Chapter 3: Hermione

Golden and Bright

"The rosy gleam of his lip, the fevered gleam of his eyes. There was not a line anywhere on his face, nothing creased or graying; all crisp. He was spring, golden and bright. Envious death would drink his blood, and grow young again." — Madeleine Miller, The Song of Achilles

Monday, March 19, 2007
The Office of Senior Auror Harry Potter, Department of Magical Law Enforcement

This was not happening. This could not be happening. The two people bearing witness to one of her most embarrassing moments were not her childhood bully and his newest smug sidekick.

"This is a nightmare," Hermione moaned, bringing her gloved hands to her temples. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to look at the ridiculous scene before her.

"I certainly hope not," the first man in the room remarked. Hermione's attention snapped to him, and she recognized that it was Theodore Nott, someone she had hardly ever thought about despite having attended seven years of school together. He added with a look of sheer delight, "Granger, did you know that you're glowing?"

Hermione glowered. "Thank you for that excellent observation," she snapped. "What are you doing here?"

She swept into the office, deciding that staying there, even with the present company, was slightly more desirable than risking more people witnessing her current state. She bumped into Malfoy's shoulder as she rounded Harry's desk, sitting in her friend's chair and beginning to doff her scarf and gloves.

Looking up, she noted that Malfoy's mouth was agape, and he was staring at her in disbelief.

"Well?" She demanded.

Nott spoke up again. "We've been here having a series of lovely conversations with the employees of this department, Granger. And might I add," he gestured vaguely in her direction, "What the fuck?"

Malfoy finally snapped out of his stupor at Nott's words. He blinked twice, and Hermione thought he looked quite different without his characteristic childhood sneer or the looks of blank indifference that were more common to the year of Hogwarts they shared after Voldemort's defeat. Perhaps it was just that she had not seen him in person for more than five years.

His hair was not slicked back as it had been during their Hogwarts days. Instead, it hung loose around his earlobes, and several strands hung gracefully over his brows. His robes were—well, the only word that came to Hermione's mind was expensive. The fabric was black and lush and embroidered around the hems with silver thread. He looked taller and broader.

Malfoy's expression transformed. "Yes, Granger. They keep saying you're bright, but I always thought it was metaphorical."

There was that sneer.

"Shut up, Malfoy," she retorted. Not her cleverest reply, but she was still remarkably bewildered by the situation. The day's events piled up in her mind, and she found herself inexplicably angry with having to meet Malfoy face-to-face in her current state. She scowled and went on, "I have to say I'm not surprised to see you here. What does the DMLE have on you? I'm just surprised it's taken so long."

Malfoy's face went blank, and he did not immediately reply. He stood up straighter and after a pause, said, "Good to know where we stand, Granger. Does the weight of your ego put a strain on your neck there, or is that just your bad posture?"

Hermione felt her cheeks flush with the heat of anger, and she was thankful that being a human disco ball probably prevented the others from noticing.

"That's rich coming from you," she said.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" replied Malfoy, who stepped up so that the front of his robes brushed the edge of Harry's desk.

"It means that your ego is the largest of my acquaintance," quipped Hermione, standing up.

"Are you acquainted with yourself?"

"I am, actually."

"Well let's get to know her a little better, shall we? So far, she has jumped to wild conclusions based on no facts—"

"Wild? It's only basic logic, Malfoy."

"What was that? The sound of your voice doesn't quite permeate through your air of superiority."

Superiority? This coming from the person who made her feel lesser than for the majority of her life as a witch. Hermione could have screamed had she not been preoccupied by the fact they were in the Ministry. She looked up at Malfoy's face and crossed her arms.

"The irony of that statement is beyond the pale," Hermione replied, a bit more softly, though her eyes were still narrow. "What are you doing in Harry's office?"

"I'm afraid I'm the subject of scrutiny today, Granger. Draco is only here at my request," Nott interjected.

Hermione's attention snapped to Nott, whom she had forgotten about. He looked back and forth between them, smiling, which annoyed Hermione—it annoyed Draco, too, if the tilt of the blond wizard's scowl was to be believed.

Hermione felt rage and guilt, and the tingle of magic tickled her fingertips. So what if Malfoy wasn't under arrest? She would bet the contents of her beaded bag that the two men in front of her got involved with more suspicious activities before breakfast each day than she had in the last year.

