can read all you want, but if you want to make a difference in the lot of a people, you should probably get to know them, yeah?"

"…That's rather a good point, I suppose," Hermione admitted.

…

Under the cover of an invisibility cloak (which Hermione intended to ask the boy about later on—they were exceedingly rare, after all), the two crept down to the basements, near the point where Hermione had heard the Hufflepuff common room was located. Pausing next to a large and very detailed depiction of a bowl of fruit, Harry withdrew an old and yellowed piece of parchment from his pocket, taking a peek at it before stuffing it back and then whipping the cloak off.

"No one's around on this floor," he said. "Alright, watch carefully."

Reaching out, he extended a finger toward the pear featured prominently in the bowl and gently tickled it. The fruit gave a chittering giggle before wiggling and then popping free of the portrait. Hermione watched in awe as he now twisted the pear, a loud and solid click sounding before the portrait swung outward. Taking a few steps back to open the massive door provided by the portrait, Harry sprung into a bow and gestured inward.

"After you, milady," he said in courtly tones, and Hermione snickered at his antics. Stepping past him, she climbed the small lip at the bottom of the portrait hole, passing through a short corridor and into a bright and high-ceiling roomed that looked nearly identical to the Great Hall. In fact, there were even four long tables running the length of the place, exactly where the house tables would have been in the Great Hall. In another room off to the side, a ruckus could be heard, a din of squeaky and chittering voices.

"Are we…right below – "

"The Great Hall, yeah," Harry said. "The elves whip up the food, serve it, and then it's banished up to the Great Hall at mealtimes."

"I've always wondered how the food works," Hermione said in awed tones. "It's not in Hogwarts, A History, likely to deter anyone from searching for the kitchens."

"Sounds about right," Harry said. "Anyone who actually knows about the kitchens comes down here a lot. Like I said, they can't wait to give it away."

"Where are they all?" Hermione asked, and Harry checked his watch.

"This time of night, the elderly and the women are in their little barrel village, tending to themselves," Harry said. "The menfolk usually handle the last round of dishes and chat."

"What's a barrel village?" Hermione asked, and Harry motioned her forward.

"You should have a tour sometime," he said. "They love showing it to students."

Hermione minced forward with small steps, and Harry chuckled, passing her to lead the way.

"C'mon," he said. "A minute ago, you couldn't wait to lead a revolution."

"Yes, but I'm supposed to be keeping an open mind," Hermione muttered. "I just don't want to walk back there and see them in chains and covered in soot."

"Are you mad?" Harry said with a chuckle. "Just meet them. Talk to them."

Through a large archway, Harry led her into another chamber which was dominated by a large washbasin which looked more like a swimming pool. Currently, a massive mountain of suds threatened to spill forth, barely contained by the massive stone bowl. In the midst of the bubbly mound, a scrum had formed, a mingling of dozens of brass pots and pans and a small army of diminutive elves. Occasionally, a sparkling clean saucepan or soup pot would shoot forth, only to be caught by another floppy-eared elf and given a stern drying before being tossed into a dizzyingly-high rack of them.

"Oh my goodness," Hermione breathed, unable to deny a not-inconsiderable bit of admiration at their efficiency.

"Aw, sometimes they sing a song," Harry said, sounding disappointed. "It's earsplitting, but you have to love their enthusiasm."

Hermione let a soft giggle, watching the elves work with happy smiles and joyous chatter. Part of her mind screamed at her that they had most certainly been brainwashed and conditioned into their servitude, but four years in Ravenclaw had hammered home that sometimes one needed to dig deeper before reaching a conclusion. A life among scholars had left her willing to at least try to broaden her outlook.

Maybe it would behoove her to take Harry's advice and learn a bit about the elves right from the source.

"Mister Harry Potter is here!" a screeching voice shouted from amidst the bubbles. "Harry Potter!"

"Hey, Dobby!" Harry said with that wide grin on his face that made Hermione's heart flutter quite madly. "Alright, mate?"

