Music and Merlot by evangeline

Rating: PG13
Genres: Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 03/09/2003
Last Updated: 11/08/2004
Status: Completed

Hermione has been working for years towards a greater good. What happens when she takes a little
time for herself - halfway around the world?




1. Merrily Down Memory Lane
---------------------------



Disclaimer: Hey, yeah, I'm still not worth millions. But! You know who is? J.K. Rowling is.
Because she owns Hermione and all her friends, along with the school they attended and the teachers
who taught there and the bad guys who terrorized it. I don't. So. Umm. No suing, okay? Good.
Glad we're clear.

Thanks to Alison for planting the seed to this story last night. It's not the one you
expected it, but it's here, right?

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

“stop looking through scrapbooks and photograph albums, because I know they don't teach you
what you don't already know”

-idlewild, “roseability”

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

Hermione Granger was a very long way away from home and she was very thankful for it. Yes,
she'd put as much distance between her and London as she could've hoped. Four thousand, one
hundred and ninety miles, to be exact, she thought to herself primly. Routed through New York City,
of course. She hadn't flown, she'd Apparated, but she took a small amount of comfort in the
large number. Right now Londoners were settling in for a commute or a spot of dinner and Hermione
was only halfway through her day. In fact, she'd just finished lunch and was currently immersed
in Chicago's downtown foot traffic. She was wearing simple flared khakis and a white linen
shirt and looked like all of them. No one gave her a second glance, unless it was just an
appreciative look at another human being.

She was on her way back to her office to churn out a few more inches of text for the interview
she was writing and then it was home and maybe some music and wine for her tonight. She was
inordinately pleased with her solitary plans for that evening and was already mentally going
through her cd collection for something appropriate. Last night she'd been out on a
pre-interview with a persnickety Britpop boy she recognized from his huge debut about five years
ago and was appropriately tired. Five years seemed like such a long time. In a way, it was. So much
had happened in that time.

It'd been a little over a year since she'd left England, determined to leave her brain
behind for a little while. It had been easy enough, with her grades, to do whatever she wanted to
in the wizarding world. And, unbelievably enough, what she wanted to do was give up books for a
while. She'd packed up almost all of her personal library and left it at her parents. She took
one box of books and cds, her wand, Crookshanks and the contents of her Gringott's vault with
her. The last two years of Hogwarts had been far too much for Hermione and she didn't like
thinking about it. She, Harry and Ron had defeated Voldemort a year ago, right at the end of
seventh year. Her role in the attack had been rather simple. The potion she had researched and
reproduced had been difficult to brew, but that was all she had really done.

All she had done, she laughed to herself as she thought back on it. It had taken a year of her
life. Only hers, really, because Harry and Ron seemed to be occupied elsewhere. For a while
she'd stopped sleeping, it seemed, while she researched the potion Harry had taken before
dueling Voldemort. It was simple and brilliant and she wished she'd actually invented it and
ended up in the Hospital Wing for exhaustion three times while she was researching it. It was an
ancient potion, working on the same fuel as a Patronus and serving to lend focus to your inherent
powers. All you had to do was think happy thoughts, basically, and then blast whomever off to
Neverland. Harry had been brilliant, using his vast resources of power to vanquish the evil wizard,
saving the world and putting himself nearly into a coma doing so. Hermione had waited to make sure
he'd waken up and then she had left. Packed and clicked her heels, so to speak, promising her
parents she'd call when she got to wherever she was going. When she got decided to move to
Chicago, she threw herself into her life there and hesitated to think about her life in
England.

This was curious because Hermione Granger was nothing if not a Gryffindor. She was brave and
resourceful and so intelligent it was frightening. She'd been standing beside Harry for seven
years, fighting evil beside him in her own innumerable ways. She'd been there for Ron during
his various trials and tribulations. But what did she do when faced with the threat of another
press ambush, more Ministry inquires since…well, since that nasty business with Voldemort fifth
year and all the praise the wizarding world could lay at the Dream Team's feet? Not to mention
the absolute horde of job offers she'd gotten. Even Snape had congratulated her, right after he
reprimanded her from pilfering a few things from his stores.

When faced with the spoils and glory, she had turn tail and left. She didn't go into hiding
at Hogwarts, she didn't hole up in her childhood home, she didn't go on an extended holiday
in the sun somewhere. No, she left the continent altogether for the wilds of America. She had, of
all things, gotten a job writing about British music for an American magazine. It was a huge
magazine with a witch in Human Resources, a few in management, and they hadn't, obviously, been
keeping up with events in England because not one of them, bless them, recognized her. Hermione had
heard about the job through a newspaper article and when the interviewer had discovered she was a
witch, she'd overlooked the numerous holes in the story Hermione had fabricated about her
background and hired her on the spot.

She enjoyed her job. She had always listened to the radio when she was home with her parents and
had quite a cd collection. Her tastes were diverse enough that she was actually quite good at
writing about music. She was shocked she had gotten the job, but she wasn't silly enough to
turn away serendipity. She met rock stars, who she viewed with clinical fascination, and got all
the free cd's she could find shelf space for. She wasn't star struck, not only because
she'd been friends with The Boy Who Lived for years, but because she'd gotten quite famous
since her part in the whole thing had come out. Miss Hermione Granger was a star in some academic
circles. Which was all the more reason for her to stick around her fabulous Chicago apartment.
Sure, she cringed a little when she had to interview her fellow countrymen in person (one never
knew who was who) but that was a danger everywhere. It wasn't like Chicago was Unplottable.

She'd only intended to stay a year, but that anniversary was quickly approaching and she
wasn't quite sure she wanted to go home just yet. Hermione had spent the last seven years of
her life being responsible not only for herself, but for Harry and Ron, to some extent, as well. It
had gotten wearing after a while, solving their problems, getting them out of squeezes, maintaining
her spotless academic record and performing her student leadership duties. So, she concluded, she
deserved a bit of spotty behavior, didn't she? She'd never had the luxury of acting like a
child. It was partially her fault, but when she got to the age where she realized there was more to
life, she couldn't reach other for it and so even when Harry and Ron had been up to no good
she'd stayed focused and busy. She'd helped save the world and if she wanted to party with
rock stars, she was bloody well going to do it.

Besides, Americans always went for the accent. Humourously enough, she'd interviewed a
Scottish band last month and had swooned at *their* accents. Funny, you'd think she
would've heard more of those soft sounds, living at Hogwarts. She had made a note to look up
Oliver Wood when she got back to London and stuck it to her computer monitor. Every day she looked
at that note and laughed. The old Hermione would've never written that down on paper. She
would've tried to pinpoint what town the band were from using a linguistics text and then
immediately set to tracking down Oliver. At this point she just wondered if Seamus would do, as
well.

So while she hadn't completely shut down the part of her brain that was almost painfully
academic, she was giving it a rest. Her wearied synapses, she reasoned, needed it. Furthermore, it
wasn't like writing inches and inches about actual people was as easy as, say, Transfiguration
essays. There was an essence to catch here and present to her readers and sometimes it proved
elusive enough to be more exhausting than even an essay for Snape.

She set about emailing her article she had been working on during her daydreaming to her editor
and then, for the first time since lunch, looked at her watch. And finally, it was time for her to
actually get some rest. Wine and music, she reiterated silently. No drinks with publicists and
their “hot new things”, no happy hour with her coworkers. She would be resolute in her solitude,
she smirked to her reflection in the mirror she'd hung on the back of the door. It was silent
and she laughed at her whimsy. If it was one thing she didn't miss, it was those blasted
mirrors. Grabbing her purse, she then settled into the evening's truly major debate - walking
versus Apparating. The sun was shining, though, and the wind looked relatively calm. Walking it
was, she decided, and started towards the elevator. Her step was light and she was feeling quite
cheerful as she moved down through the core of the building. Fridays, of which this was one, were
marvelous things, even if one technically did not have to be in a work building, per se.

Living downtown certainly had perks, such as her proximity to work. It also made it trickier for
owls to find her since even magical owls had a hard time distinguishing between curtained high-rise
windows. The Daily Prophet owl had mastered it, though, and it was the one she was truly concerned
with. She had gotten a subscription because she knew it was a good way to keep up with her friends
and the records were sealed. Although, there were a number of tabloids that would've done the
same trick, she mused wryly. She and Harry had encountered that sort of journalism fairly often, in
fact, since they spent so much time together. Curiously, though, it was always her and Harry, not
her and Ron. Which made far more sense than she would ever admit.

The last issue she'd seen featured her class, actually, as the one year anniversary of the
defeat of Voldemort approached. And everyone, predictably, was doing what they had done at
Hogwarts, only on a grander scale. Harry was playing Quidditch, Ron was working with his father at
the Ministry, Parvati was opening a boutique filled with lovely clothes with Ginny Weasley this
summer and Lavender was taking the recently opened Divination position at Hogwarts. She'd had
to stifle a snort at that. There had been a line about her at the end, something to the effect of
her presence being missed in the British magical community. She'd smiled a bit at that, for no
reason. It was nice to be missed. She missed them, in her own way, as well. She just wasn't
ready to deal with it yet and whenever she thought of it, she got the queerest feeling in her
stomach, which she resolutely pushed down. She was enjoying her high-flying journalist lifestyle.
Hermione always told herself that she would think about it when it became completely unavoidable
and to stop thinking. She was actually quite adamant with herself about it.

