Chapter 2
Hogwarts, A Mystery
The tour was not quite what Hermione had expected.
Nor was it quite like anything she had ever seen, and in the past few years she had seen quite a bit. She had been swept up in the frantic evacuation of Hogsmeade, been part of more than a few excursions into Diagon Alley in search for anything worth scrounging, back when blood duels had erupted over little more than chipped foe glasses or a crate of chocolate frogs. She had even led a mission into the glorified crypt that Gringotts had become, and had said her goodbyes at graveyards in Ottery St Catchpole, Tutshill, and even Appleby. She had most recently endured the eerie silence of Hogsmeade as they had skirted around the edge of the town earlier this very afternoon.
But Hogwarts was magic. As if magic had never left, as if nothing had ever happened.
Oh, it wasn't perfect. It had changed. No portraits lined the walls, no jostling nor sound of conversations as paintings moved around the castle and exchanging gossip with one another. Instead, there were little displays of various trinkets – some magical, but many not – arranged into fantastical ornamentation and clustered at the main thoroughfares of the castle, ares that Hermione assumed Harry and his... his friends made daily use of as their living areas. The Grand Staircase, the Charms Hall, the routes that she remembered taking every day to and fro from Gryffindor Tower. Wherever there was an alcove, a landing, or simply too long of an empty stretch on the walls, someone had filled it with something. An arrangement of crystal balls, still glowing with a swirling mist, in the shape of a dragon. A glass garden of gobstones. Even an animated but clearly hand drawn face that looked suspiciously like Harry as she remembered him in second or third year, a lifetime ago.
"The castle is too big for all of us, so it's a bit bare in some places," Harry apologized as their footsteps echoed down the empty hall that Slughorn had used for remedial potions lectures. Harry shrugged, as if having an entire magical castle – the magical castle – all to himself was just one of those funny things that happened in life. They came to a stairwell and Harry led them upward and then down another hall heading southward now, about midway up the castle, and Hermione belatedly recalled while taking in the arched stone causeway with its ribs carved like talons, that it led directly to the owlry.
"Astoria is training to be a healer," Harry was going on, as if talking about an old friend rather than the girl who had spent her time looking at her and Ron as if they were just a big joke. And who may or may not be Harry's lover, her mind added unkindly.
"Well," he laughed. "She's reading up on healing spells and trying to parse it all together through trial and error to be honest. I let her practice on me now and then." He grinned, looking a little sheepish. "I think it came from spending so much time in the hospital wing growing up, she just feels most comfortable there. Still, good to have a hobby and all that, and dead useful if I ever fall from the trap stair again."
The alcove had opened up now, passing the invisible line that kept the elements out; the space between the ribs was open to the sky now, and the air was crisp, the sun falling below the top of the Forbidden Forest; the bite coming from the lake now beginning to overpower the late summer warmth. Hermione shared another look with Ron as they continued now up the stairwell to the owlry door, Harry still making idle chitchat about the Greengrass sisters.
"Daphne, well she's still a bit prickly on the outside but you'll come around to her, I promise. You both share a lot of interests; she loves runes. I reckon you and her would have been best mates if things had been a little different" - that covered a lot of ground for if she hadn't been half in bed with the mini-deatheaters - "You wouldn't believe how many nights I've had to go and drag her out of the library." He chuckled to himself, voice warm. "Just one more chapter," he added falsetto.
Neither she nor Ron had anything to say to that.
"Right then, our next stop!" Harry announced outside the Owlry door, his hands lifting the large iron bar and holstering it upright. "See what you think of the place."
Hermione braced herself as Harry opened the door with a loud creak.
In an instant, the hoots and chirps of dozens of owls – mostly annoyed at being disturbed from the sound of it – greeted them.
"Sorry, ladies and gentlemen," Harry replied to them, sounding more amused than apologetic. He picked up a bucket from beside the door and removed its lid, shoving his hand inside and pulling out little brown lumps that Hermione couldn't make out specifically what they were. "But I come bearing gifts."
"Harry," Ron said slowly, turning around in wonder as he looked around at the room full of owls that were scattered around the space. It could have once held ten times their number without concern for overcrowding, but it still held ten times more owls than Hermione had seen in years. A tiny spotted owl swooped down and pecked around Harry's feet, while a large snowy owl reminiscent of Hedwig let out a loud hoot while alighting on Harry's arm and plucking the lump out of his hand.