"Dobby is doing very alright, Harry Potter, sir!" the house-elf called Dobby said, leaping from the foamy mountain and landing in a skid before sprinting up to Harry. Skipping happily around him while leaving a trail of wet suds on the floor, Dobby the house-elf fixed a pair of watery tennis-ball-sized eyes on the boy. "But Harry Potter is out so very late! You isn't supposed to be skipping your much-needed rest!"

"I can sleep in tomorrow, Dobby," Harry insisted.

"We have classes tomorrow," Hermione reminded him.

"I have History of Magic first thing," Harry told her with a wave of his hand. "Good napping in that class."

"Harry!"

"So, Dobby, how've you been?" Harry asked the elf. "Talked any of the others into joining you in freedom?"

"Not yet, Harry Potter sir," Dobby said. "The other elves, they is all thinking Dobby is mad, but Dobby enjoys his freedom!"

"That's the important bit, though, isn't it?" Harry said. "One person's happiness isn't someone else's, yeah?"

"That is very true, Harry Potter," Dobby said. "Harry Potter sir is so wise!"

"Nah, I just have a smart mum," Harry told him, glancing at Hermione. "Oh—Hermione, this is Dobby. Dobby, Hermione Granger."

"Good evening, Miss Granger!" Dobby said, hurrying over to Hermione and holding out a tiny, knobby hand. Hermione grasped it and found her entire arm being shaken by the elf's strong grip. "Dobby is so pleased to meet friends of Harry Potter's!"

"Um…lovely to meet you as well, Dobby," Hermione told the elf. She found herself unable to fight a smile at his infectious cheer. Upon closer inspection, she realized that the elf was wearing children's soccer shorts and a souvenir shirt from Big Ben. His feet bore mismatched socks, one a plain black Hogwarts uniform sock and the other a garish purple with yellow polka-dots. The only way to free a house-elf was for the owner to provide it with clothes; she knew that much. How had Dobby come to be free, she wondered? He seemed quite pleased with the arrangement.

"Dobby was recently freed by Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, answering her unspoken question. "From what I hear, Neville…convinced Lucius to do it by sticking an old gross sock into his hands. Lucius was so moved by the gift, he gave it to Dobby."

"And now Dobby is a free elf!" Dobby said happily, to disgusted looks from the surrounding elves. "Dobby is working for Professor Dumbledore and receiving pay every week!"

"That's wonderful, Dobby," Hermione said, unable not to share in the elf's enthusiasm. "Are there many other elves that want to be free?"

"There isn't being many, Miss," Dobby said. "Most elves is happy to serve, but Dobby is happy to be paid!"

"It's just nice to have your work recognized, innit, Dobby?" Harry asked, and Dobby nodded vigorously, sending his batlike ears flapping with the motion.

"Dobby works hard, Harry Potter, sir!" he said. "When he cooks and cleans and takes care of the work that is needing doing, Dobby likes to be having his work noticed!"

"I don't imagine Lucius Malfoy was the sort to give Dobby a pat on the head and tell him 'good job' after a day's work," Harry said to Hermione. "So Dobby decided there'd be no more of that and…rather engineered an opportunity for his own freedom."

"That's very clever, Dobby," Hermione told him. "You're quite a smart elf."

"Thank you, Miss Granger!" Dobby said, his ears drooping bashfully as his face went red.

"Oh, Dobby," Harry said. "Couldn't get us some biscuits, could you? Maybe a bit of meat pie?"

"Of course, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby said, springing into a little hop as he scampered away. "Dobby will return in a moment!"

"So there are elves that enjoy their freedom," Hermione said, folding her arms and peering over at Harry, who snickered at the triumphant look on her face.

"There's one," he said. "And he's considered an eccentric weirdo."

"And what's wrong with eccentric weirdos?" Hermione asked him with what had to be a positively impish smile.

"Oh, nothing at all," Harry said. "Eccentric weirdos are perfectly capable of being functioning members of society."

Giggling at him, Hermione peered out over the sea of elves before them, most of whom had returned to their dishwashing antics while others had prepared hot cocoa entirely unprompted and now served the pair two mugs piled high with whipped cream. Hermione took a sip to find it perfectly piping hot and quite tasty.