It was always particularly awkward when an actual personal missive from the people she'd
left reached her and she was forced to debate what to do about it. It was always positive in that
there was no real threat at this stage of things, but the sender inevitably begged for a visit of
some kind. Sometimes the writer asked if she was using her “talents” wisely. Frankly, Hermione
didn't feel like responding, most of the time. She would deal with it what was happening when
she got back. They'd survived without her this long, they'd keep doing so. In the end,
she'd always send a safely anonymous postcard back, one that didn't have “Chicago: The
Windy City!” plastered across it. She'd say what a great time she was having, say something
vague about returning and send her love to everyone. She'd also learned some clever cloaking
charms. No way were they going to trace her mail. She wasn't the cleverest witch at Hogwarts
for nothing.

Her parents, sworn to secrecy of course, just emailed her under her work address. She'd
thought of that, a nom de plume for when she was working. After all, someone who knew her was sure
to read the glossy she wrote for and it wouldn't be good to be recognized so easily after all
her careful hiding, right? Under the right circumstances, her name would've been an asset,
being the memorable moniker it was. Alas, she hadn't quite found that opportunity. She started
as a Mudblood and ended up a heroine, fan club and all. Honestly, Harry was supposed to have all
that nonsense happening to him, being famous since his first birthday, basically. She chuckled a
bit at that throught and noticed she'd reached her apartment. The last year of urban life had
obviously made her commute subliminal. Nodding at Alex the doorman, she stepped into the shiny
silver elevator and continued the ongoing debate about what she was going to listen to.

Having made her decision, Hermione stepped out of the elevator on her floor and started over to
her door. It wasn't warded or otherwise magically protected. She hadn't seen the need,
honestly. Who would look for her here? Yes, she thought smugly as she fit the key into the lock,
she'd created a cozy little life for herself here. She opened the door, dropped her purse on
the table she kept in the foyer and noticed Crookshanks sitting at her feet and looking pointedly
into the living room. She smiled a little at his disturbed look and picked him up to carry him into
the room he'd been drawing her attention to.

“Aww, was my poor Crooks lonely to…” She trailed off as she realized the reason her half-Kneazle
cat had been staring into the living room. His catlike appearance, it seemed, had lulled Hermione
into temporarily forgetting his uncanny intelligence. He could hardly blame her, she was kind of
tired sometimes these days. So there he sat in her arms, smug in the knowledge that he had one up
on her right now, as she looked between the two people occupying her front room. She'd thought
he had just seen a spider or something, scuttling across her immaculate crème carpeting. It was
something much more concerning than that, especially considering where her thoughts had been for
most of the day. Perhaps this was karma, chiding her for her smugness, she thought wildly as she
observed the scene.

Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, it seems, had decided to join her for that bottle of wine.



2. A Bottle of Merlot
---------------------



Disclaimer: See previous. Still not mine. Carry on with the lack of lawsuits.

Thanks to all my kind Portkey reviewers - you cats are superspiff, even if some of you did
cheat. *grin* No, honestly. Kind reviews like the ones I got are so warm and fuzzy. Aww,
squish!

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

“sometimes the truth is like a second chance”

-dar williams, “after all”

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Now this, she thought to herself, this was a Situation. Capital intended. Hermione hadn't
expected this at all, and there they were. Her two other parts. In her living room, her fifteenth
story Chicago living room, where she was supposed to be half a world away from them. They were most
definitely not supposed to be sitting there and yet there they were. Harry sat almost placidly on
her brown leather couch, the only indicator of his inner turmoil his vivid green eyes. Ron was on
the other side of the room, his eyes skimming her first major article. She'd been so proud when
it was published she'd framed it in a brown frame. It had matched the couch she bought with the
proceeds. Funny, that. The frame and the couch matching. Since those were the things that…well,
never mind that.

When Hermione got nervous, she tended to let her mind have free reign. It usually served to help
her come up with a solution to whatever was bothering her. In this case, though, the welcome
chatter that told her that her brain wasn't working didn't seem to be helping. In fact, she
hadn't said a word since she had greeted Crookshanks so effusively a minute ago. Nobody had.
Harry had stared, Ron was skimming and Hermione's eyes were darting between the two of them.
She felt, inexplicably, like a small child about to be scolded.

Wait, she thought, that's not how it is. She didn't have to answer to Harry and Ron, of
all people, if anything they owed her an explanation. And as soon as the thought passed her brain,
she almost laughed. Of course she did. They were her friends, more than that. They'd always
called each other on their behavior. The answers tended to vary from snappish secrecy to
embarrassed pleasure at being called out, with stops at various points along the way. Hermione
wasn't feeling any of that. She was honestly a little tired. She'd started one major story
last night and finished another one this afternoon, not to mention the exhaustion immediately
caused by coming face to face with the inevitable end of the memory lane she'd tripped merrily
down this afternoon.

Somehow, all the faith and joy she'd had in her intelligence and cleverness had evaporated
between the foyer and the living room. Alison Gryffin, her writer alter-ego seemed to have
disappeared, as well, leaving Hermione Granger there in all her glory. She even expected her
recently acquired glossy shoulder length ringlets to grow out into the waist long bushy mass
she'd had a year ago, just completing the transformation going on in her head. Her grasp of the
situation had faltered and in thirty seconds she'd reverted from a glorious eighteen year old
independent woman to bookworm Hermione again. That *hurt*. And just when she'd started
resolving the two. Honestly, sometimes she felt honestly schizophrenic.

And hadn't she told her brain to stop babbling for a minute?

Noticing that Ron had turned to look at her and no one was saying anything, she felt suddenly
frustrated. They surely hadn't come all this way to stare at her and she was missing out on
precious moments of her relaxing evening. Which, she concluded, seemed to be fairly out of the
picture. The wine still seemed like a good idea. Better, even. And music was said to soothe the
savage beast. Which is what she had a feeling she might be facing in a minute. Well, then, she
mused, she'd best get a couple of minutes of casual in. She looked at both boys and simply
nodded.

“Harry, Ron,” she said, managing to keep the slight tremor out of her voice, “so nice to see
you. If you'll give me a moment. . .” She trailed off and walked out of the room. That should
buy her thirty seconds or so, she thought to herself. Which it did. Almost precisely, in fact, she
had just gotten to her bedroom and closed the door a second ahead of the cacophony that had erupted
in her living room. Laughing in spite of the situation, she changed into one of her yoga outfits
(not just for yoga, they were great for working from home and general lounging, a multi-purposeness
that Hermione appreciated) and walked back into the room, completely ignoring them for the moment.
She'd decided while debating between pink and grey - she was not going to let them have the
upper hand here. She'd never let them have an easy advantage, she surely wasn't about to
start here. And she'd picked the yellow and decided that maybe it wasn't a pop night.
Debussy, perhaps, thanking the foresight that had made her “borrow” some of her dad's cds.

From behind the closed door, she flicked her wand towards the living room, starting the music
before she got into the room. She walked in to the continued wall of sound coming from the boys
and, for all outward appearances, casually walked into her kitchen and got out the bottle of merlot
she'd been thinking of, which she opened and set aside so it could breathe. Only when her music
was going and her wine was breathing did she stop and listen. And honestly, that's all she did,
just listened.

“Hermione! Mum was so worried about you when you took off why didn't you - “ That was Ron,
going on about the concern all of the Weasleys had displayed during her self-imposed exile. So he
would be taking the stern guilt route. She really was pleased with herself for taking this so well.
She was finally getting to be the free young woman, being an adult on her own terms, and she
intended to carry the serenity that knowing what she was doing in Chicago gave her. She was doing
what she wanted to, instead of what people needed her to do. Ron went on for a minute or twenty,
and Harry, who had gone silent when she sat down, had just looked at her. “ - owl or call on the
fellytone,” Hermione rolled her eyes, he didn't even bother, “or anything at all! Smoke
signals, a personal ad, anything! Harry and I were upset! Harry put his Quidditch career on hold
until we finally went to your parents who were able to confirm that you weren't dead! Why would
you do. . .” She was slightly shocked at one part of this. Harry had put his career on hold for
her? She felt a momentary twinge of guilt at this, which she resolutely squelched. She turned her
attention outward and was not even remotely surprised to notice that Ron was still going.

Harry, on the other hand, had continued looking at her in that disconcerting manner, and to be
honest, that worried her far more than Ron's angry tirade. She had made the mistake of glancing
at Harry under her heavy lashes and had been caught in the sheer weight of his contemplation.
Hermione, not entirely unpleasantly, felt like an exhibit in that moment. She knew she should feel
something negative about it, that she should at least challenge him with her own nonverbal signals,
but she found she didn't have it in her. Instead, she moved forward and conjured three glasses.
Pouring herself a glass of wine, she noticed her ears suddenly ringing with tinnitus, in the
absence of other sound. Ron must have stopped then. Good. She gestured to the other two glasses and
the bottle of wine. Maybe they noticed, maybe they didn't. She sat back and closed her eyes,
inhaling the deep scent of the dark red wine.

“'Mione,” Harry said gently, causing her eyes to snap open, “we missed you.” And that, it
appeared was all he was going to say. They'd come over here on her relaxing bloody evening so
Ron could screech at her, oddly reminiscent of Molly Weasley and Harry was pulling his wise act.
Brilliant. She reminded herself to breathe properly and took a drink.