The door opened, and Harry rushed in holding a thick file. "I left the door open for a reason—"

He cut off the moment he noticed her. "Wha—Hermione?" The realization, and then, "What happened to you?"

"We were trying to figure that out, Potter," Malfoy jeered. "Although, I think the glow might be an improvement. The light distracts from—well, everything else." Hermione glared at his stupid, smug pale face.

"Careful, Malfoy," Harry warned with a stony expression.

Malfoy drew back an inch, though his face did not react.

"Please close the door, Harry," Hermione interrupted, suddenly exhausted. She sat back down.

Her friend complied, and she continued, "Oh, and thank you so much for inviting me to your office right now at this exact, particular moment." She turned her glare to Harry, who looked properly chastised as he eyed the Slytherins.

"Er," he began, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand, keeping his papers clutched in his left. "You got here quicker than I expected."

"And thank Merlin for that," Nott said. He was still grinning as he looked around at each of them. Hermione suddenly felt claustrophobic in the crowded office. "So, who pranked you, Granger? I'd like to send them a cheese plate."

"Shut up, Nott!" Harry snapped angrily, taking half a step toward the lanky wizard.

Hermione took a breath to calm herself but ended up letting it out in a groan. "I had a meeting with the fairies of the central meadowlands if you all must know," she said. "It did not go as planned."

"Not go as planned?" Malfoy cut in. "They turned you into a human chandelier."

Ignoring Malfoy's words, Harry asked her, "Are you alright?" He moved around to join her behind his desk and touched her shoulder in concern.

Hermione looked up at him knowingly and placed her hand on his in comfort, and then she looked back across his desk at the two Slytherins. Oddly, they both had reserved, guarded expressions that Hermione immediately found suspicious.

"I am fine. Their magic is harmless," she replied cautiously. "But I would really like to head home, and I need to talk to you about an Auror requisition for tomorrow."

"Right," Harry nodded. He placed the files on his desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. "Nott, sign this paper and then you are free to leave." He slid the parchment across the desk and added reluctantly, "Your legal representation, as well."

"I'll take a look at that," Malfoy pronounced. He picked up the parchment, sat back down in his chair, and began to read.

"Legal representation?" Hermione asked. Nott's earlier comments suddenly made more sense.

"Licensed and everything, in fact," Nott said proudly, stepping to the side to reach an arm around Malfoy's shoulders. Malfoy immediately shrugged him off, elbowed him with a sharp jab, and continued to read.

Rubbing his side, Nott went on, "Does this paper guarantee that Smith won't arrest the both of us on our way out of the building?"

"Arrest you?" Hermione sat in attention. "What have you done?"

"Nothing, Granger," Nott said defiantly. "That is precisely my point."

Hermione sniffed. "Well, if that's true, then Clause 12A of the Statute for Criminal Investigations states that in the case of nonviolent offenses, a suspect can be placed under arrest only with the presentation of actual evidence, or otherwise can agree to participation in an investigation," she mused. "In which case you also have the reasonable expectation of nonaggressive questioning."

She looked up and was immediately alarmed to find all three men looking at her. "What?" she asked. Harry looked dumbfounded, Nott was smirking, and Malfoy was—was he blushing?

"It will please you to know, Granger," Nott began with a cheerful tone, "that everyone in this room was recently reminded of Clause 12A, but I must offer my sincerest gratitude for that pertinent reminder."

"Sign this," Malfoy growled, shoving the parchment at Nott.

Nott plucked a self-inking quill from a cup on Harry's desk and signed his name with a dramatic flourish. Malfoy snatched the implement from him and signed quickly below his friend's name. He dropped the parchment on top of Harry's desk and stood up, brushing nonexistent dirt from the breast of his immaculate robes.

"On that note," Malfoy said, "goodbye forever." He strode to the door, opened it, and left the office in one quick motion.

"He is so melodramatic," Nott tutted. "Best of luck with your problem, Granger. Have you tried Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder?"

"Out," Harry growled. "And remember what I told you."

Nott scowled and followed Malfoy's path to the corridor, closing the door behind him.