"It's amazing, you lot," Harry told them. "Well done."

The response was a chorus of delighted squeaks, accompanied by much bowing and promises of plenty more any time "Young Mister Harry" cared for it.

"You've really made a name for yourself, haven't you?" Hermione asked him, and Harry shrugged, taking another sip of his drink.

"Most that come down here, they're pureblood students, told how to get in by their parents or a brother or sister," he said. "They come in, and it's all demands and not a single 'please' or a 'thank-you' or anything. You come in, you act polite, tell them thanks and what a great job they're doing, they go into orbit."

"It's rather sad, isn't it?" Hermione frowned. "There's more to life than servitude, isn't there?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Harry shrugged. "I think if something makes you happy, you should do it, right? And house-elves are happiest serving others, helping them live a better and happier life."

"But they get abused and taken advantage of," Hermione insisted. "They're treated so terribly by most of the families they serve."

"There does need to be something done there, sure," Harry agreed. "But the answer isn't to free every house elf there is and uproot their entire way of life. Just because I get a few bludgers chucked my way doesn't mean I should stop playing quidditch, right?"

"I suppose not," Hermione admitted. "Perhaps I should…reconsider my approach."

"Still, noble thing to do—wanting to make sure they're treated right," Harry said. "You need a little societal outrage once in a while, Uncle Sirius always says."

Dobby returned not too long after that, bearing the promised biscuits and meat pies before ushering them out the door.

"Mister Harry Potter is needing his rest!" he chided the boy. "Off to bed with you!"

"Goodnight, Dobby," Harry said with a backward wave, emerging from the kitchens and withdrawing that same yellowed piece of parchment once more. Scanning it, he gave a satisfied nod and gestured back the way they'd come. "We can go that way. Kowalksi's up in the trophy room. Looks like Peeves is causing him havoc."

"How do you – "

"Present from Uncle Sirius," Harry told her. "A legacy from Dad."

"Is your uncle Sirius Black?" Hermione asked. "The chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors?"

"Well, he wants to make sure his godson's education is nothing but top notch," Harry said, grinning fondly. "He's not technically my uncle, just Dad's old friend from Hogwarts. Him and Uncle Remus are always coming by the house. Uncle Remus practically lives with us most of the time."

"At least they're all still close," Hermione said. "It must make things…a bit easier for your mum."

"Sirius really stepped up when…it happened," Harry said. "Mum says he held them all together, kept everyone from sinking down too far. Even now, he's got a daughter of his own, but he always has time for me, it seems like."

"That's wonderful," Hermione said, feeling a strange melancholy at the smile on his face. Growing up, hers had always been the fairly standard life of a girl with two successful and stable parents. There had never been anything between Mum and Dad except matrimonial bliss, punctuated by the occasional muttered disagreement that had nonetheless been resolved with minimal fuss. To imagine growing up without one of them—not even by way of divorce but because they had…died—it hurt to even imagine. Knowing Harry had come out of it relatively well-adjusted if a bit of a loner…she could scarcely fathom the strength he had to possess.

And now she was falling for him even more, which was lovely.

"So, you're muggle-born?" Harry asked after they'd walked in silence for a long but comfortable moment. Around them, the castle was quiet and peaceful. Hermione had done a few night patrols in her short time as a prefect, and she had decided after the first one that Hogwarts at night was almost ethereal, peaceful in a way nowhere else seemed able to be. She loved the way the portraits all settled down for a nighttime slumber, the quiet stillness of the normally rather animated suits of armor, the lack of the distant echo of chatter and activity. It was as though the castle itself was settling in for another long night's rest.

"Yes," she finally said. "I had a fairly standard childhood experience. Mum and Dad are dentists, so we're well-off, I suppose."

"Ew, dentists," Harry chuckled. "I feel like if there's a profession that's the most muggle, it's a dentist."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, though her sharp tone was likely belied by the smile she wore at the sound of his little laugh.