“And? I missed all of you, of course, you know that. How could I have not?” She tried very hard
to be equally gentle, but the frustration she felt at her disturbance tonight seemed to spill over
her normally calm voice.

“Well, that's bloody wonderful!” Ron was angry, of course, and she didn't even bother to
correct his language. After all, she used that word once and again herself. “So while we were all
missing each other, why did you leave, `Mione?” Harry had gone back to his thoughtful silence.

“I couldn't handle it, Ron. We had done what we set out to do, and that was all I had in me
then. Not a teaching position, not enough for a book dea, not a potions apprentice. I needed to get
out. I was drained. And since I still got the Daily Prophet, I know how much press there was, and
it started immediately after. Dumbledore didn't hide you forever, and he wouldn't have been
able to, even had I requested it.” She tried very hard to be reasonable with him. She was not going
to lose her cool tonight. She was going to remain calm. Fuck that, she thought, and snapped.

“Ronald Weasley, I've been an adult for as long as I can remember! My entire scholastic
career I've been keeping an eye on you two. It's always been my special job,” she stated
with no small bitterness, “to be the stable one, the secure one, the problem solver. Who solved my
problems, Ron? Did you? Did you, Harry?” She whirled around to face the silent boy, who met her
eyes surprisingly calmly.

“Hermione, that's not fair because…” Ron started. Hermione snorted inelegantly. Ron,
surprised, quieted a bit, just enough for Hermione to start talking. Once he listened to her, he
was silent, surprisingly. Apparently, something in the back of her mind registered, Ron had decided
to learn when to shut up at some point. Perhaps some of the emotion she'd kept safely buried
inside was leaking through the calm veneer she'd painted over herself during his tirade. Or
maybe he was just hoarse from the shouting earlier. That, she thought sardonically, was probably
it.

“You're right, Ron, it wasn't fair. It wasn't fair that my childhood disappeared
while you two were chasing bloody Quaffles and Snitches and doing Wonky Feints.” For once the boys
didn't laugh at her error, but continued to listen. “I know you two lost yours as well, but
where did you come when you needed someone, Ron, Harry? You two had something. You had Quidditch
and girls. But every time I tried to find someone, you'd scare them off or bother me to the
point where I didn't want to bother! So, I don't see what the big deal is if, after helping
you two save the fucking world,” here both Ron and Harry had the grace to look abashed, Hermione
never swore like that, “I wanted to nip off for a while. I don't see where it's any of your
business how long I wanted to nip off to and where. And, furthermore, Ron Weasley, it certainly
hasn't hurt your press, has it?”

“We're your friends, though, that's why. And you're making it sound like you went to
the Leaky Cauldron for a week. You've been gone for a year, Hermione, and no one's heard
from you, except for those postcards.” Harry finally uttered more than four words and Hermione
rounded on him.

“My friends? It didn't feel like that about a year and a half ago. I was researching every
waking minute and what were you two doing? Playing sodding Quidditch. Quidditch!” She was nearly
hysterical at this point, all the rage she hadn't quite realized was there boiling up to the
surface. She'd felt slightly bitter, of that there was no doubt, but the depth of her feelings
surprised even her. The boys, once again, looked slightly ashamed of themselves. “I felt so alone.
I know we were all having various issues then, but…why did you leave me alone?” The last words had
been a whisper, but she wasn't done. “And why, if you didn't want me, couldn't you let
me go?”

Ron looked shocked. Panicked, even. Hermione had never been like this. He might expect something
like this out of Ginny, who was his sister. And while Hermione was like a sister to him, he
wasn't sure pulling her hair and walking away to get his mum was what he quite needed to do in
this situation. Briefly, he wished he were back home, where he could Floo Ginny or Mum or have Lav
take care of this. Because now Hermione looked positively miserable. When she'd lost her need
to yell, she'd dropped into her chair and curled up into a little ball. The music and the wine
and even, to a point, the two boys were forgotten as tears streamed down her face. He looked over
to Harry, only to see the most curious thing.

Harry was crying, too. He was looking at Hermione like he'd never seen her before and his
own face was tear-streaked. Ron was almost frightened right now. There'd been no need for them
to cry, they'd planned this expedition to straighten out Hermione for a month. Hermione crying,
he could see. He wasn't quite sure, but apparently Hermione had felt very hurt by something he
and Harry had done, but Harry crying? For a minute Ron wondered if he'd gone mad and needed his
mum to take him to St. Mungo's for a check-up. They'd come here to yell at Hermione, not
get all soppy. Harry's next move shocked Ron even more. Harry walked over to the large
overstuffed armchair Hermione had curled her slight frame into, picked her up and settled her into
his arms and started making soothing noises and patting her hair and telling her how much he'd
missed her. Not how much they'd missed her, but how much he, singular, had missed her.

This was where Ron started wondering what exactly what was happening to both his current and
former best friends. Hermione had stopped crying quite so hard and was now looking up at Harry
wonderingly and Harry had the barmiest look on his face. This went on for a few more minutes as Ron
got more and more baffled. Could that be why Harry had. . .no, it couldn't be. This was
Hermione, after all. Ron cleared his throat to get their attention. It didn't work.

“'Lo? Harry? He. . .Hermione? Erm. . .shouldn't we be talking right now?” Hermione
looked up at him and Harry shifted his eyes to Ron, who felt immediately awkward and guilty for a
moment. Then the two shifted their eyes back to each other and both blushed scarlet. Hermione slid
off of Harry's lap and retrieved her glass of wine. Harry poured his own and moved back to the
couch, leaving Hermione to reclaim her armchair.

“Should we be talking right now, Ron?” Hermione looked at him almost challenging, her gaze
flickering to Harry, seeming to forget thirty seconds ago. Ron swore, he'd never understand her
as long as he lived. He didn't know what to do right now. Half of him wanted to leave and
forget about this, and half of him knew that this would happen again even if he did leave right
now. Besides, he wasn't even sure if Harry would come with him, the way he was acting right
now.

“Well, nothing's going to solve itself otherwise, is it?” Ron's words had a strange
twist to them, almost Snapian in origin. Hermione laughed.

“Funny, I've been telling you two that for years.” And, oddly, in that moment, all the angry
undertones abated for now and they were back to Hermione-and-Ron-and-Harry instead of Harry and Ron
in Hermione's living room for a minute and all three of them exhaled. Being friends with each
other for seven years would've made them strong as it was, but their dangerous escapades had
made their bonds almost unbreakable, amazingly even still. They would always have a confrontations
and then the sharp edges of anger would soften as it became something else, a puzzle. This would
have happened either way, Hermione mused, she'd just put it off. And now, it seemed, it was
time to reacquaint herself with her two other pieces.

The dynamic was different, though, she'd noticed. Ron had missed `Mione, his verbal sparring
partner and constant touchstone. Harry, it seemed. . .she didn't know what it seemed, but she
was very curious as to what exactly he had missed. He'd never held her like he did a minute
ago. And he had cried. Harry was the strongest person she knew, even more so, she believed, then
Albus Dumbledore, and he had cried over her. He had petted her and murmured to her and she had felt
herself instantly jolt with a new sort of frightening recognition. This was Harry. Harry Potter,
her best friend. But, for a moment, sitting on his lap, crying out a year of residual misery, she
had felt something else, something unfamiliar. She looked over at Ron and smiled, knowing he would
always be the same, his relationship with her was a constant. She's always assumed the same of
Harry, though.

One look at Ron reassured her. He was looking from Harry to her in a resigned sort of fashion
that left her bewildered. She caught his attention and he rolled his eyes at her.

“You're both acting completely mad.” Harry's head snapped up from where it had been
staring at the floor and he shot Ron and annoyed look. Ron threw a pillow at him, Hermione yelled
at him for throwing her imported housewares and Harry smiled at the exchange.

“Look, if you two want to catch up, you might as well stay here tonight. I don't want you
splinching yourself going cross-Atlantic after this. You can use the. . .well, the phone if
there's anyone you need to call. I'm not connected to the Floo Network, though.” Hermione,
frankly, was quite curious to know what would happen after she made that offer.

“Oh, it's fine. Mum knows where I am and Lav does, too. I think we will stay here tonight.”
Ron made himself quite comfortable on one side of the couch as he said that and looked at Harry. So
that's how it was, she thought. The sly asides the newspaper had used to infer that the
youngest Weasley boy was dating Hogwarts' newest teachers seemed to have some base in truth.
She made a mental note to ask Ron about how that had come about later and also turned to Harry.

“I live alone, Hermione, there's no one who will miss me. I took some time off from
practice, Oliver's covering for me.” Harry looked up at her and, for a moment, there was a
weird lack of air in the room as Hermione met his eyes and thought about the implications of the
words Harry had just murmured. Harry was alone and he had held her so tightly earlier. She looked
steadily at him, unblinkingly, trying to tell him the deepest secret of seventh year. It hadn't
been the potion or all the times she stole ingredients or any of that, that was one thing for
certain. He looked back at her with a spark in his eyes that had rarely been there since. . .well,
since before. Ron wasn't sure, honestly.

Well, well, Ron mused, looks likes absence does make the heart grow fonder.



3. untitled
-----------

Disclaimer: For cryin’ out loud, how many times do I have to tell you? Oh, every time? Well,
okay then. I still don’t own this. And you should continue with the not suing.