Hermione groaned and leaned down on the top of Harry's desk, resting her glittery forehead on her folded arms.

"Hermione, I am so sorry," Harry insisted. "They weren't even supposed to be in here, but Zach lost his mind in the interrogation room, and I had to de-escalate. And," he paused helplessly, "you could have told me you were…well…sparkly."

Hermione lifted her head and peeked up at Harry through narrowed eyes. "It wasn't really a story that could fit on our coins, I don't think. Nor is there time for the whole thing at this moment, I'm afraid." She stood up and allowed Harry to sit in his own chair, walking around to occupy the seat the Nott had taken earlier.

"Basically," she went on, "tomorrow is the Vernal Equinox, and I went to attempt a negotiation with the fairies near Lower Chicksgrove." She looked at Harry pointedly, and his face sparked in recognition.

"Oh," he replied. "That was a nightmare last year."

"Yes," she agreed. "But as you can see, it didn't go very well. So, we need to send two or three Aurors to the village to patrol tomorrow, from sunrise until sundown. I don't think anything will happen like last year, but I absolutely do not trust that herd."

"That's alright, I think Zach needs a nice, boring patrol to cool his heels after what he pulled with Nott and Malfoy today. I'll talk to Robards about sending him with a couple of the trainees," Harry said, referring to Head Auror Gawain Robards.

"What happened?" Hermione posed with genuine curiosity.

"Nothing terrible," Harry assured her. "We brought Nott in to ask him about some unusual enchanted objects turning up around Knockturn Alley, and he and Zach clashed a bit. They both lost their tempers, but," he sighed, "Zach has been under review after he cursed that suspect last month."

"Well, you can't blame him," Hermione commented. "Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy? I would have lost my temper, too." She didn't see the need to mention that before Harry's arrival, she already lost her own temper.

"It's oddly comforting to know that they're both still…themselves," Harry agreed. He looked across his desk at Hermione and squinted, bringing a few fingers to his eyes. "How long will you be like this?"

"Have to wait until it wears off," Hermione glowered. "Probably at sunset. I'm just dreading getting myself to the Atrium right now."

Harry suddenly grinned. "I can help with that." He leaned down to one of his lower desk drawers, and Hermione heard him mutter an incantation. A moment later, he straightened up and held a familiar object aloft in his hands.

"The cloak!" Hermione exclaimed. "Are you sure you don't need it?"

Harry handed the silky fabric over to her. "You definitely need it more than I do."

Hermione received the cloak and stroked the surface, which flowed like a cool liquid, even after all these years. "Thanks, Harry. And do you need me to do anything for the requisition?"

"Nah," Harry assured her. "I'll handle it. You get out of here."

Hermione smiled gratefully, stood up, and wrapped her arms around him. "I forgive you for accidentally trapping me in a room with Malfoy." She stepped back and draped the cloak around her shoulders.

"See you at home?" Harry asked.

A knock sounded at the door. Harry and Hermione met eyes in alarm, and Hermione pulled the hood of the cloak over her head, disappearing completely. As she inched toward the front wall of Harry's office near the door, Harry called out, "Come in."

The door swung open and in walked someone else Hermione had hoped to avoid for the rest of her life.

"Hey Harry," announced the deep voice of Terry Boot. "Alright?"

Harry's eyes flitted around his office, not knowing that Hermione was cornered between a shelf and the too-small sliver of space Terry left between his body and the doorjamb.

"Good enough," Harry replied nervously. "Need something?"

"Zach said you had the latest report on that runic stone? Mind if I grab a copy? I wanted to bring it to the Unspeakables for a consultation tomorrow."

"Sure," Harry said, pulling out a swath of parchment from the file on his desk. He cast a Geminio charm and held out the copy to Terry, who finally moved out of the threshold.

Hermione took the opportunity to slip quietly through the doorway. She was about to continue walking but hesitated at the sound of Terry's voice.

"Have you," Terry hesitated. "That is…How is Hermione?"

Hermione froze just outside the door, waiting for Harry's response.

"She's fine," he trailed off.

"Right," Terry responded. "Good, then. Will you tell her I asked after her?"

Harry's voice was stern. "I'm not sure that's my place, Terry."

