D-DAY (Departure Day)

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"Harder. Yes! Just like that."

"Hold still for me, Hermione."

"I'm trying!"

"You've got this. Just keep your hands right where they are."

"Right. Okay."

"Good. Ready?"

"Yes."

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"Are you two done with the foreplay, yet?"

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Hermione glared down inside the gutted Potter Cottage at an unimpressed Neville Longbottom from the top of a ladder.

Harry, crouched with one foot perched on the supporting beam going across the roof and the other on a ridge board they just tacked in place five minutes before, waved with a drill.

Ron Weasley playfully jabbed Neville in the ribs. "I swear, if we hadn't been here all morning, you'd think I'd have to kick Harry's arse."

Neville sipped at his beer and nodded with mock solemnity.

"Hermione's, too, I'd say, but chances are she would just send you to Mungo's instead."

"Hey, no fair! You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am," Neville deadpanned. "Just calling it like I see it, and the way I see it… just let Ginny handle it."

Ron paused, seeming to think things over. "You know—"

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"There is nothing to handle!" Hermione balked. "You both—you see this! Literal reconstruction of Harry's parents' home and you…" She sighed and dragged her gaze back up to find a tall, dark, and smirking prat. "Boys! Why are you all like this?"

"Don't look at me," Harry said lightly. "I didn't do it this time. At least you're done panicking now."

Hermione scowled. "I wonder why I've been stressed?! You're centimeters—centimeters—away from falling and breaking your neck! And you don't seem to care!"

Neville pinched the bridge of his nose. "And she's back."

"At least it's not me she's yelling at for once," Ron muttered. "I almost feel bad for him." In the next breath, he a double-take at the cold bottle in Neville's grasp. "Hey, don't I get one?"

"Just let him do it!" Neville loudly called up, momentarily ignoring the man beside him. "Bloke's got to learn things the hard way! You know that!" Turning to a slack-jawed Ron, he threw in, "Go get your own."

"The injustice," the redhead whined, though he was in far too good of a mood for it to be remotely sincere.

Neville gave his friend a friendly clap on his back and said, "I'm just kidding, mate. Come on. Case is by the front door. We're only here for moral support, anyway."

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Hermione rolled her eyes and refocused on the task of helping rebuild the late Potter's roof. "Just one more screw and I think we're done for the day."

"Oi!" Ron called back. "Save those for my sister!"

Hermione grabbed a rafter hanger out of her pocket and threw it at him. She missed; Ron chuckled. "You could stop being so crass and come help. And you, too, Neville! Honestly!"

Neville casually took another sip of his beer. "I think my feet'll stay on the ground, thanks. Where they belong. You two could join me down here, though. It's quite nice. Solid."

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Harry's earlier smirk grew into a broad smile the second their fellow Gryffindor alumni vanished from sight.

Hermione held out her hand for the drill. "I swear you've been spending too much time with George. Whatever it is you're planning… no."

"What makes you think that—"

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She would probably never know whether it was the evidence of insomnia under liquid emeralds that kept the harshness out of her next vocalized thought. Or if it might have been the smudged dirt over his nose and bearded cheeks.

For all she knew, it could have been something as mundane as visible evidence of choosing manual labor over taking shortcuts with a wand; sweat clung to an old threadbare gray shirt that finally fit.

Still, the combination of all those things paled to the happiness that poured out of him in waves, and in a way that was unfair. Even if the man before her had no way of knowing the lengths she would go just to keep that look there.

"It would be terribly awkward to have to explain why you're late to your own wedding, Harry."

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When Harry reached over and finished securing the last board for the day, he hovered a few seconds longer than normal to whisper, "To be honest, I'd rather just skip the whole thing. Maybe run off and elope. Something quiet. Less fanfare."

Ruffling his damp hair, Hermione let one corner of her mouth pull up fondly. "I understand. Truly, if I thought we could get away with it, I'd have sent you and Ginny off with a portkey weeks ago. Unfortunately, celebrity dictates that our knight in achromatic colors can only have a, and I quote, 'wedding of the century.'"

Harry laid down across the support beam with a groan, letting his arms hang limply. "A knight? Really, Hermione?"

"Well, you did ride on the back of a dragon. Slayed an evil wizard. Won the girl, that sort of thing."

He peeked over at her from under his hair. "You helped with the dragon and with Voldemort. So, what does that make you?"

"Your squire, of course. What respectable knight doesn't need his walking, talking library?"

Harry frowned. "You're more than that and you know it."

Hermione patted his arm sympathetically. "As sweet as the thought is, that doesn't matter to the public." He opened his mouth to argue, only for her to shoot a level look at him. "But, if you truly want an intimate ceremony, I'll see what I can do if, at any point, you and Ginny want to renew your vows. Now, I know that's not really something that's done in wizarding society—"

She was brought short by lightning-fast reflexes that hadn't been on proper display in over two years.