"Are these really owls?"
Harry looked at Ron strangely. His mouth quirked. "You got me. No, they're Hippogriffs."
"That's not funny," Hermione snapped. Harry looked at her, slightly alarmed. She paused. "You really don't know?"
"Don't know what?" Harry pressed back, starting to look a bit irritated himself.
She took a deep breath. "There are no owls, anywhere in Britain. Not magic ones. They all just..."
"Became muggle." Ron finished for her. "Lost their magic. Lost their spark. Just became muggle owls."
Hermione hated that expression, but she'd become used to it over the years.
Harry looked at her. She nodded. "A few made it to Wight with the refugees, but one morning they were gone. There, but... gone." She shivered. "We almost fell apart that day, everyone said it would happen to us next. Half wanted to storm across the Channel and the other half thought the either the muggleborns or the Deatheater sympathizers were behind it. Kingsley saved the day."
Kingsley had effectively been appointed Minster for life that day, but that wasn't polite to say out loud.
"Ah. Well." Harry scratched behind his ear, looking a bit bashful. "Sorry. I didn't mean to cause any ill feelings. I just thought – well I like coming up here, kinda feels like old times skiving off up here."
Hermione snorted. "I did not skive!"
Ron chuckled. "No, you were sending off orders to Flourish and Blotts because either Hogwarts didn't carry some obscure 16th century tome or even worse, someone else was borrowing it."
"I really am sorry. I guess I really don't know how bad things have become. But," he continued slowly, "does it make things better a little bit at least, knowing there are still owls here?"
Hermione almost said yes straight away, how could it be anything else? But she bit her tongue. Did it really? To be starving to death in more ways than one on the other end of the country, knowing now that there was a place where everything was better, a place that no longer belonged to them. Unless they could convince Harry otherwise?
But then, did that really matter as far as the owls were concerned?
"Yes, it does," she said at last with punchy certainty. She gave a small nod to reassure herself.
Harry paced back and forth. "I'll show you something else. This – well this one I do know a thing or two about." He gestured toward the door once more, and with a final exchange of treats and goodbyes with the owls, he led them back down the steps out of the owlry and through the flying buttresses back into the castle proper, but this time the trek was not across but up, and he immediately went down a narrow passage, turned right and tapped a tapestry of a dead oak tree on its large center knot. The tapestry rolled itself up, revealing a covered stone passage with steps that curled tightly upwards.
"This way to Ravenclaw Tower," Harry explained as he took the lead once more. "It's something very different now though."
The came to a brass knocker of an eagle's head.
"Hello there, Rupert." Harry addressed the head. "Still knocking about, I see."
"Very droll," the eagle replied with a sigh. Then it perked up. "Time for a riddle today, Headmaster?"
"Oh, I suppose so," Harry replied indulgently. He turned to the other two. "You used to have to answer a riddle to get into the Ravenclaw common room instead of simply remembering a password."
"Wit sharpens wit," the eagle – Rupert – replied with the air of having said so many, many times.
"Students always cheated," it continued with a grumph. "Got my riddle once and then jammed a stopper in my door for hours at a time! Could have been disastrous I tell you, anyone could have gotten in or out."
"Yes, imagine if we Gryffindors had gotten into your common room. We might have rearranged all your books in nonsensical order – the horror!"
The eagle grumphed again.
"I heard you had some new riddles though," Harry went on. "Why don't you try out one of those?"
That cheered the knocker up. Somehow, Rupert cleared his throat. "Very good, Headmaster. I think you'll like this one, the girls came up with it for me as a present."
Harry looked a little apprehensive at that, but gestured for the knocker to continue after a surreptitious glance at her and Ron.
"Without her fire, neither home nor hearth, can bloom like flora grown in potter's earth."
Harry winced.
Well, Hermione couldn't blame him for that. It was a rather forced riddle, the rhyme wasn't quite right and the pun left much to be desired. 'Potter's', really.
"It's Hestia," Hermione said after another moment. "The second verse is completely superfluous I'm afraid – it's all right there in the first line." Rupert glared.
"No offense, of course," she added a little too late.
"Well they can't all be winners, I suppose," Rupert admitted, though still sounding quite miffed. "In you go Headmaster, and please take your friends with you." Ron shot Hermione a dirty look, though after a moment his lips tugged upward.