Hermione suddenly decided she'd had enough and walked swiftly away. Keeping in mind that she was invisible, she concentrated on navigating the halls and making her way up to the Atrium—and to her escape from this trying day.

When she arrived at her room at Grimmauld Place, it took Hermione an hour to pluck all the yellow blossoms out of her hair, which continued to be almost twice as long as it was when she woke up that morning. When she had done her best with that, she took a long and hot shower.

Hermione scrubbed at her limbs and face with abandon, but nothing made a difference to her sparkle. When she had dried off, she stepped in front of the full-length mirror and observed her naked body with fascination.

Every inch of skin held the same glowing texture as if she was dipped in stardust, or encrusted with diamonds. The soles of her feet; the underside of her breasts; the apex of her thighs. Just as she suspected, the deep purple scar around her ribs was unaffected by the fairy's magic, as were the letters on her left forearm, MUDBLOOD. Cursed flesh did not change.

The letters on her arm did not hold the same emotional pain as they did in the years after the Battle of Hogwarts. All the same, Hermione appreciated how the glitter embedded within her skin distracted from the ugly raised edges and dark red hue of the wounds.

Mudblood. No one had called her that today, she noted, surprised. No one had called her that in a long time.

The fairy magic made her feel lighter and more relaxed. The sparkles felt like sunlight streaming through a cloud. Fairies were vain and chaotic, but their connection to the Earth and the sky was quite unique among magical beings. Despite the stress of her ostentatious appearance, Hermione was at least partly grateful that she was experiencing their magic firsthand.

A quick Tempus charm told Hermione that it was a quarter to six. After pulling on some muggle track pants, a tight tank top, and a long-sleeved t-shirt, Hermione grabbed her beaded bag and walked down to the kitchen to find something to eat. As always, Kreacher was there.

He glowered at her with his usual animosity.

"Master's friend is here," he grumbled. "Master's friend looks different, and it hurts Kreacher's eyes. Kreacher will not look and maybe Master's friend will go away."

"Hello, Kreacher," Hermione said, unfazed.

"Master's friend has spoken. Kreacher wonders if she would like to eat, but what would his Mistress say if he offered? And now Master's friend lives here in Mistress's old bedroom. Oh … what would she say?"

Hermione sighed. This same monologue happened every day. When she first moved into Grimmauld Place six months ago, it troubled her to live with a House Elf. It wasn't as though she was on the run anymore, and it felt hypocritical after all the legislation she had worked so hard to pass regarding their treatment by wizards. But working on the bills for so long made her more cognizant of House Elf psychology. Plus, Harry and Kreacher had a good enough rapport, and Harry was the last person to ever mistreat an elf.

"Good evening, Kreacher," Hermione said, setting her wand and bag down on one end of the long kitchen table. "I would actually love something to eat if you wouldn't mind."

"Master's friend has spoken to Kreacher again," he murmured while keeping his eyes on the floor. "Kreacher will pretend he did not hear. Kreacher thinks he will put some roast chicken on the table and if Master's friend eats it Kreacher will not stop her just like Master has ordered."

"Thank you, Kreacher."

"Oh, my Mistress…what would she say?"

Kreacher continued to mutter under his breath as he moved about the kitchen. Meanwhile, Hermione sat at the table and pulled out the policy scrolls from her beaded bag, setting them down neatly in front of her.

The chicken was good, and Hermione found it relaxing to read while she ate. The monotony of the legal verbiage washed away the stress of that day's excitement much as her shower had. The food was gone and the fifth scroll finished when Hermione heard a big lumbering gait come down the stairs.

"Anyone home?" A familiar voice called out.

Hermione smiled. "Hello, Ron!"

A moment later a vibrant redhead appeared through the door. "Hey, Hermione! Any food left?"

"Think so," she responded, crossing out a clause on the scroll she had just started. "What are you doing here, anyway?"

"Hey Kreacher, mind bringing some food?" Ron called out. "Please," he added quickly at Hermione's stern glare. A low grumble was his only response, and Kreacher soon emerged from his cupboard and started bustling.

Ron sat across from Hermione and explained, "Lav and Parvati are having a night in. It was either hide in the spare room all night, visit my parents, or head over here. Mind if I crash?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's not as though you don't have a bedroom in this big old house," she replied. "How is Lavender?"