Thanks again to my Portkey reviewers - it’s so nice of you to care about my little ol’ story.
Soon, this will be caught up to ff.net. One more chapter. . .

I swear, I was going to leave this as it is. I really was. But the reviews I have gotten asked
me to write some more and I’m nothing if not accommodating… As Meowie is my witness, I will not
sleep until I have at least a thousand words. *raises coffee mug*

(Never doubt a vow taken on a cat.)

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

“if you go a million miles away, I will track you down, trust me when I say I know the pathway
to your heart”


-r.e.m., “superman”

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

How, Hermione wondered to herself, could Harry be single? Harry was the Boy Who Bloody Lived.
Right before she’d left, he had been forced into taking his N.E.W.T.s in a dank room of the Leaky
Cauldron because his fan club wouldn’t leave him alone. He hadn’t been able to step foot outside a
specially appointed set of rooms while he recovered from the final battle. She had assisted in
triple warding them herself before they’d realized who she was and she had been forced to run from
the barrage of questions. She silently laughed. She’d taken personal delight in keeping Harry’s
horde of admirers and wistful nursemaids from bothering him. And his Quidditch career, even though
he had put it off, certainly didn’t allow for fading into the distance. Sometimes the Daily Prophet
fairly screamed about his latest achievements. Come to think of it, though, she hadn’t seen him on
the society pages much lately. Sneaking a peek over at him, letting Ron’s voice wash over her in
the chatter that had ensued after her invitation, she realized that he’d grown thinner. Maybe it
was all that Quidditch training. He looked like he could use some sleep, too. When he looked up at
her, she realized that they were both looking at her like something was expected. Had she missed
something? Best take a listen, she thought to herself, as she schooled her face into a thoughtful
expression. . . Lucky for her, sweet Ron was still as oblivious as ever when it came to these
things and assumed she was shocked. She wasn’t about to confess that she’d learned to tune him out
fifth year and he still had yet to catch on.

“I know, ‘Mione! Mal-foy. Draco-sodding-Malfoy! My little sister is dating that wanker! They’re
planning on moving in together after she graduates. Mum’s about to toss Ginny into a. . .what’s
that place they throw those women who aren’t allowed to. . .well, get their oats? You know. Either
way, it’s rubbish and I’ll AK him if he does anything awful to my sister.” He sat back with a
defiant flourish.

“Ron! Language! And, furthermore, that’s not something you should say so easily, considering. .
.well, considering. And it’s a convent.” Hermione sat back, mimicking Ron’s gesture, only with a
prim fashion that was pure vintage Hermione. “Besides, your sister is of age. She can legally do
whatever she wants. In both worlds now, I believe.”

Ron sputtered for a moment. “But. . .but! Not with Malfoy, she can’t!”

“Mate, she’s going to do it even more happily if she knows you disapprove this much.” Harry,
surprisingly, came up with this pearl of wisdom. “Besides, she looks like she’s happy to begin
with. Don’t want to encourage her further in carrying on with her life.”

Hermione was surprised at Harry’s callous treatment of the matter, but when he looked up at her
and winked, jerking his head to where Ron was turning a lovely shade of fuchsia, indicating that he
was winding their other best friend up, she couldn’t help but giggle into her wineglass. Looking up
at Ron, who had gotten up and started pacing in front of her large living room window, she smiled,
thinking that not much had actually changed in nine years. When her glance went back to Harry,
though, who was smiling at her in a vague sort of fashion, she had to wonder if perhaps she was
wrong. Setting her glass down, she leaned forward.

“Harry? Are you okay?” Ron stopped pacing when he heard Hermione’s soft question and looked at
Harry, almost as if he were just as interested in the answer.

Harry’s eyes fairly glowed. “I am, Hermione. I’m okay. Today’s a good day.” He gestured around
her living room with a wineglass. “I know. . .well, I know we said it earlier, but we missed you.
It’s good to be back with you. I was just thinking of how good it is to have the trio back together
again.” He grinned at the use of the simple moniker they had used for their dynamic before his face
grew thoughtful again.

The room cheerful atmosphere suddenly seemed to shift into a weighty sort of contemplation. Ron
and Harry were looking at her again, Hermione realized, in that manner that indicated she was
expected to say something here. Honestly, she wasn’t quite sure what to tell them. She’d vented all
her frustration on them earlier and right now, she realized, her reasons were a little small. There
was no reason for her to cut them off completely. Maybe, she deducted, she had been a little
selfish. It wouldn’t have killed her to have the Floo Network connected. On the other hand, the
part of her that had grown up so much during the past year showed that maybe it hadn’t been such a
bad idea. She’d had valuable time to develop herself, Hermione, as opposed to helping Harry and Ron
along. It was the mature thing to do, she had decided then, and she still felt that way. The three
of them had gotten a chance to decide what they were on their own, as opposed to doing something
that all three of them could do, but might have regretted. The tricky part, she mused, was putting
all this into words. She had to try, though, and hope that maybe they’d done a little maturing over
the last year, as well.

“Harry. Ron.” She held a hand out to both of them. “You two are part of me. You used to be as
much a part of me as I am. And that. . .that isn’t how it should be. I needed room to find out who
I was. I had to have some space to be Hermione instead of Harry, Ron and Hermione.”

Harry interrupted her at this point. “Hermione, we never saw you that way. You’ve always been
Hermione to us.”

“But, Harry,” here Hermione looked at him beseechingly, almost as if she were begging him to
understand, “I wasn’t to anyone else. Everyone saw me as just an extension of you two. And I know
there are some people who see you as the same, only as puppets of myself.”

“Oi, Hermione, so? We’re a team, that’s all they need to know. Why’d you have to skive off,
though?” Ron had interrupted here.

“’Skive’? I ‘skived off’?” This time it was Hermione who was turning an alarming shade of red.
“Ronald Weasley, I do think you’re using that in the wrong context. I did my duty. As did the two
of you. But I wasn’t happy with all the fuss afterwards. I didn’t do any of that so I could get my
picture in the Daily Prophet, you know!” Hermione’s voice was reaching that high register that she
noticed it only seemed to hit when Ron Weasley was involved. The two of them were standing now,
facing each other down like so many times in the Common Room, but this time Harry stopped them
instead of letting them have it out.

“Well,” Harry said around the chuckles that were begging to escape, “the two of you are
certainly back to normal.”

“No, Harry, don’t. I think there are definitely some things that need said,” Hermione stated
seriously, her voice returning to its earlier levels as she sank into her chair, “and I intend to
say them.” Turning to Ron, she went on. “Frankly, Ron, let me tell you this in the simplest
possible way. I needed to be a young adult. I needed to not be clucking after you two. I needed to
go live my life as something other than one of the saviors of the wizarding world. I just. . .I
just couldn’t deal with it. I wanted to hide from all that attention and just be myself.”

“Hermione, we would’ve helped you.” Ron’s voice was blunt. “You know we would’ve done whatever
you bloody wanted, hid you away if that’s what you needed. I still don’t understand why. . .”

“Ron! I needed this. Look around!” Hermione waved around the apartment. “My apartment isn’t even
warded!” Ron snorted at this and Harry looked concerned, but she continued resolutely. “I’ve been
living here a year and not once have I needed it. No paparazzi snapping pictures. No leftover Death
Eaters. Just me and my work and my life.”

“Yes, just you. But it hasn’t been just you for years, we’ve always been a team. What you do, we
do.” Harry pointed out and Hermione jumped out of her chair.

“That’s exactly it! Oh, Harry, Harry, that’s exactly what I was talking about! We’ve always been
a team, at least until seventh year.” Both boys looked a little awkward at that statement. “Ever
since I was 11, I’ve been with you two. We got so co-dependent on each other that I wasn’t sure who
I was. Before this year, I would’ve rather died than be apart from you this long.” She stopped at
Ron’s questioning look and held his gaze for a minute as he slid his eyes over to Harry and raised
one russet eyebrow. “Both of you. Ron, you’re like a brother and Harry, you’re. . .” she trailed
off thoughtfully and then continued in a rush as she realized her mistake. “Then, our last year at
Hogwarts, I worked so hard on the potion for the final battle that I didn’t have time to be sure of
anything. I needed to rest, I needed to find out who I was and, to do so, I felt like I needed to
do it on my own, without you two defining me. Besides, I felt like the two of you had abandoned me
anyway, seventh year, and that hurt so much. I didn’t think it would matter that much if I
left.”

Ron set down the magazine he had been turning over in his hands after he sat down and looked
over at her guiltily. “About that, ‘Mione, I’m sorry.” He looked over at Harry, and seeing the
stricken look on his friend’s face at the girl they both loved and her obvious distress, amended
it. “We’re so sorry. If we had known that this would happen, we would’ve helped you more.”

Hermione sighed. “Ron, you shouldn’t have had to have been asked. You should’ve helped me more
anyway. But, then again, I’d always found these solutions by myself, haven’t I? I’ve always given
of myself, and I’ve always enjoyed it. I wanted to help Harry and all of us without disturbing
anything or anyone. Why change?” Not bothering waiting for a response, she simply continued
speaking. “But I nearly killed myself finding the answer that time. I went into the hospital wing
three times. I didn’t want to have to ask you for help, and by the time I did, you two were busy
with other things.” Her traitorous voice had started to quiver at the last bit.