"It's just…one of the most unpleasant things I think there is about being a muggle," Harry said. "Having to sit back in that chair, get your teeth poked and prodded and listen to them guilt you over how you haven't been brushing or flossing enough. And then they have your mouth wide open, and they start asking you questions, like 'So, how's your mum doing?', and you have to respond 'ith 'ur 'outh o'en an' uh shund 'ike 'is." He spoke the last bit with his mouth wide open at the ceiling, as though he himself were in a dentist chair, and Hermione couldn't help but snort out a laugh at his antics.

"That's what they sound like!" she giggled, covering her mouth as she felt her lips stretch in a toothy smile. "I've never understood how Mum and Dad can actually figure out what they're saying, but somehow they can."

"…Why do you always cover your mouth when you smile?" he asked after a moment, peering down at her curiously. Blushing, Hermione gave a small shrug.

"It's…just a habit, I suppose," she said. "In primary school…I would get teased about my teeth a lot. I used to have rather large front teeth. They would call me beaver-face or chipmunk girl or…other creative little names."

"Children are vicious," Harry said. "Your teeth aren't even big or anything."

"Well…I shrank them," Hermione admitted. "Earlier this summer, actually, when I was over at Cho's visiting. I used a shrinking charm on them. It was actually rather foolish and could have backfired horribly, but it worked, and…now they're rather more normal-sized."

"I used to wear glasses," Harry said after a moment. "They kept falling off my face during quidditch, and I would lose them or break them or something, and it was just so annoying since I'm half-blind without them. Two summers ago, we went on vacation to America, and I got a procedure done by a magical optometrist. Like contacts but permanent. Now I don't need glasses anymore."

"I feel there's no reason not to make a little improvement if you feel like you want to," Hermione said. "It's not like I went out and got drastic cosmetic surgery or anything. I just shrank my teeth a little."

"I've been thinking about a nose job, actually," Harry said with a nod. "Little nip and tuck, you know. Maybe take some off and put it in my chin so it looks more manly."

"Harryyy," Hermione dragged his name out, giving him a little shove. "You're handsome enough as it is."

"Oh, you think so?" Harry asked, winking at her. "Well, I've always figured myself fairly confident, but it's nice to hear from someone besides my mum."

Rolling her eyes (and feeling a small bit of a hammer in her chest at the fact that she had just called her crush handsome right to his face—bold, Granger!), Hermione peered up at his profile. As she watched, he shot a quick look to that parchment once more, his eyes going wide before he whipped out his invisibility cloak and flung it over the pair of them. Hermione was just about to ask what was happening when she was shocked into silence by him pulling her quite close, most likely to ensure proper coverage with the cloak.

Of course, as an added side-effect, her mind went rather alarmingly blank.

"W…wha – "

"Sh," Harry breathed in her ear, which only served to send her further down a spiral of tingling thoughts and that wonderful scent of his. Whatever spell he'd used before to throw off Sir Sniffs, it had apparently worn off, and that undeniable Harry scent hit her like a hammer all over again. "Someone's coming."

"Who?" Hermione asked softly.

"No idea," Harry told her. "I just saw that it was someone and hid."

"Oh, if I get caught, I'll lose my prefect badge," Hermione quietly fretted.

"Relax," Harry insisted. "We won't get caught, and if we do, I'll tell them I pressured you into sneaking out or something. Wouldn't be the first time I've been caught out."

"Harry, you don't have to – "

"Sh," Harry hushed her again, and as they stood silent and invisible near the stairs leading up, soft footfalls met their ears. Moments later, a pair of legs came into view, followed by the rest of none other than Neville Longbottom. "What…?"

As they watched, Neville made his way past them, scowling but with his shoulders squared resolutely. He wore a travelling cloak and had a large bag slung over his shoulders, clearly ready for a jaunt of some sort. Pausing near the entrance to the kitchens, the boy took a deep breath before surging forward to tickle the pear and climb into the passage beyond. The portrait swung shut behind them, leaving them in silence.

"What is he doing?" Harry asked softly. "Looks like he's going on a trip."