It came as a surprise to Harry, and everyone, when Ron and Lavender resumed their relationship three years after the Battle of Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron had decided against a relationship within a few months of Voldemort's defeat. They needed each other in ways that stretched beyond a simple relationship, and the grief they all felt in the aftermath of the battle pushed romance to the back of all their minds.

Meanwhile, Lavender was recovering from being mauled by Fenrir Greyback, struggling with her own pain and disfigurement, on top of the trauma they all shared from the battle. When she and Ron met again at the Leaky Cauldron just after Ron and Harry had finished Auror training, Hermione could see something click into place for the both of them.

They had each necessarily matured since the sixth year, and what was once a childish infatuation gave way to mutual respect and admiration. Ron insisted on introducing her to Bill, who had similar scars and side effects. Lavender insisted on hearing Ron's, and only Ron's, account of the year leading up to Voldemort's defeat. They got married two years later.

"She's alright," Ron responded. "Twilfitt and Tatting's rejected her designs again."

Hermione set down her quill and looked up in sympathy. "Really?"

"Yeah, happened yesterday. She's pretty down about it, so I think she and Parvati are gonna commiserate a bit." As Ron finished speaking, Kreacher set out a heaping plate of chicken and potatoes in front of him, and Ron started digging in. "Thanks, Kreach."

"Lavender is really talented," Hermione commented. She had never placed much stock in fashion, although she liked to believe that she dressed well. Lavender's work was often too embellished for her taste, but Hermione could recognize it as beautiful. "She shouldn't give up."

"I won't let her," Ron said, his mouth full. He swallowed. "I've been talking to George about setting up a clothing line through the joke shop. Don't say anything yet, but if this goes on much longer, I'm going to make her consider it."

"That's actually an interesting idea, Ron," Hermione said approvingly.

"Always the tone of surprise," Ron joked. He smiled at her, and then his brows furrowed. "Is something off, 'Mione? You look kind of…dewey?"

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. She brought her hands up to her eyes and delighted in the sight of very faint glinting in her skin. It was a wonder she hadn't noticed. "What time is it? The sun must have set."

"Er, yes," Ron replied. "It's definitely dark out."

"A herd of fairies made me sparkle all day today because I wore gray robes," Hermione told him. He looked confused through his chewing. "But their magic fades with the sun."

"Well, you look great otherwise," he said, and Hermione was grateful for his consistent ability to not ask many questions.

Ron shrugged and continued to eat. Hermione settled back down to finish the scroll she started reading earlier. By the time she finished, Ron's plate was empty. Hermione decided that the other scrolls could wait until later, so she stuffed them into her bag.

"You still keep that around all the time?" Ron nodded toward the bag.

"Yes," Hermione replied primly.

Ron hummed. "It doesn't remind you of camping anymore." He didn't phrase it as a question.

Hermione looked down at the table, fiddling with her wand. "It does, actually," she said, "but no more than other things." She looked up and sniffed. "And I'll have you know it came in handy just this afternoon."

Ron grinned. "It always does. Saved our lives, that bag."

Hermione cast a quick Tempus to see that it was only half past seven. She frowned. The food had energized her, and she suddenly felt restless. She thumbed her fingertips on the top of the long wooden table and felt the itch of magic spark from her core and tingle down her arm.

"Say," Hermione smiled suggestively. "Want to have a spar?"

"Now?" Ron raised his eyebrows. "It's a Monday night."

Hermione nodded expectantly.

Ron sighed and rolled his eyes. "Alright, go easy on me."

Hermione clapped and hopped to her feet. "You've beat me loads of times." She made her way over to the door leading down to Grimmauld Place's cellar.

"Not recently," Ron grumbled. Hermione laughed. It was true that Ron had gotten a bit soft since his marriage and since he left the DMLE to join George in running Weasley's Wizard's Wheezes two years ago. But she would never say that out loud.

Hermione waved her wand to light the staircase down to the cellar. At the bottom, she took a moment to appreciate the dueling space she and Harry set up when she moved in with him.