“Hermione, you didn’t tell us how serious the situation was.” Harry stood up in a sudden burst
of motion, both hands shoved into the bottom of his pockets. “You should’ve told us! Dammit,
Hermione, it’s okay! Everyone needs help sometimes, all you had to do was tell us what was
happening to you. Albus didn’t tell us exactly what had happened that year until you had left.
Wouldn’t tell us where you went, either.” He paused here, looking annoyed for a moment before
shaking his head and walking over to Hermione’s chair. “Anything, anything at all you need,
Hermione, and you always have help. You had it then and,” he crouched next to her chair, putting a
hand on top of the one she had resting on the arm of her chair, “you have it now.” Feeling her hand
under his, Harry was amused. Her hands were so small. It was easy to forget just what they had
done, what they were capable of.

Looking at her as she fought for control of her emotions, he realized that all of her was small.
He felt a sudden surge of guilt at not finding her sooner. He’d searched alright, but Hermione,
while she hadn’t warded her door, had cast personal wards. And when a witch as powerful as Hermione
didn’t want to be found, it wasn’t easy. It had taken enormous amounts of power to cast the
tracking charm he had, the one that had finally broken through her concealment. Meeting her dark
brown eyes, he wondered if it would do any good. The goal of this was to bring Hermione back to
their world, or at least get a standing invitation into hers. He hadn’t told Ron, but he had missed
Hermione in a way that he was sure, he hoped, his other best friend hadn’t. Unknowingly echoing
Ron’s earlier thought, he was dismayed it had taken a year and an ocean to make him realize how he
felt about their other third.

“But. . .” her voice was just a whisper, “it didn’t feel that way. I felt so alone.”

Harry sighed and Ron looked at the two of them with a shrewd eye that people rarely suspected he
possessed. He had realized a few minutes ago that they weren’t going to get much more out of
Hermione. She was emotionally exhausted. Anyway, he had recognized this excursion of Hermione’s as
what his mother would simply call a growing pain. All they could do, honestly, at this point, was
try to get over it. Besides, he kind of saw her point. He didn’t see why she had to have it all the
bloody way over here, but he’d had his own bit of rebellion fourth year. Hermione was just a little
slow when it came to those things. In the meantime, though, he was knackered. He was willing to bet
Harry was, too. It was ten o’clock here in the States, which meant it was. . .well, late at home.
Ron calculated his next action carefully. Harry was still stroking Hermione’s hand and Hermione was
looking at where their two hands were sitting together. Crackers, these two were. Everyone knew the
hero got the girl, right? Or maybe in this case, the hero got the Quidditch player. He wasn’t sure.
He was definitely glad he’d starting carrying on with Lavender, though. Made things right easy,
that did. He’d never had quite the grief he was observing. Would continue observing, he thought, if
he didn’t do something. He only hoped his plan wasn’t too horribly up front about it. Then again,
if the situation itself were any indication, he didn’t have to worry about these two finding
anything too obvious.

Standing up, Ron stretched and yawned loudly. “’Mione, you look tired.” She gave a ghost of her
normal smile, since it was Ron that was yawning.

“Ron, I’m a music writer, I’m used to staying up late. Researching and whatnot.” Harry and Ron
both smirked a bit at this.

“Fancy that.” Ron dryly muttered before continuing on in a louder voice, oblivious to Hermione’s
scathing look. “I’m tired.”

“I can see why. There’s quite a difference in times. It’s four a.m. in England. You two must be
exhausted.” Suddenly, Hermione slid her hand out from under Harry’s and became all bustling motion
as she grabbed her wand and moved towards a hallway that led, apparently, to the bedrooms. Ron
found it scarily reminiscent of his mother.

Harry cleared his throat. “Actually, Hermione, I’ll stay up with you for a few more minutes.” He
missed the smirk on Ron’s face and Hermione was out of the room, much to his relief. Harry had
learned to be very observant over the years. There wasn’t much his bespectacled green eyes missed
and Ron was surprised that he hadn’t received a frown for his troubles.

“Well, okay, Harry,” came Hermione’s strangely disembodied voice, “but if you’re tired, I don’t
mind. I’ll probably be in bed in an hour anyway. I’ll have another bed in here in a second.”

“Right, a second.” Ron whispered as he grabbed his best friend by the shoulders, much to Harry’s
surprise. “Look, Harry, I know.”

Harry looked around before meeting Ron’s gaze. “Know what?”

“I know. How you feel,” Ron waved towards the hallway where Hermione’s footsteps could be heard
returning, “about ‘Mione. Do it. You both need this.”

“Ron? Where are you? I thought you followed me back here?” Hermione could be heard approaching
the living room. Ron threw a complex series of hand and facial signals at his best friend before
his other best friend came in, a worried look on her features. “Harry, seriously, though, it’s okay
if you’re tired.”

“Actually, Hermione, I had to ask Harry if he’d brought a change of clothes with him. I know I
didn’t. And Harry slept late today, to make sure he wouldn’t be too tired while we were finding
you.” Ron looked innocently at Hermione.

Hermione looked at him for a minute before grabbing a box of tissue. “Oh, of course. Long
distance tracking is exhausting. Anyway, I’ll transfigure these into some pajamas for the two of
you and put them back here.” And off she went again, just as Ron had intended. It was clear, he
thought, she hadn’t been around. Normally she would’ve known something was up immediately. Briefly
he wondered what else he could pull over on her while they were here.

Shaking his head resolutely, he instead, simply took the time he had amazingly been gifted with,
he turned back to Harry. “Harry, it’s okay. You have to try.”

“Ron, mate, what if she doesn’t feel the same way?” Harry looked slightly startled. “And how can
you tell?”

“She does and I just can. Blimey, Harry, I’m not sure how you two have stayed apart this long,
but I have to go. Use the time wisely, my son.” Wiggling his eyebrows at Harry, he walked down the
hallway towards where Hermione had gone, leaving the Boy Who Lived to wonder how he was going to
confess to being the Boy Who Loved, as well. Wrinkling his nose, he wondered if he had read that
somewhere. Talk about too much press. Maybe he was starting to believe his own. His thoughts were
interrupted by Hermione’s returning footsteps.

Moment of truth, he thought to himself, as Hermione came in. She was still wearing her yellow
outfit, he noticed, and she looked beautiful. She had paused, though, in the archway that led into
the living room and was looking at him in a most confusing manner.

“Harry, I. . .”

“Hermione. . .”

Obviously, he thought, Ron might be right. Perhaps there were some things to be said on both
their parts. He watched as she settled into the armchair she seemed to favor and he moved towards
the couch. They looked across the coffee table and, with a wave, Hermione indicated that he could
go first.

“Hermione, there was a reason I put off starting this year.”

“Oh?”

This was going to be harder than he thought.



4. Misunderstandings and Other Mishaps
--------------------------------------



Disclaimer: *tapping a foot* Yo. For the last time (I think), I'm telling you that I
don't own Harry Potter. I'll say this again and again and you'll continue to not sue
me.

So. This story is coming to a close, I do believe. And since I'm writing it, that's all
that matters, no? Anyway, if this isn't the last chapter, then there will be just one more
after it. And I'll let you know at the end.

I *heart* my reviewers. *grin*

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

“everything will change”

-the postal service, “brand new colony”

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

The seconds after her questioning murmur felt like hours. Harry sat across from the girl who had
inhabited his dreams for the past year and a half and found himself looking at his feet with
nothing to say. Well, no, he had plenty to say, the words just wouldn't come out. And there she
was, Hermione Granger, cool as a rock star. Maybe she'd learned it at work, his inner voice
snickered. Either way, Harry'd been less afraid facing down half a dozen Death Eaters. And
he'd certainly never had any problems with girls before. But they were just. . .girls. This was
Hermione. No sweet words would save him here and, even if they could, he wanted this to be real. He
looked at his shoes for another minute or so before realizing that the silence was dragging on. He
looked up at Hermione and saw that she was leaning slightly forward, hands clasped between her
knees, waiting for him to talk. How Hermione had gained this still quality he'd never know.
When he last saw her, she was still all kinetic motion and barely concealed urgency.

He finally opened his mouth, fully intending to speak, to tell her exactly how he felt, to let
it all come tumbling out of him, but the best he managed was a squeaky sort of sigh. Hermione
leaned back, looked at him appraisingly for a moment and laughed.

“Harry?” Her voice still held the echoes of her laughter, even as she spoke. “You came all the
way over here for that?”

And just like that, the dam broke. Harry jumped out of his seat, went around Hermione's
sleek little coffee table and pulled her out of his chair and into a fierce hug.

“No, `Mione, I came over here for this.” And they stood there, embracing each other tightly. He
could've sworn he heard her sniffle a little

Hermione broke away first and looked up at him, her face, as he suspected, shiny with tears.
“Harry, I said I was sorry and I meant it. But I also told you why I had to do it and meant that,
too. I had to go. But honestly, I missed you two so much. The first few months were miserable.”
Here she paused, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. “I was trying so hard to succeed and
survive and I felt like I was dying, like part of me had just been taken out. I had to do it,
though, so that I could. . well, so I could grow up. And I have. So have you two, I've
gathered.”

“We have.” Harry stated the two words simply and without any attempts to make Hermione feel
guilty. There had already been enough of that from Ron earlier.

A moment of silence passed between the two, each of them studying the person opposite, and when
the moment came, there was no hesitation from either of them. In the years to come, they would
argue about who moved first.