They entered the tower.
Hermione had never previously seen Ravenclaw Tower as a student of course, but she had heard about it often enough from Padma when she and Ron had dinner with all the remaining Weasleys, or on the rare occasions when she and Sue or Michael talked about something other than theory behind blood magics and curses.
It had a similar enough look to Gryffindor tower at its base, though on the opposite end of the castle the views were quite different – overlooking the Black Lake and swooping down towards Hogsmeade, the Forbidden Forrest completely out of sight behind the abutment formed the central foci for the Astronomy and Divination towers. In what had been the Ravenclaw common room, ancient gray stone had been imbued with magical candle light into the very rock itself, so that it were as if the walls themselves were shining, lighting up the entire room with a warm, bright light: ideal for long evenings of study, or playing a (often not particularly friendly, according to Michael) game of Wizard's chess or Wands of Albion.
Opposite the twin staircases that led up to the boys' and girls' dormitories, a roaring fireplace with an oversized yew mantle, over which had been a large enchanted tapestry that weaved itself anew every Sunday such as to show the placement of every current student in Hogwarts as they ranked academically among their grade – Padma had said that by fourth year, they were taking bets as to when precisely Hermione would pull away for good for the year. Padma had, she told them with an air of bruised dignity, lost three sickles every year from second onward, refusing to accept that Hermione's grades were ever truly out of reach. Stephen Cornfoot, being much more the mercenary type, had won six galleons with a bet of seventy-four hours in their fifth year.
Now... now. The tower was bare of enchanted tapestries, oaken bookshelves overstuffed with books or rich leather settees even more overstuffed with students. No woolen rugs or copper cauldrons. The hearth though – that burned brighter than Hermione suspected it ever had when Padma had been here – and even on the far side of the room Hermione began to sweat. The stones of the wall still glowed, though dimly, and were covered in dark soot, giving the whole place an impression of an entrance to the underworld. Two extremely hardy looking trees devoid of any leaves, somehow crawled and spread across the walls with thick roots burrowing into the stone floor and Hermione could see that here and there they had even manage to force the rock of the tower outward to create a series of ledges that the branches leaned upon in their crooked quest up the tower.
It was very strange.
Before she could ask Harry what they were supposed to be looking at specifically (besides the obvious) a giant screech came from above. Hermione's neck jolted upward and two beasts, no bigger than large dogs, swooped down on them. They landed in the center of the room and let out friendly – she hoped – roars, bearing grinning teeth at Harry while whomping thin ropey tails against the ground and folding up pairs of leathery wings.
"Dragons!" Ron exclaimed, sounding more awed that Hermione had heard him in years. "There are dragons."
Whereas the discovery of the owls had been bittersweet, this was something more akin to... joy wasn't perhaps the right word. But hope.
Harry nodded. "Now this I did know about. The last pair in Britain. Hebridean Blacks to be precise." Harry sounded quite awed himself. "I dunno if any of them made it to Iceland, or maybe the Faroes. But I am quite certain they are the last pair in Britain."
Hermione looked at the pair now playfully snapping at one another in a tight circle in front of Harry. "They're so small," Hermione said at last, frowning slightly. While hardly a fan of dragons, the sudden loss of dragons from wizarding society in Britain had been keenly felt. Less so than the loss of potions perhaps, but potions covered a very wide field. Dragons, as a single loss, had hurt. Dragon blood. Dragon heartstrings. Dragon scales... with only a small supply of extra wands salvaged, wizards these days were trying to make their own using scraps of dragonhide boots for cores, with predictably catastrophic results.
Harry smiled at the pair then turned to look at her. He nodded again. "There's not enough magic to really sustain them, even here," he explained. "They only grow on what they can physically eat. I've never even seen them breathe fire, although every now and then they hiccup smoke." He shrugged. "Maybe one day." He gave a small, sad smile. "I named them Norbert and Nellie. Norbert is the male one this time, though." He finished his explanation with a chuckle.
Ron was moving towards the dragons at a respectfully slow pace, looking like a child at Christmas. Charlie was as far as they knew, alive and well in Romania, but the loss of ever seeing their brother again had hit all the Weasleys hard, and Ron appeared lost in happier times at the sight of the dragons.