The room was long, spanning the length of the entire floorpan of the townhouse, and then some additional width due to magical expansion. The floor, walls, and ceilings were all rough-hewn stone that Hermione painted a light cream color to reflect more light into the windowless room. The walls were lined with hanging jars every few feet. A wave of Hermione's wand filled them all with bluebell flames that illuminated the entire space.

Hermione walked down to the far end and then turned to face Ron, who was standing on the other side.

"Need a warm-up?" She called, rolling her shoulders.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Just get on with it."

Hermione chuckled. She spelled her hair into a crude plait down her back with a charm and then adjusted her grip on her wand.

They turned to face each other, wands aloft. Harry, Hermione, and Ron didn't typically stand on ceremony like professional duelers, which Hermione preferred. It reminded her of running from snatchers and the heat of battle.

"Stupefy!" Hermione cried without preamble.

Ron yelped and dodged, not having enough time to pull up a shield charm. "Okay," he said, righting himself. "It's like that, is it?"

Hermione grinned mischievously, and then they really began.

Ron countered with a tripping hex, which Hermione blocked easily. She spun and flung a tripping hex back, followed by a jelly-legs jinx, stunner, and stinging hex in rapid succession, all nonverbal and with ferocious jabs of her wand. Ron jumped to dodge the tripping hex and then blocked the next spell with a shield charm. But when her stunner hit his shield hard, it dissipated, and he was forced to take the stinging hex to his left arm.

"Ah, ouch," he cried. Eyes narrow, Ron rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and advanced.

Stun, sting, trip, sting—loud and aggressive. Hermione countered each spell. Ron had never truly mastered nonverbal casting, which made it simple for her to identify the counter-charms. After each incantation, Ron stepped toward her. It was a good strategy. With him being just a few arm lengths away, it was harder for her to cast many spells in a row and aim accurately.

But Ron was tall and much bigger than Hermione, and she knew one of her best advantages against him was speed. She aimed a hex near his head, forcing him to swerve and lose his balance. She took the opportunity to spin around him, shoving him in the back with her left forearm and sending him stumbling forward.

Ron was crafty. He followed his momentum, dropped to his knees, and then sent conjured water behind him. Hermione slipped, and the impediment jinx she had started to cast went flying wide, hitting the wall with a bang.

Ron was on his feet again, and Hermione only just managed to throw up a shield in time to block his stunner. The spells collided hard, and at such close range, it sent them both sliding on the wet floor in opposite directions.

Hermione bent her knees and was able to keep her balance, but Ron slipped and fell backward on his arse. Hermione grinned. A knockback jinx and an incarcerous charm had Ron tied up and flat on his back in less than five seconds.

She walked over, breathing heavily. "Good one, Ronald." She vanished the ropes binding him with a flick of her wand, and he groaned.

A clapping sounded from the staircase. "Yes good show," Harry said with a grin. "It never gets old watching Hermione kick your arse."

He was still wearing his Auror robes, but his shirt collar was unbuttoned and his hair exceptionally messy.

"Oh lay off, Harry," Ron moaned as he shifted into a sitting position. "It's not fair, you know."

Harry chuckled. "What's not fair? That she's better than you?"

"While you and I were learning how to disguise ourselves as flowery drapes from Robards, she," he pointed at Hermione for emphasis, "was at Hogwarts secretly studying with a champion dueler."

"It wasn't a secret. Everyone just assumed I spent the entirety of that year in the library," Hermione corrected. "And Professor Flitwick has made it clear that I could never be a truly great dueler."

"Yes because you can't control yourself," Ron said. He looked up at a smirking Hermione and said, "You're particularly violent today. Physical combat?"

"I'm a little tense," Hermione said, as she helped pull Ron to his feet.

Harry, who had walked down the stairs to join them, added, "Yeah, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy will do that to you." He kissed Hermione on the cheek and added just for her, "You look better."

"Malfoy?" Ron asked, disgusted.

Harry filled Ron in on what had happened as the three of them extinguished the lights and made their way back up to the kitchen, where Kreacher had already set out some chocolate biscuits and milk—to Ron's delight.

"Gits," Ron declared as he grabbed a biscuit. "I bet they're both the ones making those stones."