"You don't think he's running away, do you?" Hermione wondered softly as they made their way up the stairs.

"Can you blame the bloke?" Harry asked with a shrug. "He nearly gets killed by Bellatrix Lestrange last year, and now he's being forced to participate in the Triwizard Tournament under about the dodgiest circumstances ever. I'd leave, too."

"How anyone could think he put his own name in is baffling," Hermione said. "A fourth-year, somehow able to trick the Goblet of Fire into thinking there's an extra school?"

"And it's completely unlike Neville to do something like that," Harry added. "He's the farthest thing from a glory-seeker there is. Apparently he and Ron Weasley have had a falling-out over it. Ron thinks he actually put his name in, and he's mad at him for it."

"He's jealous, then?" Hermione asked.

"That seems to be it," Harry said. "It's a thing with Ron, Fred and George say. He doesn't want to put in the hard work, but he gets jealous when others are better at something than him."

"He sounds extremely petty," Hermione muttered, and Harry snickered.

"Hopefully if he does join the team next year, Fred and George can keep him in line."

They made their way undisturbed up to Ravenclaw Tower, Harry surprising Hermione by not only knowing the path to her common room but the method of entry as well.

"I'd get the door for you," he said once they reached the bronze knocker, "but I'm rubbish at riddles. I need a punchline."

"How did you know – "

"Uncle Sirius," Harry said. "He says he's actually gotten the riddle a couple times, even."

"It's a bit maddening when someone from another house gets in," Hermione huffed. "Mostly because they tend to nick something or vandalize the common room."

"Your method of entry is to prove how much cleverer you are than everyone else," Harry told her. "Comes off as a bit pretentious, you ask me. The wrong person hears that, they have something to prove."

"Marietta says the same thing," Hermione said. "But she's also gotten stuck outside sometimes because she can't solve the riddle."

"What a welcoming atmosphere," Harry said dryly. "I'd love to be part of a house that shames me and doesn't let me get to my bed just because I'm not suited for riddles."

"There have actually been several attempts to change it to a password," Hermione said. "Professor Flitwick says it's more traditional this way."

"Steadfast adherence to tradition getting in the way of progress," Harry said. "Doesn't that sound familiar?"

Rolling her eyes, Hermione slipped free of the cloak, smirking at the seemingly empty spot where he stood invisible. "Goodnight, Harry."

"Pleasant dreams," Harry's voice spoke. "I'll take the stairs nice and loud so you don't think I'm trying to sneak into the common room behind you."

"That's very kind," she giggled, turning to the brass knocker as she heard loud and clunking footsteps behind her. She shook her head at Harry's antics, taking a deep breath as she stood and smoothed her hair from where the cloak had mussed it up a bit. All the while, her head buzzed with thoughts of Harry, of his closeness, of his voice and the way it rumbled in his chest when he spoke, of all of the little tidbits of his life she'd been made privy to this night and how it still wasn't nearly enough.

She wanted to know more about him. Everything.

But first, she needed to scrounge what sleep she could out of the remaining few hours before classes the next day. Reaching up, she rapped once on the bronze knocker, the eagle's head opening its beak to ask her:

"Who counts the time, the sand or the hourglass?"

"The person," Hermione said after a moment's thought. With that, the large wooden door swung inward, and Hermione climbed through, trudging straight through the empty common room up to her dormitory and kicking her shoes off before falling into bed fully clothed.

What a night.

I've tried to scatter in some of the changes made to this timeline. I had a fun thought that Neville is going through his own indy!Neville story in the background while this fairly typical romance unfolds. Also, a bit of very light Ron bashing, but as Harry nor Hermione is all that close to him, that's about as bad as it's going to get. Ginny will most likely not even be mentioned, and she's quite fixated on Neville anyway.

I toyed with the notion of having Sirius and Lily get together, but it felt to me like Lily would focus solely on her children and eschew all romantic notions, while Sirius found love with his old schoolmate, Marlene McKinnon. She survived because reasons.

Reviews and feedback are always appreciated!