"Still," Hermione turned back to Harry. "Oh, this is all so wonderful!" Hermione grasped on the silver lining and tugged it for all she could. "Owls and dragons, in one day, oh Harry everything is going to be fine." She paused, "I don't supposed you have any unicorns too?" She meant it as a joke.
Harry smiled. "A small family actually. They live on the quidditch pitch."
For a moment she thought he was joking. But he wasn't, there was no mockery or ill will in his response, only the pleasure of bearing good news. She let out a decidedly unHermionelike squeal and gave him a giant hug, as if they were children once more.
"Oh, I'm so happy. This is so wonderful. Oh! And house-elfs! I can't forget about them- what?" She pulled back from Harry, confused, as he went completely tense in her embrace.
"Well... I'm afraid that one isn't so good."
She frowned. "But we met Woggy! A Hogwarts house-elf. What's wrong?"
Harry shook his head.
"The. Woggy isn't an elf. He is the elf."
The tour had been more a formality after that. Having seen the owls and dragons, and informed it was too late to see the unicorns, they had been let in on the secret that whatever combination of Harry himself and Hogwarts had made the place an anomaly, an island of magic in a sea of death, neither he nor it were all powerful. Most of the castle was according to Harry in a mild state of disrepair if for no other reason as he simply didn't have the time to worry about it, let alone the extra magic. Gryffindor Tower was his living quarters, though he was a bit vague about that, and clearly some other spaces were also being used, but much of the castle's magic was being marshaled where it was most needed – the towers, the library, the hospital wing, the greenhouses, and the odd special project here and there, and of course the Great Hall. Ergo the mundane hand-made decorations in place of portraits, the old suits of armor, and with a sense of guilt that it had taken so long for reflection, the complete absence of any ghosts.
Hermione had a sinking feeling Harry was seeking to manage their disappointment before they got down to their real business, which gave her the niggling feeling Harry knew more than he was letting on.
As they headed back into the Great Hall, the smell of roast lamb wafted through the entrance way. Daphne and Astoria were already waiting for them, and they took their old spots next to Harry as five dishes appeared in front of them as soon as she and Ron had sat down.
"We actually get most of our food from the muggle shops; we go once a month or so and really stock up, the stasis charms work reliably for that long in the kitchens still." Harry had explained when Hermione had pushed, one more delay. Finally though, she made to speak.
Harry beat her to it.
"I am sorry you came all this way for nothing," he simply stated, dabbing at his mouth with a napkin and offering them a small shrug. "It's why I never came south after I woke up and came back to Hogwarts. I've looked into it," he gestured to the two women next to him. "We've looked into it. Whatever Voldemort did can't be undone, all we can do is let it run its course and rebuild from the ashes. If I can protect some of the cinders until then, that's all that I can do." He paused, taking another small bite of his potato. "And you know, I've accepted that. I'm content with that."
Rage boiled through Hermione. How dare he? How dare he! Living a life orders of magnitude better than what the other survivors of Britain were managing and acting as if he was doing his fair share, that he could settle into self-satisfied surrender.
"I'm sure," Ron snarked, unable to contain himself from the same train of thought. "You and your, whatever you two are, and your giant castle. It's not so easy for the rest of us."
Hermione reached her hand out under the table and gave him a squeeze, not to restrain him but to let him know she was on this side, wherever he went with this." Ron though, came down after his outburst, passion lost as though he were a leaky balloon, though didn't apologize for it.
Harry looked pained. Hermione made a decision. It was time for plan B.
"I do understand," she said, trying to sound at least half-apologetic. "Nobody has any right to expect anything from you, for you to save us all again, and nobody expects you to, honestly." She said dishonestly.
"Only..." she paused, doing her best to look uncomfortable. "Only, surely it's not so simple as that, Harry. We have so many resources that if we worked together, you and your library and we, you know, we did salvage some stuff from the old Department of Mysteries. We even have a friendly source inside Alexandria who sends us information by muggle methods from time to time. Surely if we at least tried working together?"
Harry looked tempted. He did. But then, to her shock, in the end he shook his head.
"I'll think about it." He said at last. Well that was something. But it was nowhere near enough.
There was only one card left to play.
"We weren't supposed to tell you this, Malfoy's followers made it very clear there would be hell to pay if we told you," Hermione said in hushed tones, as if Malfoy's factions of restrained reactionaries would overhear them. "They even considered making us take an oath, but the blood cost was so exuberant that nobody would pay it."