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Overcast skies parted to make way for an uncannily bright sun. He raised Hermione's fingers into the damning light, suspiciously inspecting them, turning her palm.

.

"Your hand's shaking."

A scuff mark on the ladder suddenly warranted her undivided attention. "It does that sometimes."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"Because you're not a Healer, Harry."

"Have you been to see one?" He demanded.

"Yes," she said quietly. "There's not much to be done. The nerve damage is permanent."

His gaze flickered between her palm and the crude 'mudblood' scar on her arm. His mouth dropped open and he quickly moved to sit up. "But—Hermione, I—"

She sadly pulled her hand out of his grasp. "Bellatrix destroyed my arm with that knife. She used the Cruciatus in such a way that it'll never properly heal. That was not your fault."

The tender, mournful way Harry's thumb brushed over Hermione's wrist was enough that her eyes grew misty. She roughly blinked, determined to force it all back. "All that matters is that we did the best we could under the circumstances. We made it out alive. Now will you get off that damn beam? I'm not going to be able to fully calm down until you do."

A crack sounded and Harry reappeared, stretched out on the exposed subfloor, seemingly the picture of innocence. "Better?"

"Much." Starting her descent down the ladder, she added, "Though I do have something important that needs clarification."

"What's that?"

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Leaning over a still-tense Harry, she looked deep into his eyes and said, "Please tell me you've written your vows. Ginny isn't Rita. I can't put her in a jar if she decides to come for our heads."

He blinked owlishly. "Why would she come for you? It would be me she'd be pissed off at."

"Resident nag here, remember? Your soon-to-be wife would see it as being just as much my fault as yours. Now did you write them or not?"

The look on his face was far too innocent when he said, "Well, you see, there was this thing—"

"Harry James!"

His eyes positively sparkled. "Where I did exactly what I was supposed to without being prompted. Breathe. I got it done weeks ago."

Hermione sat down heavily beside him on the dirty subfloor. "Thank gods. For a minute there, I thought we were going to have to rush through some last-minute homework."

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The sun was well on its way to setting in Godric's Hollow when Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Neville sat side-by-side behind James and Lily Potter's cottage, alternating bringing ice cold bottles to their lips.

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"Yep."

"Yep."

"Mmhm."

"Blimey. I think I'm going to be halfway drunk before we get there."

"I'll get you a sobering draught before we leave, Neville."

"Really? Thanks."

"Mmhm."

"Hey guys?"

"Yeah, Harry?"

"What does achromatic mean?"

"Oh, that. It's sort of like… funeral colors. Like what you're wearing."

"Huh."

"Great job, Ron! When did you start learning about color palettes?"

"Always the tone of surprise with you, Hermione. Blame Lav. She's been into colors and paint lately. Real artist, that one."

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Thankfully, when the last rays of sun reached out to comfort their bruised English sky, everything went off without a hitch.

Warm candles hovered in an open field between the Burrow and the Lovegood house. They lit the way for a romantic aisle lined with hundreds of lilies, tulips, and roses of every color imaginable with pure white petals sprinkled in between.

Harry, Ron, Neville, Luna, and a pretty girl who introduced herself as Aquila waited with Percy under an ancient tree with winding branches alight with glowing, playful fairies.

A wedding this beautiful made even someone like Hermione, who had no intention of getting married, feel a little wistful. Sitting in the frow row next to Molly, she only hoped that the groom didn't grow to resent it.

The first notes of Wagner's march echoed in the air.

A tiny fairy bounced off Harry's nose and took off back into the tree. Hermione hid a laugh behind a cough when the formally dressed wizard batted at his nose, quickly rubbed it, and then honest-to-goodness checked to see if anybody saw it.

Though several people (Molly, Percy, Andromeda, and Aquila being a few) shot her curious glances as the crowd moved to stand, it was worth it just to see Harry duck his head to cover up pink flush in his cheeks.

Now in his grandmother's arms, a curious three-year-old Edward Lupin tugged at her sleeve. "Miiinneey?" He 'whispered,' as only a toddler can. Which meant everyone for at least two rows heard him.

Hermione and Andromeda quickly exchanged an agreement with just a look. Taking the toddler and adjusting him on her hip, she answered him in the quietest tone possible just as Ginny started the walk on her father's arm. "Yes, Teddy?"

"Why's Hawwy so red?"

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They both took a moment to examine his godfather.

Dressed in a black suit, frozen on the spot yet bursting with anticipation, onyx hair as tamed as it ever got for him… It was easy to say that the only time Harry had ever looked more handsome was earlier that afternoon.