Harry shrugged, leaning his elbows on the kitchen table. "If they are, we'll find out. But, I dunno. I just don't think so," He scratched his chin. "Don't know much about Nott, but…" He trailed off, weighing something in his mind. He shook his head and continued, "Well, let's just say I'm fairly certain it's not Malfoy. Though it's interesting that he and Nott are close friends now."

"What happened to Goyle?" Ron asked.

"No idea," replied Harry.

"I wouldn't put anything past Malfoy or Nott just yet," Hermione commented as she caressed the cool glass in her hand. "It's been years. We don't really know them at all anymore." She didn't voice that in her gut she agreed with Harry. There was something about Malfoy's expression when she accused him of general pervasive criminality.

Harry hummed in agreement. The three munched in silence for a while, and then the grandfather clock in the corner let out a chime.

"Is that half eight?" Ron questioned in between chocolatey chews.

Hermione looked over and nodded. Ron jumped up. "Oh! Harry, you got to hear this. Do you have a wireless handy?"

"Honestly, Ronald," Hermione muttered. "Accio wireless." The object came floating down the stairs a moment later.

"'Fanks," he mumbled around his food. Ron then pulled out his wand and adjusted the settings on the radio. "Witch Weekly has a nightly program at eight—it's mum's favorite. Anyway, I was at the Burrow the other day, and they have a new segment. It usually goes on in the latter half."

Harry and Hermione met eyes in confusion.

"Witch Weekly?" Hermione's tone was skeptical.

Ron nodded, and then the radio began to play out.

"…and what would you say has served as your greatest inspiration?" A velvety female voice Hermione did not recognize was speaking.

"Well, as I was ideating, I spent a lot of time meditating under a weeping willow by a river near our home in the Loire Valley." This voice was melodic and light. "The volume, the greenery—the flow. I suppose I would say the ultimate inspiration was…trees."

Hermione scoffed.

"Trees. Wow, that is just—wow. Incredible. Just as trees have inspired you, you have inspired all of our listeners today. Thank you so much for being here."

"Oh, you are too kind. Thank you."

"Well, listeners, that was our interview with the hottest designer making a splash in magical fashion on both sides of the channel this spring, Felicity Rochelle Durham-Montpellier. Pick up a copy of Witch Weekly this week to see a spread of her latest designs, now available at Twilfitt and Tattings, Gladrag's Wizard's Wear, and Madame Malkin's."

Ron was scowling, and Hermione patted him on the shoulder in sympathy.

"And now, I'll hand it off to our next correspondent for our newest Witch Weekly segment. Romilda, I have to tell you, this part of our program has become a fan favorite."

"This is it!" Ron said, pointing frantically at the wireless.

"Thank you, Wilhelmina." Hermione's eyebrows furrowed as she noted the voice sounded vaguely familiar. "Hello, beautiful Witch Weekly listeners. I am Romilda Vane"—Hermione gasped—"and this … is Potterwatch."

"What did she say?" Harry exclaimed, mouth gaping.

"Shh," Ron hissed.

"The subject of our report, as always, is none other than Harry James Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, Champion of the Triwizard Tournament, Order of Merlin First Class Recipient, Vanquisher of the Dark Lord Voldemort, Savior of the Wizarding World, and Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor for a record sixty straight weeks!"

"Good Godric," Hermione monotoned, incredulous. Harry was frozen in a state of shock. Ron pointed at the wireless delightedly, as if to say, Check this out.

"As our listeners and readers know, Harry is currently serving as a Senior Auror at the Ministry of Magic's Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I received several messages this week celebrating Harry for his tireless commitment to serving our communities. I, for one, feel much safer knowing Harry is working to protect us each and every day."

Ron started guffawing. Hermione slapped him upside the head and hissed at him to keep quiet.

"Today, Harry was spotted arriving to work via the Ministry of Magic's employee apparition point wearing the signature red-trimmed robes of the most senior officials within the Auror Office. A source has confirmed that Harry looked absolutely ravishing, and his toned muscles almost burst through the fabric on his upper arms"—

Harry let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a groan, looking down, horrified, at the robes he was still wearing.

—"and another source has confirmed that Harry spent the morning overseeing the training of new recruits before heading to the Ministry cafeteria to purchase what was described by sources as 'a salad.' Well, listeners, I am here to let you know that leafy greens are officially back in style, and Harry is clearly keeping fit.