She leaned forward. "One of the things we recovered from the Ministry was the Book of Names. It records the birth of every witch or wizard in Britain. And for the last few years, it didn't record a single name. Not one. Not even," Hermione paused, genuine pain coursing through her. "Not even when Demelza gave birth to Scorpius, or Hannah and Michael had twins, or-" her vision went blurry.
"Or when we had Hugo," Ron finished.
Hermione let out a very wet sniff and dabbed at her eyes, blinking quickly before clearing her throat once more. "There are no more wizards or witches, Harry. We are ghosts. Some people have started calling us the Wights of Wight."
Harry frowned, looking genuinely distressed. "That can't be right. I have a book, too." Daphne gave him a sharp look but said nothing. Harry continued.
"Mine works the same way, presumably – the Hogwarts Registry. I've been getting names every year. A handful only, sure. But still – maybe yours is broken?"
Hermione blew her nose again, shaking her head quickly in denial. "I've read about the Registry in Hogwarts, A History. It dates back to the fourteenth century after the mugglebor- well, nevermind. It's very old. But it doesn't track births, Harry. It tracks new students, it lists wizards and witches turning eleven. We still have those. But in another five years your book will go blank too, mark my words."
Harry's eyes widened at that, flickering toward the door, and Hermione knew her trap was set and baited. Now to close it.
"I also know our book isn't broken because two months ago, a new name finally did appear in it. James Orion Potter."
Astoria let out a distressed squeal from the back of her throat. Harry's face went blank. Daphne looked murderous, as if fighting to keep from reaching over the table and strangling her. Hermione kept her knife under the table, ready to cut her palm open if needed at a moment's notice. She didn't know what sort of magic the Greengrasses were capable of, if any, but she wouldn't be caught without magic of her own.
"I've tried to stop them," Hermione wailed. "I told them, I told them I would come talk to you, that they mustn't do anything foolish. But Malfoy and Zabini are adamant that you've found a complete cure. And Demelza – as much of a moderating influence she is on Malfoy, not on this. She's been completely sidelined. They say – they say if you won't help them, they'll just destroy everything instead. And everyone. 'Get it over with', they say."
She paused. Harry leaned forward, his voice soft and dangerous.
"Go on."
Hermione sniffled again.
"They are telling everyone that you're the reason they're cursed, and that they can put the curse on you instead and it will save everyone else. They're working on a way to curse the Potter bloodline specifically, and well – I'm doing everything I can to stop them, as is Kingsley, but I think there's a real chance they might succeed. Not at saving everyone – that's rubbish – but killing you out of spite. So we had to, we came up with an excuse to see you, to warn you."
Hermione trailed off, unsure if she had oversold the situation. Which, to be fair, was a more-or-less accurate description of what Malfoy and Zabini were up to. It had to be, if Harry was going to accept it. If Ron, her sweet Ron, wouldn't let something slip if he caught her in an outright lie.
Harry stared at her – through her really – for a moment more. Briefly, she feared if Legilimency was something he had picked up in the past few years and suppressed a shudder at the thought. But no, without a word he turned and shared a look with Daphne and then pulled out his wand. She didn't flinch, though Ron twitched under her palm.
"Expecto Patronum."
A patronus. How long had it been since she had seen a patronus!? It looked at Harry then the ephemeral stag cantered out of the Great Hall.
"While we wait for our final member to arrive and then discuss just what exactly I'm going to do to Malfoy and any entrails he may be attached to, I'm afraid I'm going to need your wands," Harry held his hand out across the table, palm up, fingers beckoning towards the two of them. Ron glanced at Hermione but she nodded. She had Harry.
"Of course," she replied, lifting up her wand with deliberate slowness and placing it in Harry's waiting hand. Ron did the same thing a few moments later, though looking obviously distressed at doing so.
"Is It really necessary though?" She asked as Harry retracted his arm, placing both wands in front of him, criss-crossed.
Harry, Astoria, and Daphne all nodded as one. "Nothing could be more so," Harry replied cryptically.
They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Eventually Hermione had to resist the urge to fidget.
Finally a third woman entered the hall. Unlike the Greengrass sisters, Hermione did recognize her right away. A gasp suggested Ron had as well. Also unlike the Greengrass sisters, who had clearly benefited in some way from either the death curse or Harry's magic or something else, the same could not be said for the third woman.