It was Harry, actually, who moved that millimeter closer, though Hermione was the one who
realized what was actually about to happen. Her first reaction was to pull away, seeing as Harry
was probably just in shock at seeing her. Then she realized that there was time to deal with all
that later, and she smiled a little as she closed her eyes, and she could actually feel Harry's
smile as he touched her lips to hers and it was all fireworks and falling stars and Harry.
Harry's hand on her back and his other in her hair and his scent of grass and soap, his hair
tickling the side of her face, his glasses slightly pressing into her nose.

She'd always wondered what it was like, ever since years ago when she'd told him that he
couldn't be a bad kisser. At the time, she'd just known it, instinctively. There was no way
that Harry Potter could have been, could be, a bad kisser. She had found out that her roommates
agreed with her the hard way, as they giggled and whispered in their beds and she had felt sullied.
She would've known that about Harry even if he weren't the Boy Who Lived. To her he was
just her best friend until things had changed and he'd become her best friend and a little
something else. She thought him terribly brave for doing all the things he'd done, but she also
knew about all the times he wasn't a hero. She'd held him as he cried over his godfather,
she had spent late nights up with him, discussing what the future held for all of them, including
him. After all, Ron and Hermione weren't destined to have a fight to the death with a Dark
Wizard.

The fact that they would and did had nothing to do with destiny and everything to do with
loyalty and love. Not because he deserved it for having a scar on his head from an incident when he
was a year old. He didn't care about all that and neither did they. He deserved it for being
kind and generous and funny and sweet and just generally all those things that made him uniquely,
beautifully. . .well, Harry.

This was what she was trying to tell him, their only point of communication being their lips.
She put every single ounce of the two years she had spent wishing she could be his into that kiss,
every happy thought of the seven years they'd spent together.

When they finally broke apart, she suspected she'd succeeded. Harry's eyes were slightly
glazed and oddly bright. Meeting them, she blushed momentarily and then looked straight back at
him.

“I'm sorry I never knew, `Mione.”

“I'm sorry I never mentioned it. Honestly, Harry, I couldn't expect you to know. I was
just scared. I didn't want to distract you. I thought about it, I thought about it a lot. It
wasn't the time. Even after the battle, it still wasn't quite right.”

“So what's different now?” Harry looked at her curiously, wondering why she hadn't said
anything even when Voldemort was gone.

She stepped back, waving around. “This is an apartment, Harry, and it might as well be a million
miles away from Hogwarts and London. I might as well be a million miles away from the girl I
was.”

“But you don't seem all that different, Hermione. I don't understand. Tell me what's
changed.”

“Nothing but me. Take. . .well, take a minute ago.” She paused, swirling away to walk to her
window, where she looked over the bright Chicago night. “A year ago I would've never done that.
I would've thought it to death. I would've analyzed it to see if it would be too strange
afterwards or what Ron would think or a million other things. And those are all concerns, but what
if we hadn't kissed? I would've always wondered and, in the end, that's what it comes
down to.”

“Well,” Harry started, puzzled, “of course it does. What else would it be?”

“That's where we've always been different. You and Ron go charging off into whatever the
near future holds, you create it as it happens. But me, well, why do you think I loved Arithmancy
so much? It was so tangible, so logical, so enlightening. The research I always did? It took me
somewhere, it showed me where I could go. But since I've come here, I've learned that
sometimes, now and again, you have to stop looking and leap.”

She turned back towards Harry, finding him about a foot away from her, studying her as if she
were some odd specimen Hagrid had brought into class. She honestly couldn't blame him, she
thought, walking back into the main part of the room and sitting on the couch. She just as
surprised as he was, this being the first time she'd put her huge paradigm shift into words.
She'd always known something was different about her since coming here, but she'd never
been quite sure what. Navel-gazing was one of those things she preferred to forego in exchange for
more concrete topics. Like anything other than that, really. Anything at all. She looked over as
Harry sat down beside her, his leg touching hers, just like they'd sat a million times before
but oddly different.

She was thinking about how she could still taste him a little when he finally spoke.

“See, that's funny. You see, we've sort of done the exact opposite. I started the season
late partially because I was worried about you, love, but also because I wanted to think about it.
You were right, it was a bit much after you left.” He smiled as Hermione snorted at the
understatement. “I could've done anything I wanted to. Ron could've done anything he wanted
to. Hell, `Mione, you could've done more than both of us put together, probably, when it was
all said and done. Endorsements and book deals are one thing, but did you know Puddlemere Potions
had a reward out for information on where you were just so they could offer you a job there?”

Hermione looked directly at him, startled. “Are you serious?”

“Gryff's honor. By the way, nice new name.”

“Thanks.” She said that a bit absentmindedly before looking back at him. “That's why I left,
Harry. I couldn't stand it. I've never really been used to the attention, certainly never
enjoyed it.” She held up a hand, stilling the protest that her companion had opened his mouth to
deliver. “I know you didn't, but you had lots of experience with it. Of course, Ron had some
fun with the whole thing, but I just couldn't deal with it, and what you just told me let me
know that I did the right thing, at least for me. Remember fourth year? I knew from then on that
being your best friend was going to be different in more than the adventuring way. To be honest,
I'd rather deal with a mountain troll again than reporters.”

“But, Hermione, you became a reporter.”

“Ah, but we become the things we most despise. I just get paid for it. Besides, it's
different. I interview rock stars and it's fun. It really is. Growing up with you has sort of
made it difficult for me to be that impressed by fame, so I get to know them on a level that most
people don't see. And I share that with my readers. It's like discovering something
new.”

Harry's eyes twinkled at her. “Ah. So meeting musicians is like doing a Potions report now,
is it? You know, you could always do a column for the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly. I don't
think you understand - you could do anything.” He paused for a minute. “But you would've been
able to do anything you wanted without the publicity and that's why you should take the
chance.”

He reached over to her, pulling a springy ringlet away from her shoulder and releasing it to
snap back to near her head, smiling as it fell in with the rest of her hair. She batted at his hand
and he grinned, catching hers in midair before it had a chance to hit him. She turned around on the
couch, swinging her legs up to sit in a half-lotus position, her legs resting on his, and gave him
her best playful glare. But she didn't slide her hand out of his.

“Sorry, I've still got the old seeker's reflexes. . .you should come see me play
sometime.”

“I. . .” Hermione trailed off, looking away from him and biting her lip a little. “I'm not
sure if I could just yet, Harry.”

“But you've been away a year,” he said, using the hand that wasn't still holding hers to
guide her face up until she made eye contact, “and we miss you. Molly Weasley keeps the jumper she
made you for Christmas in a cupboard in the living room, in case you come back. I miss you.”

“I know, I know you all miss me. I know you miss me.” She stopped speaking and her eyes widened
a little. “Mrs. Weasley really does that? Well. She should talk to my mother, who emails me every
other day lately, asking when I'm coming back to London for at least a visit. I'm just. .
.I don't know, Harry.”

“Behold, the great Hermione Granger doesn't know. Let me write this down,” he grinned, “so I
remember to tell Ron. But, really, what's so hard? I'm sure a Portkey isn't beyond your
capabilities. You know, they can make them for you if it is.”

“Very funny. I'll have you remember I made one sixth year so we could go chasing down
Pettigrew, remember? But it's not that, nothing to do with that. It's just that England is
where I grew up and where I had all these adventures, but I'm not sure I'm the same person
who did those things. Since I left, I've changed a lot. I've gotten accustomed to living a
normal life, as opposed to being a celebrity. Alison Gryffin is just a reporter, nothing more. I
get paid to fade into the shadows and watch, to not be the person that people are paying attention
to. If I come back to England, I'll be trotted out and bothered and they'll all want me
because I helped defeat Voldemort, not because I can make friends with prickly people and give them
to the world. Eighteen is a difficult age to have your own chocolate frog card, as I'm sure you
know.”

The boy across from her looked almost steely for a minute. “I found the first one that had my
face on it in sixth year when a second year Ravenclaw asked me to sign the one he had gotten at
Honeydukes, I know about all that. You should see it,” he muttered, looking glum, “unauthorized
biographies, toy wands, they want to make a movie about me for the Muggles, `Mione! Professor
McGonagall is handling it all for me.”

“I know, Harry. But you deserve all that fame, you earned it.”

“But you said yourself, you nearly went into the Hospital Wing three times finding a way to
defeat Voldemort. And when I was allowed to talk to people after I got away from Madam Pomfrey, I
told them that, but they didn't listen and you were gone. I just focused everything, but you,
you came up with it all.”

There was another pause, the newest in a conversation that seemed filled with moments where they
were searching for what came next, groping for the next place to be filled in. Harry finally broke
the silence, asking what he'd wanted to know for the last year.

“Why'd you leave without saying goodbye? That hurt, a lot, to know that you could just walk
away from me without even an owl telling me where you were going.”

“Would you have cared?” Hermione asked in a quiet tone.

Harry looked completely appalled at the suggestion. “Of course I would've! Bloody hell,
Hermione, even if you did think it was bad, we're best friends! You can't just disappear
and not tell us anything. I was worried sick. First I had to go take the N.E.W.T.s and then right
after, we fought Voldemort. Madam Pomfrey told me you helped shield where I was staying, but that
you had gone. I asked everyone, I looked around, but no one knew where you were. The newspapers
were running stories and asking where you were and no one had any answers. I wouldn't have told
them, but it was hard knowing that I couldn't even if I had wanted to.”