Still, it wasn't as if she could say that to Teddy.

"I think it's because we're all here watching him marry Aunt Ginny," Hermione whispered conspiratorially.

Blessedly, the kid nodded seriously, as if he really understood. "I don't like people watching me do things, either."

That was the exact moment that the witch in question passed by them, ever the gorgeous bride in white, and the fiery woman of the day shot Teddy a wink.

"Hmm. You might be on to something, Teds."

The kid tried to disappear in Hermione's braided hair, so she passed him back to his grandmother, whose upturned lips were tightly pressed together.

The three women shared an indulgent look of understanding, Molly loudly sniffled, and then, in an act as old as the world, Arthur placed his only daughter's hand in Harry's.

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In the end, the groom was one of very few people in attendance with dry eyes.

With Ron standing as best man, he produced the ring meant for his sister from his pocket with eyes that shone enough for them both. As the maid of honor, Luna contentedly slipped the ring meant for Harry off her pinky finger, and the time came all too quickly for the groom to say, "I do."

Something happened inside Hermione; a sinking, twisting feeling that she didn't remotely understand when Percy declared her best friend and the witch of his dreams bonded for life.

Meanwhile, the crowd cheered. Ginny laughed while Harry ecstatically gave her an extra kiss. Even Percy loudly clapped his congratulations.

Hermione made herself cheer along with everyone else, even while she did her best to blink the foreign emotion away. For a blessedly short moment, she almost wished that Katie and Angelina had missed a spot where George might've hidden something prank-worthy. A distraction, an extra moment to process or to just shove everything down until later would've been wonderful.

Still, as the newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Potter ran back down the aisle together toward the reception tent, the loudest thought in her mind was that Harry looked happy.

As he should be.

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The next thing Hermione knew, she felt three short taps on her shoulder. She turned around to find Ron rocking back and forth on his heels, his wife on his arm. He cocked his head toward the tent and offered his free arm. "You coming or what?"

Hermione took it with the best coy smile she could manage. "And they say chivalry is dead."

Lavender threw back her head and laughed.

.

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Happiness. Joy. Life. Love.

Those were the reasons why Hermione nodded and smiled and made jokes through the numerous speeches and toasts after a simple truth smashed through her like a wrecking ball.

This was it. She was leaving in a matter of a few short hours. This was the last time she'd really be a part of anyone's life here—a part of Harry's. Ron's. Teddy's. Neville's.

Granted, distance was an unfortunate part of growing up. Since Ron married Lavender, the times they saw each other were sporadic at best. Now that Harry was married? Even if she were to stay in England, she'd be lucky to receive an owl once a month. The man did good to remember to charge his phone.

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But she was leaving. She hadn't said a word about it. If she knew him, and she did, he'd be furious about it.

This choice would lead to one of two outcomes: Harry would either hunt her down or see this as abandonment.

She only hoped that he would understand why before he impulsively acted on either thought.

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Over the course of the next hour, even while she made her own toast to the happy couple, Hermione thought that this is what that sick feeling must have been about.

She took time to thank Winky, who catered the evening, and asked her to pass along her gratitude to the other house elves who assisted.

She picked up Teddy and listened to every word he had to say when the traditional garter-removal part of things played out. Ginny's bridesmaid, Aquila, held up a blindfold for Harry and someone called out, "Forget that! Just take his glasses!"

The toddler was midway through his fourth story by the time a round of near-deafening snickers made Hermione look up to find Ginny behind a chair with both hands clasped over her mouth, shoulders shaking, while a blind Harry fumbled with George's stocking-clad leg.

George looked obscenely pleased with himself.

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Hermione twirled Lavender around sometime later and swayed with Ron. She did a funny little dance with Luna with moves that felt more like a child's jig but didn't complain.

And when that dance was done, seeing how Luna's eyes kept darting toward a particular corner, Hermione pulled Neville out of the shadows and playfully shoved him toward the odd but sweet blonde.

She threw back shots with George and Bill while exchanging some light-hearted ribbing. She took the time to catch up with Percy and Penelope.

When Charlie offered her his hand, although she was a little intimidated by the Romanian dragon expert, she accepted.

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Within seconds, she realized it may have been a mistake. The first thing he said after they stepped into a more complex rhythm was, "Când pleci?"

"Pardon?"

"Cacat," he lowly swore. "Apologies. When are you leaving?"

Hermione squared her shoulders. "What did you say? And how do you know?"

His mouth slightly inched up at the corner and raised his burn-scarred cheek. The miniscule gesture softened and erased ten years off his hardened features. "First, language that Mum would have my hide for. And when you put yourself in situations that can kill you every day, you learn how to pay attention."