A heart-shaped face and spiky hair were expected. It's mousy coloring and her overall well, plainness, drabness even, was not. She was, unexpectedly but also not really, given the conversation, was cradling an infant.
Woggy appeared, bowed, and reached up for the child. Gently, the woman handed the elf the infant, and the elf quickly walked – not popped – back out the room.
Hermione's frown deepened. There was no reason for that except as an obvious and deliberate show. But it was very heavy-handed, even for that.
"Hello," Hermione said as the woman sat down next to Astoria, in the center of the Hufflepuff portion of the table. Idly, she realized that in the current arrangement there were two people at three of the house quadrants, Ravenclaw empty.
She received a frosty smile in return.
"Wotcher, Weasley."
"That was a complete waste of time," Hermione huffed as she and Ron got into bed, a cozy if rather threadbare room that had last been Professor Sprout's quarters, the elf had informed them as it had led them to it.
And it had. After the dramatic reveal of Tonks' existence and her, her – she was the mother of Harry's child! - there hadn't really been anything left to say. They'd all agreed that Harry needed to go south with them to put a stop to Malfoy, and that while he was there they might as well see what they could do together, and meet up with a few promising people who might be willing to help with Harry back.
Which was what Hermione wanted, but it would have been all so much simpler if Harry had simply agreed to it at the start! And while she understood he had kept his child a secret at first, it still hurt a little bit to be so obviously untrusted.
"It all worked out though, didn't it?" Ron said tiredly, wiggling a bit under the covers as he got comfortable. Both ensconced in bed now, the fire in the room dimmed itself to a pleasant warmth and just enough light to see by if they really needed to, flickering across the room.
"What do you think he even sees in the Greengrasses, really?" She said after a moment, sounding admittedly a bit sour even to her own ears. "How do you think they got here anyway, her parents aren't on Wight, are they? What was even wrong with them, do you think? How did they get better?"
"Dunno," Ron said sleepily.
"It's suspicious, don't you think?" She pressed.
Ron didn't reply.
"Maybe they're both just..." she paused, searching for the right word.
"A pair of scarlet women."
Ron snorted. "You're spending too much time with my mother, love."
She elbowed him slightly, and then turned on her side to face him.
"Well, they were a nasty pair in Hogwarts, or don't you remember."
She could feel Ron shrug. "People change, Hermione. We work with the likes of Malfoy and Zabini now, don't we? Even if we're at odds again now. Who knows? And anyway, to be fair-"
"If you say that Daphne Greengrass is fit, I'm going to hex you forever if I have to drain my body to do it," Hermione huffed.
Ron let out a startled laugh. "That's not! I mean... look, that wasn't what I was saying. I'm just saying you know, a guy and a girl, a big castle, no other wizards or witches for miles and miles. It happens."
"Well, somehow Harry found himself a whole coven of lonely witches," Hermione griped.
"Things just happen is all. Look at Padma and George."
"That's completely different and you know it."
Ron let out the sigh of sleep abandoned and turned toward her.
"Harry's putting on a show, love."
Hermione frowned. "I know that. The owls and dragons and the grand tour and then telling us he couldn't do anything."
Ron shook his head. "I mean yeah, that too. But the Greengrasses. He knows they'll get a rise out of you. He knows you'll be thinking about them and not about everything else, and as much as I hate to admit it, like I said: people change. He doesn't trust us anymore. So he's deliberately pushing you off your broom."
Hermione paused at that. "When did you get so smart?"
"Who, me? Nah, it's just a classic Wronski Feint is all. Keep your opponent distracted until they crash headfirst into the earth."
She cuddled into him fondly. Not for nothing had Kingsley made him head of the newly constituted (and much smaller, but even so) Auror Corps. He was brave, he was loyal, he was a good scrap in a fight and when he wanted to be, he had a sharp eye for things that flew sideways.
"So Harry's not, you know, with them?"
"Yeh. Well no, maybe, I dunno. It is a bit of a weird dynamic up here, innit? And it's not like there's anyone around to tell Harry to stop being a pervert."
Hermione snorted.
"Just let it rest, yeh. Maybe it's important, maybe it's just how it is. Keep a note of it but don't let it stop you from paying attention to everything else that matters."
"Mmhmm," Hermione agreed sleepily into the back of Ron's shoulders.
He let out a deep breath. "Night, love."
"Night."