“I know, that was the beauty of it. No one knew, so no one could tell.”

“We wouldn't have.”

Hermione almost squirmed under Harry's gaze. “There was another reason, too.”

“What?”

“I felt like you two didn't need me, didn't want me around anymore.”

Harry brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the part of her fingers right after the first
set of knuckles and Hermione almost swooned before she regained her resolution. It was difficult,
knowing she was a breath away from starting something that she'd longed for. But she knew that
there was unfinished business to discuss before they could move on.

“No, Harry, we have to talk about this. You guys were busy with Quidditch and other things.”
They both colored slightly, knowing what she meant by that euphemism. “I don't mean to go on
about it, but you two really left me alone there.”

“But,” Harry responded, looking pained, “we didn't know what you were doing. And you were
always so tired and. . .well, snappish. We felt like we were bothering you.”

Hermione sighed. “This is never going to be resolved, is it? So much misunderstanding. It turned
out well in the end, though, didn't it?”

Harry thought about it for a minute. On one hand, it seemed like Hermione was back to her old
self, even if she said that it wasn't that.

“First of all, I'm not sure we're there yet. And, I'm not sure anyone told you this,
but when I was allowed to talk to anyone at all, Hermione, you and Ron were the first people I
asked for. You and Ron, in that order. And you weren't there. I'm still not sure how I feel
about that. I felt so abandoned and didn't really know what to think. You'd always been
there for me, and I thought that I had done an all right job being there for you, but I wasn't
sure then.”

Hermione blinked at him for a moment. “But, Harry, you had all those people. Albus Dumbledore,
the most important person in the wizarding world, was there. Ron was there. The Ministry was
probably ready to put you in Fudge's office. Honestly, you and Ron were far closer than I was
to either of you that year.”

“I already told you, though,” Harry said, barely concealed urgency laced through his voice, “we
left you alone because we thought that was what you wanted.”

“I didn't. I just thought that you two didn't want me around, which is why I needed to
go. Because I felt pushed away, so I actually went. There was all of that attention, but not when I
needed it, certainly not from the people I wanted it from.” She sat back, biting her lip.

Harry looked at her for a full minute, just examining her, like he had been doing all night.
Then he released her hand and, moving quickly, grabbed her face in both of his hands and he kissed
her. It was just as spectacular as the first time, making them both wonder what exactly they'd
been missing in the past and how often they could do it in the future. When they finally broke the
kiss, Hermione was slightly breathless and Harry looked pensive.

Hermione, having recovered herself slightly, looked at him with a completely serious look on her
face and smiled slightly.

“I've been in love with you since the summer before seventh year, you know.”

And Harry, even though he had expected that Hermione hadn't been telling him something, was
shocked to hear those words come out of her mouth, so shocked that he did the only thing he could
do and kissed her again. Hermione participated briefly and then pushed him away, getting up to pace
around her large living room.

“No, you have to listen to me. This is so important. I need you to know this. Do you remember
that night at the strawberry patch?”

Harry certainly remembered it. He, Ron and Hermione had gone out in the dead of night, in a
strawberry patch at the edge of the warded portion of the Weasleys' property. They had sat out
there all night, watching meteors. The three of them had laid there, their heads all touching,
murmuring quietly as the stars fell from the sky. At one point, Ron had wandered off to pick
strawberries, leaving Harry and Hermione conveniently alone to talk. That had been when Harry had
told her his thoughts on dying and when she had decided that he wasn't going to. She hadn't
mentioned this to him, just sat up and let him rest his head in her lap, stroking his hair all the
while.

“Yeah. I remember.” He smiled, obviously remembering the close feeling they had shared.

Hermione walked back to him and perched on the edge of the couch beside him. “That's when it
happened. That's when I knew you couldn't die, prophecy or not. I wouldn't let you. A
world under Voldemort would be unbearable, but I knew I wouldn't last long in it. But a world
without you in it at all was one that I wouldn't want to last in, even if I didn't have to
be afraid. I had to do something, I couldn't stand the thought of you dying. Of course, I had
never wanted you to die before, really, but it became so pressing. If I thought there was something
else I could be doing, I didn't want to sleep, I didn't want to eat. Finding a way for you
to defeat Voldemort and live was more important than any of that. That was when it all started. It
was later that year when you started dating that Hufflepuff that I realized why it was so urgent to
me.” She sat back, sinking into the cushions. “It was a classic case of denial, honestly.
Obsession, even, if I had to admit it. Not with you, yourself, per se, because I was fairly blasé
regarding that, but with keeping you alive, with keeping you safe.”

Harry looked shocked at what she had just said. He couldn't believe that she had done that
entirely because of him, he'd thought she'd done it for the good of the wizarding world,
too. But, no, she'd gone to all that to make sure that he made it out of there alive. She'd
been so insistent that she and Ron accompany him to where he faced Voldemort for the last time
because she wanted to make sure it worked and get him out of there. He remembered it was she who
had Apparated the three of them out of there before he fell asleep for the week following all that.
It all started clicking into place and made him feel slightly guilty.

“I didn't realize that and I'm sorry. I was. . .I was distracted.”

“I know, Harry. I just didn't want to tell you, I guess. . .” she sighed a little, “I guess
I just wanted you to know now, though. It felt so silly, honestly, when it was said and done. I
know that I did a great thing, but I had gone to such lengths. And I didn't want you to know, I
didn't want you to be. . .well, I didn't want things to get strange.”

“Well. . .I know now. And it's not strange, not when it's us, the three of us, anyway. I
need you, `Mione, just like I always have. I've been waiting for the last year for you to come
back and I realized that you might not. So, here I am. I'm thanking you for everything in
person.” He stood up, ignoring her attempts to brush off his gratitude and looked down at her, as
he spread his arms. “Did those kisses mean anything to you? Was it just the moment, is it just one
of those things?” He dropped his arms and walked a few feet away. “What I'm asking, Hermione
Granger, is if you're willing to accept my apology. My sincerest, deepest apologies, in fact.
Can we find a way for it to matter?”

“There's always something to be done, isn't there?”

Harry walked over to Hermione, dropping down to his knees just in front of her. “That's not
what I'm asking and you know it,” he said in a gentle voice, “I know there's something to
be done, the question is what you're going to decide it is.”

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#

(Portkey.org is now caught up to ff.net so no more cheating for you cats. *grin*) And, for the
record, normally I hate the cliffhanger as a literary device. Ugh. . . One more chapter, as soon as
the block disappears.



5. Sweet Music
--------------



Disclaimer: Still not mine, alas.

Sorry about the almost year-long wait. No, really. Sorry. Without further ado, the conclusion to
our tale. Which I apparently named wrong at Portkey.org. God, how loser-ish am I? I don't know
the name of my own stupid fanfiction. . .

For a birthday girl. . .

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

“when you work it out, I want it, too”

-coldplay, “god put a smile upon your face”

!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!#!

Hermione's eyes were suddenly sad. “I'm not sure it's that easy, Harry.”

“Why not?” He said, the urgency returning to his voice. “You could even keep your job here. You
could commute. You cover British music, right? Tell them you want to get closer to your subjects.
Email it.”

Hermione paused for a minute, thinking a few thoughts. He'd obviously known a little more
about her than he'd let on, since she hadn't mentioned that she was a career writer and not
freelancing. He'd bloody well been watching her, hadn't he? If he knew that the article on
the wall wasn't a one-time thing, who knows what else he'd managed to discover. Not that
there was much there, but the thought still galled her a bit. The second, distant question was how
he knew about email. Time in the muggle world? New wizarding email?

“Harry. . .” Hermione sighed. “It'll be a madhouse if I come back. They'll be all over
me.”

“We can make an announcement and then hide you at Hogwarts. They won't be able to find you,
but it won't be a shock when you do decide to come back. I know a bit about this and
they'll lose interest eventually. Maybe they've already lost interest.”

Hermione, who made a career of knowing when people were about to move on, rolled her eyes as
Harry said that.

“You know, that might work. . .if I was willing to stay at Hogwarts for six months! Honestly,
how would I get anything done? They'd expect my column, you know.”

Harry looked at her for a minute and, in a sudden burst of perception, realized something. “They
have no idea who you are at all, do they?”

“I told you,” Hermione began, “I didn't trade in on any of that. I'm not going to
namedrop my way anywhere. It wasn't important and I didn't tell anyone, not anyone at
all.”

“But what if it's just your name? Alison Gryffin doesn't exist. That isn't you at
all.”

“Harry. . .”

Silence reigned once more. Hermione looked out the window and Harry sighed.

“Hermione Granger is a human being, you know.” Harry leaned forward, trying to get
Hermione's attention. “She's smart and funny and loyal and always looking out for her
friends. She's a great girl, Hermione, you're a great girl. That's who you are, you
can't get away from it.”

“But I have, you know. No one thinks I'm a superheroine here. I'm just a writer.”

Harry looked at her appraisingly a minute before speaking. “I've read your work before I
found out it was you and you couldn't be just anything if you tried. You're good at this,
just like you've been good at anything you've ever wanted to do.”

“See, that's not true. I wasn't good at being admired. I couldn't deal with the
attention I was getting and I certainly couldn't deal with the amount of. . .admiration. . .you
were getting.”