"Harry spent the rest of his day inside the Ministry at various unidentified meetings. Unfortunately, this reporter has not been able to procure a timetable for when Harry might be out and about patrolling in our community, but rest assured that we are working diligently and will keep you all updated as information comes in each day.

"Now, this evening I am pleased to announce upcoming topics for future installments of Potterwatch. … It was the spell felt 'round the world. The sudden and devastating breakup of Harry Potter and his longtime girlfriend, star chaser for the Holyhead Harpies Ginevra Weasley. Since that fateful autumn day more than two years ago when news of their parting broke, Harry has not been seen in the company of a romantic partner. How deep was his heartbreak? And who among us has the power to return love back to his life? Starting next month we will be introducing a new segment of our broadcast. We will be diving into Harry Potter's long history of devastatingly beautiful paramours, both publicly confirmed partners and long-suspected secret affairs. There may be surprises in store for even the most devout Potter lovers.

"We'll be back tomorrow for another update. Once again, I'm Romilda Vane, and this was Potterwatch."

The first voice began to speak again. "Thank you, Romilda. We can't wait to hear more. And now, we will turn to our Divinist, Artemisia Brockelhurst, to tell us what the celestial powers have in store for—"

Hermione slammed her hand down on the off button of the wireless.

"What," Harry began. He blinked. "The bloody hell was that?"

Ron's face was beet red as he held in his mirth. "Potterwatch," he squeaked out, before bursting into hysterical laughter.

"It's despicable," Hermione insisted, palms down on the table. "To make something that brought people hope during the war and—and pervert it. Harry, you have every expectation of privacy. I think you might be able to sue."

Harry, who still looked horrified, shook his head. "None of that is even true! I took the Floo to the Ministry today, and I had a sandwich for lunch. I didn't even go to the cafeteria!" He paused, adding warily with his chin in his palm, "And Ginny and I were broken up for ages before anyone even noticed."

"They got the important bits right." Ron pointed to Harry, "Look at those ravishing arms."

Ron burst out laughing again, and Hermione couldn't stop herself from giggling along with him.

"Rubbish," Harry stated firmly. He pulled out his wand and banished the wireless back to the drawing-room upstairs. Then, after a pause, he ripped off his robes in a huff. "I'm going to change."

Hermione giggled again. At that point, Ron had his forehead down on the kitchen table, and his left fist tapping along with his breaths of laughter.

"I think I'm off to bed," Hermione announced with a sigh as she stood up from the table, grabbing her bag and her wand. "I have to head out early, and I need to finish some policy reviews before sleeping. Goodbye, Ronald."

She followed Harry up the stairs, leaving Ron to wipe the tears from his eyes in the kitchen.

"Everything all set with Lower Chicksgrove tomorrow, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Thanks for your help today, by the way."

"All good, Zach is heading over there early with Galway and Rothschild," Harry responded. When they reached the landing where their bedrooms were, Harry stopped and reached out to touch her other arm. "Hey," he paused awkwardly. "I'm sorry it was Terry who stopped in at the end there."

"It's fine," Hermione said quickly.

Harry's green eyes were wide. "I don't know how much you heard—"

"It's," she huffed. "I'm fine. Even if I had to speak to him, we're both professionals, Harry."

"Er, okay," he replied, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm really glad you're here, you know. I know it's been a while, but it really feels nice not to live alone. I don't think I tell you that enough."

"Me too, Harry." Hermione smiled.

They parted ways, and Hermione collapsed on her four-poster bed as soon as she arrived in her room.

When her long relationship with Terry had imploded spectacularly six months ago, Grimmauld Place had been her asylum. She hadn't even had to ask Harry for a place to stay. He took one look at her, led her to Walburga Black's old bedroom, and declared it hers.

She wouldn't think about Terry. Half a year out of their relationship and a lot of the anger and hurt had faded. But when she remembered how it ended, and all of the events that encompassed it, she felt as though a cool mist was seeping into her chest. Hermione hated that memories could affect her so viscerally. No. She would not think about Terry tonight.

With a sigh, Hermione sat up against her headboard, pulled out the remaining six scrolls from her bag, and began to read.

Up Next: Draco tests his potion, and the Slytherins have a night of debauchery.