Her heart stuttered in her chest. "Are you going to tell anyone?"

Charlie lowered Hermione in a dip mid-step. Boldly staring into her eyes, his answer was barely more than a breath. "There's a reason I got the hell out of here. If anything, my advice to you is to not look back."

The knot in her chest loosened and she felt as if a terrible storm had passed. "Thanks, Charlie. My portkey is set for midnight."

He swiftly pulled her back to her feet. "I knew there was a reason you had a reputation for being the smartest femeie in the room."

Hermione rolled her eyes, falling right back in steps that started to feel seamlessly choreographed. "Charming."

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On the other side of the room, Harry laughed at something George said while Ginny unamusedly flicked his forehead. Molly and Arthur danced nearby, swaying in a small circle and lost in a world of their own.

"I try to be. Sometimes," Charlie answered, though it seemed he, too, was taking stock of their surroundings.

Among the massive crowd, Lavender just spun Ron about in a twirl. Neville and Luna were focused only on each other, talking in a corner.

Meanwhile, Teddy was busy dragging his grandmother around by her fingers and excitedly trying to talk to everyone.

"Listen, I know we don't know each other well, but will you do me a favor?"

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Charlie's brows scrunched in confusion.

She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a letter. "Would you send this off with an owl tomorrow morning? It's… for Harry."

"You don't want him to read it until after."

Hermione sharply nodded.

Charlie slipped the note in his pocket so quickly, she was positive that nobody would have seen the exchange.

Her shoulders sagged with relief. "Thank you."

When the last note of the song faded, he simply raised her knuckles to his lips. "Goodbyes are hard, Hermione. Just make sure you don't regret how you went about this one."

"He'll never let me leave otherwise," she tried to say, but the words were choked.

He didn't offer another word on the matter. Charlie Weasley just turned and walked back to his brothers like nothing had been said between them at all.

That didn't mean that the words of Ginny's second-oldest brother hadn't struck a chord.

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A dark, empty corner in the back of the fairy palace-like tent caught her eye. As if summoned, her feet automatically followed a path between dancing and chatting bodies, winding through all the little open spaces until finally, blessedly, she found a stool right next to a half-open flap.

Hermione grabbed a champagne flute off a floating tray as it passed by. And for a while, she allowed herself to just be.

Somewhere along the way, she found a strange comfort in shadows and secluded spaces. Watching Ginevra Potter freely laugh and beam at Bill, her oldest brother, Hermione couldn't help but wonder how the redhead was going to fare in the face of her new husband's nightmares.

Would she eventually grow to have that same appreciation for truths found in the dark? Hermione tipped back her drink. It was no longer any of her business.

She then watched in fascination as her glass refilled itself.

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"Psst!"

She tipped it back again.

"Hermione!"

She was prepared to treat this third refill like a shot until she heard her name again. Hermione blinked a few times, almost dumbly. Her head swiveled to the silhouette beyond the flap.

"Harry?" Hermione leaned a little closer to the opening, attempting to be as quiet as possible. Not that it mattered. She probably could have yelled and still gone unheard. "What are you—are you hiding?"

"Get out here, would you?"

Not wanting to spoil his happiness, she took his hand when he peeked through the flap and sheepishly offered it to her.

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What she stepped out to find caused tears to spring to her eyes for the first time since arriving at the Burrow.

It was a sofa. A two-seater, so more accurately, a love seat, but right outside the very tent where a party was in full swing, was a symbol of their quiet nightly routine.

A thick green quilt was draped over the back of it. She tended to get cold when they regrouped in the sitting room. Hermione's hand covered her mouth to suppress the sobs threatening to drown her. "Harry, when did you do this?"

He shrugged. "I can't take all the credit."

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Harry wordlessly gestured behind him. Hermione's eyes grew to the size of saucers when Luna whimsically stepped out from beside the tent, hands clasped behind her back and her wand stuck behind her ear. "It's okay. I like the quiet, too."

"I can't," she breathed, "I don't know how to properly thank you for this."

Luna's bright blue eyes twinkled knowingly. "It isn't a big deal, but I'm sure you'll think of something." And with that, she wandered away.

"She's better at transfiguration than I am," Harry explained.

But Hermione couldn't stop glancing between the couch and him. "Why would you do this? Not that I'm not gratef—"

The freshly married wizard patted the right sofa cushion. Her side. "It's quiet, Hermione. I think we could both use a little of that."

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Hermione all but scrambled to the oddly comfortable transfigured furniture. From there, she savored every second of just being able to sit with her best friend, bundled up with her head on his shoulder until the clock struck 10:00.

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There was a certain blonde witch she needed to talk to.