“Hermione, I was unconscious and I had no idea about all those. . .girls,” there was a pause
while Harry made a face indicating that his word choice wasn't really what he wanted to say,
“waiting outside my door. When I found out about them I wasn't happy, not even a little. Then I
found out you'd left and I couldn't deal with that. I wasn't sure what I wanted to do
next. You had become sort of a base for me and without you, I felt lost.”

“But you've done okay. You know what you need to do, you don't need me there for
that.”

“You're right. I don't need you there. I want you there.” Harry sat back, almost
challenging Hermione to respond to his statement.

“I'm sorry, Harry.” Hermione was radiating both sincerity and determination. “I'm so
sorry.”

“Don't be sorry, Hermione, come back. You can live with me. I live in a very secure area and
I've already told you - I can keep you safe and away from the press.”

“But this is my life.” Hermione swept her arm around, indicating the open windows and cozy
living room. “I can't just leave it now.”

“You were able to just leave last time.” Harry's hurt at being abandoned almost filled the
room as he uttered that sentence.

“No, I had to. There's a difference. Harry, we keep talking in circles. I can't come
back yet. I'm sorry.”

With that, Hermione got up, swiftly wrapped her arms around Harry and retreated to the safety of
her room. She was undressing, her thoughts swirling through her brain when she heard Harry on the
other side of the door.

“We're not done talking, you know.” Harry stood there, his hand against the wood of
Hermione's bedroom door.

Hermione walked over to the piece of wood between them, leaning her tired head against it. “I
need some sleep and so do you. I. . .it's been too much. I just can't fight you.”

“Good.”

“Harry. . . I can't fight you, but that doesn't mean you win.”

“We'll see, Hermione, we'll see.” Harry brushed his hand against the wood almost in a
caress before walking away to his makeshift bed. He had given her this round, but the seeds of an
idea were forming in his head. . .

The next day dawned clear and bright. Having finished her current article, Hermione was free to
work from home for a few days, researching the subject of her next piece. She hadn't set an
alarm, expecting her normal habit of rising early to wake her. Turning to said alarm clock, she was
amazed to discover it was ten thirty. She hadn't slept that long in months. Not that it had
done her any good, she hadn't fallen asleep right away, but had stared into the dark,
internally debating going back to England with Harry.

But, she reasoned with herself, she had done a lot for Harry. And now she had responsibilities
here. She couldn't just leave this place because Harry swooped back into her life. Yes, she
decided, she was going to tell him that. And not leave any room for discussion.

Squaring her shoulders, she left her bedroom stopping when she noticed the stillness in her
apartment. It was normal, of course, for it to be this quiet with just her in it. Just as she
opened her mouth to call out for the boys, she noticed an envelope sitting on the dining room
table. Her name, written across it in Harry's spiky boy-script, seemed almost accusing. Guilt
suddenly coursed through her veins. Perhaps she should've listened to Harry last night. Perhaps
she should've written more. Perhaps she should. . .perhaps she shouldn't have left in the
first place.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts of second guessing, she walked over and opened the
envelope.

Hermione,

I understand, in part, that you just can't leave what you're doing. It's part of who
you are. I love you for it.

We love you for it, Hermione. Even if it does make you daft sometimes. ~RW

Anyway, Hermione, you're not daft. You're dedicated and I, having gained so much from
that dedication, can hardly fault you for it. You've done so much for me.

And me! Couldn't have made it through McGonagall's class without you! ~RW

Well, that's not quite what I'm talking about. I hope I can make it clearer soon.

I love you.

Harry

P.S. I love you, too. Even if you are daft. ~RW

The sign-off wasn't terribly unusual, except it would've been “we love you” in most
cases. The three of them had been telling each other that for a long time. They did love each
other. How could they not? But something told Hermione that perhaps Harry meant it differently.

Settling back onto her couch with a great whoosh, she idly petted Crookshanks who was sitting
beside her.

“Well, Crooks, what do I do now?” The cat blinked at her, almost as if encouraging her to go on.
“I love Harry. That's part of the reason I left. He seems to have gotten the idea and that
letter seemed to. . .I had a feeling he wasn't just speaking for the two of them. Usually it
would've been teasing, like Ron's.”

The orange cat, used to hearing his mistress think out loud, simply rolled over, giving her
access to his stomach.

“I wonder what he meant by `I hope I can make it clearer soon?'” And, having uttered that
final sentence, Hermione accioed her laptop, settling in to do some research. She always had found
comfort in academia. This was just a different sort.

And so Hermione's life settled firmly back into place. Her day-to-day life wasn't
different, but it was almost as if someone had flipped a switch, changing her settings from color
to black and white. She almost resented the intrusion. She had been doing fine here. It was her
adopted home, it was her life. She'd go back to England eventually. She wasn't sure Harry
would be there, waiting for her, but that was a risk she had to take. But his presence seemed to
haunt her, she felt him through her apartment, almost as if he had lived there instead of only
spending a night. She started thinking of Chicago less of home and started dreaming about people
who spoke like her. And take-away curries. She had to admit she missed those.

She was finding herself less inclined to go out for after-work drinks, though. Men who normally
would've at least piqued her interest in a brief fashion didn't even get a second glance,
barely a first one. She knew she had it bad. But her professional pride wouldn't let her do
anything about it. Even her boss had noticed, stopping in and asking if Hermione wouldn't want
a holiday to go home.

Her boss had been surprised at the barely concealed horror Hermione had expressed at the thought
and had slipped away, wondering what that was all about. Hermione, on the other hand, knew exactly
what it was about. If she went home, she'd never leave. She'd move into Harry's very
secure flat until she found her own (or, if she was being particularly honest, she would just move
into Harry's flat, period) and get a job or tele-commute to this one from there. . .

It was after Hermione had spent a very happy ten minutes imagining moving to England that she
decided she was going to look into it. She'd go home, make a plan and come in tomorrow and
present to her boss. She'd still be fulfilling her obligations to work and she'd get to go
back to England. Her self-imposed exile was starting to pale in comparison to the people, the
places, she had back home and, just as firmly as she decided she had to come, she decided that
maybe she should look into going.

She almost tripped in her hurry to get out the door.

Smiling wanly at Alex as he pulled the door open, Hermione strode across the lobby and stepped
into the elevators. She focused on her article. She thought about her parents. She, determinedly,
did not think about emerald green eyes under messy black hair. She was going home because she
needed to, not just because Harry had asked. Though Hermione was honest with herself, Harry had
definitely started this in motion. And she might not be going home at all. She was just looking
into it. Nothing was certain.

Stepping out of the elevator, she noticed that there was something different. The small table
outside of the door beside hers had a newspaper on it, indicating someone had moved in. She
would've normally stepped over and introduced herself, but there was simply no time. Fumbling
around in her bag for her keys, she heard the door in question open. Debating stopping and saying
something, politeness won out and she withdrew her hand from her purse and prepared to extend it to
her new neighbor.

She stopped short when she saw whom it was standing there. Vivid green eyes met shocked cinnamon
ones in an amused glance. Messy black hair stood out in stark relief to his lightly tanned face.
Must be the Quidditch, she thought.

And then she thought no more, flinging herself into his opened arms. She was horrified to find
herself sobbing into his shoulder for the second time that month.

“Hey, hey, Hermione, now, what's all this? Shh, shhh, love. . .” Harry looked down at the
quivering girl in his arms, shocked at the strength of her reaction. And he hadn't even told
her all of it, all she had done was see him come out of the door beside hers.

“Harry! I'm just. . .I was about to. . .Harry, what are you doing here?” Hermione was
mumbling into his shoulder, not willing to relinquish the contact she had desperately thrown
herself into.

“Why don't we go inside, love, and I'll tell you all about it.” Harry gently guided her
not through her own door, but through the one he had just come from.

“But, Harry, this is someone else's. . .” Hermione started, trailing off as she noticed the
Quidditch memorabilia and Gryffindor class photo sitting on the mantle. “Harry,” she started,
wonderingly this time, “what have you done?”

“It's, umm, it's just for the weekends. We're about to go into the off-season, and
Ron thought it would be good for me to have some place to go when I want to get away from things.
Honestly, I think I'll be spending a lot more time here.” Harry said the last part shyly,
before adding, “I've got a portkey to take me back and forth so I don't get too tired. I
hope you're not upset.”

“Harry, you idiot, you great idiot, how could I be upset?” Hermione stared at him, shocked. “I
was just coming home to look into moving back to England.”

It was Harry's turn to be surprised. “You were going to do that? For me?”

“Well, yes. In part because of you. Not completely, you see, but you were, you are, a large part
of things. I hope that you'll continue to be a large part of things.” Hermione had said the
last part very softly, almost to herself.

“Did you ever ward your apartment, Hermione?” Harry was looking at her very intently.

“Why?” Hermione started to ask questions, but seeing the look in Harry's eyes, she simply
shook her head.

And she smiled as Harry waved his wand, creating a doorway that led from her living room to
his.

Having finished his work, he placed his wand on the table, simply stating, “I hope to be a very
large part of things, too.”

And after saying that, Harry Potter took Hermione Granger's face in his hands and kissed her
soundly, clearing all doubt from her mind as to how large a part he was looking for.

Hermione, for the record, was very pleased with this development. Not only was she ending up
with the love of her life, but she was sure he had a Wizarding Wireless with him.

!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!

Thanks for reading.

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